Criminal Conversation

by Ed McBain

  The box was, in fact, on the rear wall of the building. Sonny opened it and began studying the various wires inside it, and that was when he found the slave Freddie Coulter had installed there on the last day of January.

  The first thing Michael thought was that Sarah had told him.

  Regan was saying that all at once everything went dead.

  “We’re listening to Faviola talking to some guy about putting in a new phone system, and the guy says he’s going out back, take a look at the terminal box, and next thing you know, everything goes dead. I figured you ought to know about it right away.”

  The bitch told him, Michael thought.

  “So what do we do now?” Regan asked. “We turned on the backup receivers the minute everything quit, but so far we haven’t heard a thing.”

  “You think they found the backups, too?”

  “Who knows? These guys, the minute they find one bug, they go around tiptoeing with their fingers to their mouth.”

  “I’ll talk to Freddie Coulter,” Michael said. “He may have to go in again.”

  “What do we do meanwhile?” Regan asked. “Pack it in, or what?”

  “Stay with it,” Michael said. “The backups may still be working.”

  There was activity everywhere around them on Canal Street, tourists strolling, residents shopping, Chinamen hawking fish in baskets, souvenir sellers waving lacquered bowls and paper lanterns to the three men as they came up the street. Spring was truly here at last, and the air was virtually balmy. Andrew was walking in the middle. Petey was on his left, Bobby on his right. Petey was wearing brown. A brown suit, brown shoes, a maize-colored shirt, a brown tie. He walked with his hands behind his back, the thumbs linked. The expression on his face was extremely grave. Bobby, on the other hand, looked as though someone had just hit him with a baseball bat. He kept shaking his head in disbelief.

  “Which other rooms?” he asked.

  “The kitchen, the phone on the counter there,” Andrew said. “And the one upstairs in the bedroom. On the nightstand alongside the bed.”

  “They all have bugs in them?”

  “Yeah, what Sonny called ‘Brady bugs,’ I’ll show you what they look like when we get back to the office. There was one downstairs under the cutting table, too. In the tailor shop.”

  “Is the pay phone bugged, too?” Bobby asked. “The one in the shop?”

  Andrew wondered who he’d been calling from that phone.

  “I don’t think so. But the bug under the table could pick up anything in the room.”

  “How long has this shit been in place?” Petey asked.

  “Sonny didn’t know. This thing he found out back, in the terminal box, is something called a ‘slave.’ It takes the signal from the bug, does something to it, sends it out again to whoever’s listening.”

  “Who do you think’s listening?” Petey said.

  “Who the fuck knows?” Andrew said.

  “That meeting about Moreno …”

  “Yeah.”

  “In the conference room? We were talking some pretty heavy stuff there,” Bobby said.

  “How about when Rudy died?” Petey said. “When we were discussing the whole damn …”

  “I know.”

  “This is very serious.”

  “I’m tryin’a think what else we talked about,” Bobby said. “On the phone. In the conference room. You mind if I smoke?” he asked, and without waiting for Andrew’s answer, pulled a package of Camels from his breast pocket, tapped a cigarette loose, popped it into his mouth, and flipped open his lighter. Andrew didn’t object. They were outdoors, and this was serious business.

  “Anyway,” he said, “Sonny yanked out the slave and all the bugs, so nothing’s operational anymore.”

  “How’d they get in there, is what I’d like to know.”

  “You let any people in there could’ve done this thing?” Bobby asked.

  “You crazy?”

  “Well, who’s been up there, for example?”

  He was puffing frantically on the cigarette now, clouds of gray smoke trailing behind them as they walked. A little girl in a pale blue dress, running by with a boy younger than she was, stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk, pointed her finger at Bobby, and squealed, “You’re gonna get cancer!”

  “Get lost,” Bobby said.

  “Cancer, cancer,” the little girl chanted, and ran off with the younger boy, who gigglingly picked up the chant, “Cancer, cancer, cancer, cancer …”

  “Fucking brats,” Bobby said.

  “What about the bedroom phone?” Petey asked.

  “I told you.”

  “Ever talk business on it?”

  “Not that I can think of.”

  “The kitchen phone?”

  “Most of the business is on the phone in the conference room.”

  “You ever talk business with any of your girlfriends?” Bobby asked.

  “No.”

  “You may have said something you didn’t realize,” Bobby said, and shrugged, and stamped out his cigarette, and immediately lighted another one.

  “I didn’t tell anyone anything, don’t worry about that,” Andrew said. “I’m more worried about the phone in the fucking conference room!”

  “Andrew, who are these girls?” Petey asked solemnly and gently, sounding very much like a priest in a confession box.

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “’Cause somebody put a hundred fuckin’ bugs in,” Bobby said.

  “None of these girls put …”

  “How do you know one of them ain’t a cop?” Bobby said, puffing furiously again.

  “I know none of them are cops.”

  “For Christ’s sake, none of them are cops,” Petey said. “Would Andrew be dating a fuckin’ cop?”

  “You sure of that?” Bobby asked.

  “Yes, I’m sure,” Andrew said.

  “Because, Andrew, I mean no disrespect,” Bobby said, recognizing he was treading dangerous ground here. “But if the place got bugged once, it can get bugged again. Your father’s in jail because there was a bug in a place he never thought there could be one.”

  Andrew listened.

  “Tell us who these girls are, we’ll ask around,” Bobby said. “Quiet, no fuss. We’ll just ask around. See who’s who and what’s what, okay? No disrespect intended.”

  “None taken,” Andrew said. “But I don’t want anybody asking around. I’ll do my own asking.”

  “I meant no disrespect,” Bobby said.

  “I told you none was taken.”

  “We were talking murder that day,” Petey said softly.

  “I know that.”

  “We were talkin’ about killing that fuckin’ spic!” Bobby said.

  “This is very serious,” Petey said again.

  “He was killed in a foreign country by two foreigners we never heard of,” Andrew said. “We’ve got nothing to do with it.”

  “You ordered the hit,” Petey said gently.

  “I’m not worried about it.”

  “Well, I’m not a lawyer,” Petey said, “but when those cocksuckers get hold of anything we say in private, they have ways of makin’ a fuckin’ federal case of it. Literally.”

  “They put together three felonies,” Bobby said, “we’re …”

  “Two and a mis,” Petey said.

  “We’re lookin’ at twenty-five for openers.”

  “We don’t know what they have,” Andrew said. “The bugs could’ve gone in yesterday, for all we know.”

  “Or they could’ve been in there forever, for all we know,” Petey said.

  “They could be makin’ their case right this fuckin’ minute,” Bobby said.

  The men fell silent. They walked in the sunshine on a bright spr
ing day, each separately wishing those bugs had never, been installed, each separately wondering what they’d said while someone somewhere out there was listening. They were silent until they reached Broome Street. As they turned the corner, Bobby said, “You think they flipped that fuckin’ Benny, used to press clothes? Or that new kid, whatever his name is?”

  “Mario,” Petey said.

  “I don’t think they flipped any pants pressers,” Andrew said.

  “Then how’d they get in there to do all that?” Bobby said.

  “Bugs all over the place,” Petey said. “How’d they get in?”

  “You didn’t give a key to any of these broads, did you?” Bobby asked.

  “No,” Andrew said.

  “’Cause they had to’ve got in some way.”

  “They have ways of gettin’ in,” Petey said. “They’re bigger thieves than, thieves.”

  “Be easier with a key, though.”

  “I didn’t give anyone a key.”

  “Be funny one of them was a cop, wouldn’t it?” Bobby said.

  “Yeah, very,” Petey said drily.

  “Throw her down a fuckin’ sewer,” Bobby said, and looked across the street. “Anybody want a hot dog?” he asked.

  On Wednesday morning, Michael advised her to keep her usual Wednesday afternoon tryst with Faviola. If it was true that she hadn’t told him about the existence of the backup listening devices …

  “It’s true,” she said.

  “I hope so. Otherwise …”

  “Don’t threaten me again,” she warned.

  “I own you,” Michael said.

  She was here now. Owned. Apprehensive at first. Frightened. Expectant. Certain she would be repelled by this man she now knew was a gangster. But lying here in his arms, he did not seem to be a gangster. He seemed only to be Andrew. And she wondered again what kind of woman she was.

  Unless you want your daughter to learn what kind of woman you are.

  Michael’s words.

  What kind of woman?

  I’m not cut out for this role, she thought.

  I wasn’t meant to be an informer, the garment doesn’t quite fit me. Lying here in his arms, I want to shout my treachery aloud. What will I do if he ever starts telling me he’s murdered someone? Or ordered someone’s murder, like father, like son, I’ve had a dozen men killed, didn’t you know, Sarah? Will I scream No, don’t tell me, it’s a trap, I’m a trap, don’t say anything, don’t trust me, don’t love me, I’m an informer! Will I try to save him from himself and from me?

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “I’m afraid people are still listening to us,” she said.

  She was whispering.

  “Nobody’s listening,” he said. “Not anymore. I told you. We ripped everything out.”

  Both of them whispering now.

  Get him to talk, she thought. Get him to talk or lose my daughter.

  “But who would do such a thing?” she said. “If a person’s not involved in criminal activity …”

  “I’m not.”

  “Well, of course, you’re not. So why would anyone want to put a bug in here?”

  Get him to talk.

  “A lot of business is conducted in this building,” he said, “on the phones in this building. We have competitors. I wouldn’t be surprised if any one of them was ruthless enough to do something like this.”

  “Then this is just a business thing, is that right?”

  “Strictly business, yes.”

  “It has nothing to do with …well, when you think of bugs, you think of police. Or spies.”

  “Business spies, yes.”

  “But not the police.”

  “No,” he said, “not the police,” and looked at her intently for a moment. “My associates are very concerned about this,” he said. “About how anyone could have got in here to bug the place.”

  “Your associates,” she said.

  “Yes.”

  “Carter and Goldsmith?”

  “Well, the people I work with. They think someone must have got hold of a key somehow. Someone I know personally. Got hold of a key and turned it over to whoever got in here to bug the place. That’s what my associates think.”

  She realized all at once that he was accusing her. She was the personal someone who’d somehow stolen a key and delivered it to her husband’s detectives so they could later listen to her making love to him. The irony was so delicious, she almost burst out laughing. He was watching her intently again, waiting for some kind of answer. Well, she thought, how would Sarah Welles, the innocent schoolteacher, respond to such a bizarre notion? Never mind the Sarah who’s here as a spy. How would I myself react if the man I love accused me of working with his competitors?

  She swung her legs over the side of the bed and began walking to where her clothes were draped over the back of the easy chair. She was reaching for her panties when he said, “What are you doing?”

  “Getting dressed.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t like being told …”

  “I’m trying to protect you!”

  “Oh?” she said, and yanked up her panties and let the elastic go with an angry thwack. “And here I thought you were suggesting that I unlocked the door for whoever came in here to bug your phones,” she said, and reached for her bra.

  “I’m only repeating what was said to me.”

  “By whom?”

  “One of my business associates.”

  “Who?”

  “Never mind who. He suggested …”

  “What? That I stole a key?”

  “That somebody might have, not necessarily …”

  “Anyway, how do they know about me, these people?” she asked, reaching behind her to clasp the bra. “Did you tell them about me?”

  “They know I have girlfriends.”

  “Oh? Is it still plural? Still more than … ?”

  “They know I used to see a lot of girls. All they suggested was that one of them …”

  “Not me, pal.”

  “. . . might have …”

  “Try one of your …”

  “. . . got hold of …”

  “. . . teenagers!”

  “. . . my keys, which you have to admit is a …”

  “No, it’s not a possibility! Not as it concerns me,” she said angrily, and stepped into her skirt, and pulled it to her waist and was fastening it when he came to her and took her by the shoulders.

  “Get away from me!” she said.

  “I don’t want anybody hurting you.”

  “You’re hurting me right this minute!”

  “I’m sorry, but you have to hear what I’m saying.”

  “Let go of me.”

  “Only if you promise to listen.”

  “Just let …”

  “All right, all right,” he said sharply, and released her. She reached immediately for her blouse.

  “Listen to me,” he said.

  “I’m listening,” she said.

  But she was putting on the blouse.

  “They suggested two things. One …”

  “They? I thought this was only one of your associates. Is it more than one? Do they all think I stole your keys and … ?”

  “It’s just this one person.”

  “Who?”

  “It doesn’t matter who.”

  “I’d like to know who my accuser is, if you don’t mind. You owe me at least …”

  “Bobby, all right? His name is Bobby.”

  “Bobby what?”

  “Just Bobby, okay? He said maybe somebody I know is working for one of our competitors.”

  “You tell Bobby I’m not working with any of your competitors. Is that what you think, too, An
drew? That I’m some kind of company spy?”

  “I don’t know what to think.”

  “Well, you tell Bobby he doesn’t have to worry about me anymore. Because the minute I walk out that door, you won’t be seeing me again.”

  He looked at her for a long moment.

  “You do that,” he said, “and Bobby’ll know he was right.”

  She was slinging her shoulder bag. She turned to him, clearly puzzled, her eyes squinted, her brow furrowed.

  “We find the bugs,” he said, “and next thing you know, you’re walking out on me. Bobby’ll say that sounds very suspicious.”

  “Really?” she said, and walked to him, and stood very close to him. “Then maybe you ought to tell Bobby just why I’m walking out,” she said, “whoever Bobby may be. The fast thing you can tell him, in fact, is that you don’t trust me enough to tell me his last name, if he has a last name. And you can …”

  “Triani,” he said. “All right? Bobby Triani.”

  “Thanks,” she said, “but you’re a little late. You can tell him next,” she said, “that you don’t trust me enough to believe I come here every damn Wednesday because I love you and want to be with you and not because I’m hanging bugs all over the place. You can tell him, too,” she said, “that I’m walking out because I didn’t hear what I wanted to hear from you, I didn’t hear a single word of apology for getting me involved in your damn corporate maneuverings. I didn’t once hear you say, ‘Gee, I’m sorry that strangers were listening to everything you said to me, all those things you said to me, complete strangers hearing all those things. I’m sorry you landed in the middle of all this, whatever it is, I’m really sorry about that, because I love you to death and I wouldn’t want you hurt for anything in the world. You can tell Bobby Triani that’s why I’m walking out,” she said. “Because you never once told me you’re sorry you got me into this whole damn mess!”

  She realized all at once that she was not acting. This was not the Sarah Welles who was “owned” by the district attorney. This was the Sarah Welles who’d lost her heart to a gangster, a mobster, a hoodlum, a bum. And she was talking about something quite other than business spying. She stood motionless, looking at him, tears streaming down her face.