by Tonia Brown
“You could always work for someone else.”
“Who else would want me?”
“I do.”
Banjo’s heart thumped harder at those words. “You do?”
“Sure. You should work for me. I can easily match what Maloney’s paying you, and you’ll only have to kill the occasional rude waiter or two.” She chuckled at the idea, then leaned away from Banjo and gasped, as if aware of a sudden thought. “Hey now. Maybe if I can get a hold of that bag, I can replace the money and …” Her words trailed off as she sighed again. “No, I guess not.”
“You know it isn’t about the money. It’s the principle.”
“Like Toney has any principle.”
“True.”
They sat in silence for another minute before Penny said, “I guess I really screwed up.”
“Yeah,” Banjo said. “To be fair, though, you aren’t the only one who defied his royal highness today.”
“How so?”
Banjo told her all about the schnauzer in his closet, which sent Penny into a titter of giggles.
“You are such a bad boy,” she said. “See? You have it in you to tell him no.”
“It’s just a dog.”
“That’s not the point. Toney is going to eat you alive when he finds out.”
Banjo shrugged, and in his best Maloney voice he said, “Like I give a fuck what he thinks of me.”
“Hey.” Penny smacked Banjo playfully on the shoulder. “Watch your fucking mouth.”
The pair of them laughed together, a sound Banjo would give anything in the world to hear more often. Alas, the laughter was over far too soon and it was back to work.
“I guess I should go let Maloney know,” he said.
“Thanks,” she said. “I appreciate you taking the hit for me.”
“He’s gonna want to see you later. You know that.”
“I know. And later I’ll be ready. Just not right now. Let me wallow in self-pity for now.”
Banjo made his way to her door where he stopped for a moment. Over his shoulder he said, “You know, you’re wrong about him.”
“Who?”
“This Waldorf guy.”
“Come on, Ben. Don’t tell me you think he’s a match for Maloney.”
“No. I don’t think he’s the only one of us that deserves love.”
Banjo left before Penny could argue the fact with him. His heart ached for her, but he pulled himself together and went to see the boss man. Another dirty job he took on for someone else. She was right about one thing; none of this was going to sit well with Maloney.
Which was just fine with Banjo.
Chapter Sixteen
The Major and the Minor
An hour later
“What do we do now, boss?” Larry asked.
Frank eased into an overstuffed chair and considered the question. He didn’t have an answer. He really didn’t know what to do.
“You think Jones is on the take from Maloney, don’t you?” Larry said.
“I do,” Frank said. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the problem at hand. Namely, how to convince Waldorf to work with the police instead of with Miss Lane.
“Is it ‘cause he was talking to that Banjo guy?”
“Yes.”
“No, it isn’t. You thought he was on the take from the start.”
Frank cracked an eyelid at Larry, surprised by both the young man’s candor and astuteness. “What makes you think that?”
“I don’t know. Just a feeling. The way you talked to him, like you were trying to tell him only so much. Like he wasn’t really on our side. You know?”
“Yeah, I know.” Chuckling to himself, Frank closed his eyes again and leaned back in the chair. “Nothing gets past you, does it?”
“I learned from the best. Hey, why do they call him Banjo, anyway?”
“Because when he was thirteen, he beat his neighbor senseless with a banjo, then garroted the man with the busted strings.”
“Whoa. Sorry I asked.”
“To be fair, the man molested Banjo’s little sister.”
Larry’s mouth fell open. “Really? Then the guy kind of deserved it, huh?”
“Regardless, Benjamin Williams, aka Mr. Banjo, is a stone cold murderer. He’s probably killed more people than Maloney’s eaten walnuts. He is wanted in almost every state, and at least ten different countries. He’s been on the Bureau’s most wanted list for years.”
“If he’s such a bad guy, why aren’t we chasing him instead of Maloney?”
Frank rubbed at his tired eyes. “Have you ever heard of a necessary evil?”
“Sort of.”
“Let’s say that Mr. Banjo tends to kill folks who fall inside of a certain demographic.”
“What kind of demographic?”
“Other bad guys.”
“Bad guys like that duke you were talking about?”
“Just like that duke.”
“You’re saying he only kills folks that deserve it.”
“No, I’m saying that the world is better off without the people that end up dead at Mr. Banjo’s hands.”
“Except for Waldorf.”
“Yes, Larry. Except Waldorf. Except for some regular schmuck who wandered into this thing like an uninvited extra at a stoning. Which is why we’re here.”
The room fell into an uncomfortable silence, with Larry obviously tiptoeing around Frank, trying not to bother the older man. The kid shuffled about the room, clinking a glass against the counter, running water in the bathroom, flushing the toilet more than once.
“Don’t sweat it, boss,” Larry finally said. “Things will work out for the best.”
Frank opened his eyes to glare at his partner again. “Things don’t just work out on this job. If anything, they tend to head straight into the crapper and stay there for as long as possible.”
“Sometimes. And sometimes they work out.”
“I’ve never seen it happen.”
“What about a lucky break?”
“What about them?”
Larry shrugged. “Cops get lucky breaks all of the time. I’ve gotten lucky breaks before.”
Frank suspected a string of lucky breaks was how Larry ended up as an agent for the bureau in the first place. “I don’t think we are getting any lucky breaks on this one.” Frank crossed his arms, frustrated with himself and this whole damned turn of events.
“You aren’t, you know, giving up, are you?”
“I’m considering it, yes.”
Larry gasped. “You can’t give up. You’re so close.”
“I was close, Larry. Now I’m not so sure. First I thought Waldorf was a courier. Then I thought he was just a patsy. Then I thought he was in it with Lane. Now I don’t know what to think, and that makes me wonder what else I don’t know.”
“You know Maloney is running a drug ring, and lots of other things.”
“I know that, yet I can’t prove it. And therein lies the rub, eh? I was hoping to catch Waldorf and Maloney making an exchange; now I know that isn’t going to happen. Nothing is going to happen. I took a big risk boarding this ship, and I’m not going to have anything to show for it when we get back.”
“We, sir. We took a risk.”
Frank had to smile at that. “Right. We. And now we are going to get back to port empty handed and none the wiser. Do you know what the powers that be call this kind of thing?”
“Hard work and perseverance?”
“Not by a long shot. Try embezzlement. Try misappropriation of public funds.”
“Surely it ain’t that bad.”
“Larry, we took a cruise on the taxpayers’ dollar. It’s that bad.”
“Maybe something will change?”
“I’d like to think—”
A knock came from the door, soft and polite.
“Coming!” Frank shouted. He got to his feet and lazily made his way to the door. “Trust me, Lawrence. I’ve been following Maloney for nearly ten years
and nothing ever changes. Nothing. I’ve learned my lesson. That man has got the luck of the Devil himself. He is untouchable.”
Frank opened the door to find the last person he expected to see.
Octavious Waldorf. At his feet rested a black duffle bag
“I’ll be damned,” Larry whispered behind Frank.
“Mr. Waldorf?” Frank asked.
Waldorf held up Frank’s card. “Officer Wallace?”
“Agent Wallace, yes,” Frank said.
“You said I could come to you if I wanted to talk?”
Nodding like some amateur rookie, Frank found himself completely stunned. He didn’t know what to do or say.
“Well,” Waldorf said, “I would like to talk, if you don’t mind.”
Frank smiled wide, ear to ear, an uncontrollable grin of sheer joy.
“I’ll be damned,” Larry said again.
“Is this a good time?” Waldorf asked.
“Yes,” Frank said. “Please, come in.”
Waldorf picked up the duffle and stepped into the room.
Frank peered back and forth down the deck—to make sure no one had followed the man—before he closed the door and returned his attention to the guest.
“This is my partner, Mr. Lawrence,” Frank said, motioning to Larry.
Larry stood and offered his hand to Waldorf. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Waldorf.”
The man took Larry’s hand and shook it quickly. “Call me Otto. No need for such formalities.”
“In that case you can call me Larry.”
“Okay, Larry.”
“Have a seat, Otto,” Frank said and directed Waldorf to one of the overstuffed chairs
Waldorf sat slowly, hugging the duffle to him.
Frank pulled up a chair across from the man and sat down, facing Waldorf. He leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees while he clasped his hands together. “What can we do for you?”
“Well, Mr. Wallace, I—”
“Call me Frank, please. As you said, no need for such formalities.”
Waldorf smiled sheepishly. “Frank. Right. I think you know why I am here, Frank.” He patted the bag in his lap.
“I don’t wish to seem obtuse, but can you state why you are here? For the record, I mean.”
“Record?” The man went pale at the word. “I’m not going to have a police record, am I?”
“I mean so we can keep things clear. That’s all.”
Comprehension lit Waldorf’s eyes and he nodded. “Ah. I see.” He cleared his throat and said in a practiced voice, as if repeating someone else’s words, “I have something that doesn’t belong to me. And I want you to have it.”
“What is it?” Frank asked.
“I, um …” Waldorf paused again and looked up to his left. After a moment of silence, he said, again in the practiced voice, “It’s something I don’t want anymore. It’s causing me too much trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“You know, bad things and such.”
Frank pinched the bridge of his nose. The guy wasn’t making this easy. “Okay. What kind of bad things?”
Looking to his left again, Waldorf waited, listening to something only he could hear.
“What is he doing?” Larry asked softly.
“I don’t know,” Frank said, though he had a pretty good idea.
“He looks like he’s talking to someone else.” The kid’s eyes widened as he came to the same conclusion that Frank had. “You don’t think he’s wired, do you?”
“I can’t say that,” Waldorf whispered. “You say it then. Go on. I’m sure they would love to hear it coming from you.”
“Mr. Waldorf?” Frank said. “I don’t think—”
Waldorf held up a hand, silencing Frank.
Frank glanced over to Larry, who scowled and shook his head.
Waldorf sighed. “This is silly. Look, I have this bag full of—” the man stopped abruptly and rolled his eyes. He looked up to his left and whispered, “Well I can’t very well keep hinting around at it can I? They need to know.” Waldorf sighed again. “I’m sorry, Officers, it’s been a very stressful couple of days.”
“I’ll bet,” Larry said.
Frank glared Larry into silence. “Otto, do you mind if I am straight with you?”
“I’d rather you would be,” Waldorf said. “I don’t think I can take many more surprises.”
“That makes two of us.” Frank crossed his arms. “So, let’s be straight with each other, Otto. Will you lift your shirt for me?”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m not in the mood for games, Otto.”
Waldorf winced in disgust. “That’s odd, because you sound like you are.”
“Mr. Waldorf, I am willing to help you in any way I can. I am willing to offer you the protection of the FBI in exchange for any information you are willing to give us. But if you’re taking orders from Maloney, then you can get out of here.”
“Taking orders from… what are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about wearing a wire. I’m talking about a hidden ear piece. I’m talking about you trying to play us for fools.”
Comprehension filled Waldorf’s tired face like the first light of dawn. “Oh! A wire. I’m not wearing a wire. See?” He stood and pulled at his shirt, lifting it to reveal a pale, hairless chest, completely free of electronic equipment. “No ear piece either.” The man turned his head, side to side, showing off the shell of his empty ears. “I promise I am here at your discretion. I do not work for, have never worked for, or plan on working for that awful, awful man.”
“Then who were you talking to just now?” Larry asked.
Waldorf went a bright red from cheek to cheek. “Myself? Yes, I talk to myself sometimes.”
“And answer yourself, apparently,” Larry added.
“You’re not working for Maloney?” Frank asked.
“Lord no,” Waldorf said.
“Good,” Frank said. He held his hand out to Waldorf. “Welcome to the right side of the law, Mr. Waldorf. How can we help you?”
While Waldorf shook his hand, Frank wondered how this lucky break was going to play out. Maloney thought he held all of the cards. Frank Wallace now held Maloney’s money, and that was worth the whole game.
Chapter Seventeen
To Be or Not to Be
Moments later
This was a bad idea. Otto knew it in his bones. Going to the police had seemed like a sound plan, yet now that he was here, it was a rotten idea. Walter wouldn’t shut up, and the cops were asking Otto too many questions, and this whole thing was going to hell in a hand basket.
The one called Frank seemed to be in charge. Either that or by virtue of being older than his partner, he called the shots. The younger man, Larry, was nice enough, though a bit on the slow side. Otto wasn’t sure if the young man was stupid or just easily confused or both. How the man had made it into the lofty ranks of the FBI, Otto didn’t really want to know.
Frank slipped a silver gadget from his jacket and sat it down in front of Otto. He pressed a small button at the top of the device and leaned over to speak right into the thing. He gave his name, the date and the time of day. Then he nodded to Otto. “All right, Mr. Waldorf, in your own time.”
“My own time?” Otto echoed.
“Tell us the exact chain of events that brought you here today.”
“That’s a digital recorder,” Walter said. “Be careful. Anything you say they can use against you.”
“Is that recording us?” Otto said, ignoring his uncle.
“Yes,” Frank said. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“Certainly not, though I’m afraid my story isn’t very interesting. Just coincidental.”
“It’s not important that it’s interesting. What’s important is the truth. Go ahead.”
Otto explained how he came across Maloney’s money, his run-in with the bus station attendant, and his subsequent booking of a cruise, all the while
withholding an important detail from his narrative; the presence of the ghost. He supposed things were bad enough as it was without throwing around the fact that the corpse of his dead uncle was a part of all of this. He blurred the truth a bit, changing Walter’s undead participation into an unburned will Otto managed to salvage from Aunt Betty.
The agents remained surprisingly calm during Otto’s confession. Otto suspected they might jeer or call bullshit on his version of events, yet the pair of men displayed the utmost professionalism, keeping both respectfully quiet and composed as Otto wove his sorry tale.
Walter, however, kept up a running commentary, mostly about how Otto was leaving the ghost’s parts out.
“I can’t believe you are ignoring everything I’ve done for you,” Walter said.
“And that’s how I ended up with Maloney’s money,” Otto said, finishing up his story and doing his best to ignore Walter. “I swear.”
Larry sat back and exhaled in a long breath, as if he had been holding it the whole time Otto spoke. “Wow. That is one hell of a story.”
“It certainly is,” Frank said. “When did you realize you had the wrong bag?”
“When I arrived on the ship.”
“What clued you into the fact that it wasn’t your uncle’s money?”
“I finally had a moment to count it all and discovered there was way too much. Walter’s will said ten thousand.” Otto waved to the bag. “This is way more than ten thousand. I didn’t know who it belonged to, though I was fairly sure I had made a grievous error.”
“When did you discover the money belonged to Maloney?”
“Last night in the kennel,” Otto said. “I told you, he accosted me and hinted around that I had his money.”
“If you didn’t know about Maloney until then,” Frank said, “what made you run from us at your house?”
“He’s trying to trip you up,” Walter said.
Otto was prepared for such things. “I thought you were from the IRS.”
“Can’t blame you there,” Larry said. “I’d run from those guys too.”
“Me neither,” Frank said. “And you also didn’t know Miss Lane works for Maloney when you, um, took up company with her?”