Fade Away

by Harlan Coben

  "He said that?"

  "Yep. Nice ass. Didn't even notice my legs." Esperanza shook her head.

  Myron smiled. "So what happened?"

  Behind them the elevator dinged. Only one hit this part of the floor. The elevator opened directly into the reception area of MB SportsReps. Classy, or so he had been told. When the doors opened, two men came out. Myron recognized them right away. Camouflage Pants and Brick Wall. They were both armed. They aimed their guns at Myron and Esperanza. B Man stepped out behind them like he'd just been introduced on the Leno show. Big smile, acknowledging-the-crowd wave.

  "How's the knee, Myron?" he asked.

  "Better than your van."

  B Man laughed at that one. "That Win," he mused. "The man is always a surprise. How did he know when to hit us?"

  No reason not to tell. "We kept the cellular phones on."

  B Man shook his head. "Ingenious really. I'm very impressed." He wore one of those suits that are just a tad too shiny and a pink tie. His shirt was french-cuffed and monogrammed with four letters: B MAN. Taking the nickname thing a little far. A thick, ropelike gold bracelet encircled his right wrist.

  "How did you get up here?" Myron asked.

  "Do you really think a few rent-a-cops are going to stop us?"

  "I'd still like to hear," Myron said.

  B Man shrugged. "I called Lock-Horne Securities and told them I was looking for a new financial advisor for my millions. An anxious young peon told me to come right up. I hit the twelfth floor on the elevator instead of the fifteenth." He spread his hands. "So here I am." He smiled at Esperanza. What with the too-white teeth and the tan, it looked like he switched on a nightlight.

  "And who is this fetching creature?" he asked with a wink.

  "My," Esperanza said, "what woman doesn't love to be called a creature?"

  B Man laughed again. "The little lady has gumption," he said. "I like that. I really do."

  "Like I care," Esperanza said.

  More laughter. "May I indulge you a moment, Miss...?"

  "Money Penny," she finished for him. She said it with her best Sean Connery imitation. No Rich Little, but not bad either.

  Another laugh from the B Man. The man was half-hyena. "Would you please call Win down here? On the speakerphone if you don't mind. Tell him to come down unarmed."

  She looked at Myron. Myron nodded. She dialed. Over the speakerphone, Win offered up another, "Articulate."

  Esperanza said, "Some bottled blond with a bottled tan is down here to see you."

  "Ah, I've been expecting him," Win said. "Hello, B Man."

  "Hello, Win."

  "I assume you are in well-armed company."

  "That I am, Win," B Man said. "If you try anything, your friends won't make it out alive."

  "'Won't make it out alive'?" Win repeated. "I expected better from you, B Man, really. I'll be down in a second."

  "Come unarmed, Win."

  "Not a chance. But there will be no violence. That I promise you." The phone clicked off. For several moments everyone looked at one another as if wondering who was going to take the lead.

  "I don't trust him," B Man said. He pointed to Brick Wall. "Take the girl in the other room. Duck down behind a desk or something. You hear any shooting, you blow her head off."

  The Brick Wall nodded.

  B Man directed his attention to Camouflage Pants. "Keep your gun on Bolitar."

  "Right."

  B Man took out his own weapon. When the elevator dinged, he squatted and aimed. The doors slid open, but it wasn't Win. Big Cyndi emerged from the elevator, not unlike a dinosaur emerging from its egg.

  "Jesus Christ!" Camouflage Pants said. "What the hell is that?"

  Big Cyndi growled.

  "Who is she, Bolitar?" B Man demanded.

  "My new receptionist."

  "Tell her to wait in the other room."

  Myron nodded to her. "It's okay. Esperanza's in there."

  Cyndi growled again, but she listened. She walked past the B Man on her way to Myron's office. His gun looked like a disposable lighter next to her. She opened the door, snarled one last time, and closed it.

  Silence.

  "Jesus Christ," Camouflage Pants said again.

  They waited approximately thirty seconds before the elevator dinged again. B Man got back into his squat and aimed. The doors slid open. Win stepped out. He looked mildly annoyed when he saw the weapon aimed his way. His voice was clipped. "I told you there would be no violence."

  "You have information we need," B Man said.

  "I'm well aware of that," Win replied. "Now put that gun away and we'll talk civilly."

  The B Man kept his weapon on Win. "You armed?"

  "Of course."

  "Hand over your weapon."

  "No," Win said. "And it's not weapon. It's weapons. Plural."

  "I said--"

  "And I heard you, Orville."

  "Don't call me that."

  Win sighed. "Fine, B Man." He shook his head as he said it. "You are making this far more difficult than it has to be."

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "It means that for an intelligent fellow, you too often forget that brute strength is not the only course. There are situations that call for restraint."

  Win lecturing on restraint, Myron thought. What next? Xaviera Hollander lecturing on monogamy?

  "Think about what you've already done," Win said. "First, you have Myron roughed up by a pair of amateurs--"

  "Amateurs!" Camouflage Pants didn't like that. "Who you calling--"

  "Shut up, Tony," B Man said.

  "You hear what he called me? An amateur?"

  "I said, shut up, Tony."

  But Tony The Pants wasn't through yet. "Hey, I got feelings too, B Man."

  The B Man gave him hard eyes. "Your left femur, if you don't shut up."

  Tony closed his mouth.

  The B Man looked back to Win. "Sorry about the interruption."

  "Apology accepted."

  "Go on."

  "As I was saying," Win continued, "first you try to rough Myron up. Then you try to kidnap and cripple him. All for naught."

  "Not for naught," B Man countered. "We need to know where Downing is."

  "And what makes you think Myron knows?"

  "You were both at his house. Then all of a sudden Bolitar is on Downing's team. As a matter of fact, he takes his place on the roster."

  "So?"

  "So I'm not stupid. You two know something."

  "And what if we do?" Win said, hands spread. "Why didn't you just ask? Did you ever even consider that possibility? Did you ever think that maybe the best course of action would be simply to ask?"

  "I did ask!" Camouflage Pants jumped in. He was defensive now. "On the street! I asked him where Greg was. He gave me lip."

  Win looked at him. "Were you ever in the military?" he asked.

  Pants seemed confused. "No."

  "You are a worthless punk," Win said in the same tone he might use when discussing a mixed stock report. "A pitiful ectoplasm such as yourself wearing army fatigues is an affront to any man or woman who has ever experienced real combat. If I ever happen across you again donning any similar garb, I will hurt you severely. Do I make myself clear?"

  "Hey--"

  "You don't know this guy, Tony," B Man interrupted. "Just nod and shut up."

  Camouflage Pants looked hurt but he did as he was told.

  Win turned his attention back to the B Man. "We can help each other out in this situation," he said.

  "How?"

  "It just so happens that we, too, are searching for the elusive Mr. Downing. That is why I wish to make a proposal."

  "I'm listening."

  "First," Win said, "stop aiming the weapons at us."

  B Man gave him a funny look. "How do I know I can trust you?"

  "If I wanted you dead," Win answered, "I would have killed you last night."

  The B Man thought it over, nodded, l
owered his weapon. He signaled Camouflage Pants, who then did likewise. "Why didn't you?" B Man asked. "I probably would have killed you in the same situation."

  "That's what I mean about brute force," Win said. "About being wasteful. We need each other here. If I had killed you, I wouldn't be able to make this proposal today."

  "Fair enough. The floor is yours."

  "I assume that Mr. Downing owes you a rather hefty sum."

  "Very hefty sum."

  "Fine," Win said. "You tell us what you know. We find him, no cost to you. When we do find him, you promise not to hurt him if he pays up."

  "And if he doesn't pay up?"

  Win grinned and held his hands out, palms up. "Who are we to interfere with the way you conduct your business?"

  B Man thought about it, but not for very long. "Okay, I can live with that," he said. "But I don't talk with the hired help around." He turned to Camouflage. "Go sit in the other room."

  "Why?"

  "Because if someone decides to torture you, you'll know nothing."

  That answer seemed to make perfect sense to Camouflage. He went into Myron's office without another word.

  "Why don't we sit?" Win suggested.

  They did so. B Man crossed his legs and started right in. "Downing is your basic gamble-a-holic," he began. "He had pretty good luck for a long time. That's a bad thing when a man has the itch. When his luck changed--as it must in the long run--he kept thinking he could win it back. They all do. When they have the sort of money that Downing has, I let them go. Let them dig their own grave. It's good for business. But at the same time, you have to keep an eye out. There is a fine line working here. You don't want them to end up digging to China either." He turned and looked at Myron. "You know what I'm saying?"

  Myron nodded. "China."

  "Right. Anyway, Downing started losing big. I'm talking very big here. He was never a prompt payer, but he was always good for it. I sometimes let the tab run as high as two-fifty or even three."

  "Hundred thousand?" Myron asked.

  "Yeah." B Man smiled. "You don't know any gamblers, do you?"

  Myron kept silent. He wasn't about to tell this slime bucket his life story.

  "It's as bad as alcohol or heroin," B Man went on. "They can't stop themselves. In some ways, it's even worse. People drink and do drugs to escape despair. Gambling has that element, too, but it also offers you the friendly hand of hope. You always got hope when you gamble. You always believe that you're just one bet away from turning it all around. It's a catch-twenty-two. If you got hope, you keep on gambling. But with gambling, there's always hope."

  "Very deep," Win said. "Let's get back to Greg Downing."

  "Simply put, Greg stops paying his tab. It runs up to half a million. I start putting some pressure on him. He tells me he's flat broke, but I shouldn't worry because he's signing some big endorsement deal that will net him zillions."

  The Forte deal, Myron thought. Greg's sudden change of heart about endorsement money made more sense now.

  "I asked him when this endorsement money will be coming in. He tells me in about six months. Six months? On a half million dollar debt and growing? I told him that's not good enough. He'd have to pay up now. He said he didn't have the money. So I ask for a show of good faith."

  Myron knew where this was going. "He shaved points."

  "Wrong. He was supposed to shave points. The Dragons were favored by eight over Charlotte. Downing was going to see to it that the Dragons won by less than eight. No big deal."

  "He agreed?"

  "Sure he did. The game was on Sunday. I dumped a ton on Charlotte. A ton."

  "And Greg never played," Myron finished for him.

  "You got it," B Man said. "The Dragons won by twelve. Okay, I figure Greg got hurt. Like the papers say. A freak injury, that's not his fault. Don't get me wrong. He's still responsible for what I lost. Why should I pay for his freak injury?" He paused to see if anyone was going to argue with his logic. No one bothered. "So I waited for Downing to call me, but he never did. I'm owed close to two million by now. Win, you know I can't just sit back with that kind of thing, right?"

  Win nodded.

  "When was the last time Greg made a payment to you?" Myron asked.

  "It's been a while. I don't know. Five, six months maybe."

  "Nothing more recent?"

  "Nothing."

  They talked a bit more. Esperanza, Big Cyndi, Camouflage, and Brick Wall came back into the room. Win and B Man changed the topic to martial art buddies they had in common. A few minutes later B Man and his entourage left. When the elevator door closed, Big Cyndi turned and smiled widely at Esperanza. Then she began to skip in a circle. The floor shook.

  Myron looked a question at Esperanza.

  "That big guy," Esperanza said, "the one who was with us in the other room."

  "What about him?"

  "He asked Cyndi for her phone number."

  Big Cyndi continued skipping with childlike abandon. The occupants of the floor beneath them were probably diving for cover like it was the last day of Pompeii. He turned to Win. "Did you catch the fact that Greg hadn't paid anything in months?"

  Win nodded. "Clearly the fifty thousand dollars he withdrew before his disappearance was not to pay off gambling debts."

  "So what was it for?"

  "To run, I imagine."

  "So he knew at least four days before the fact that he was going to take off," Myron said.

  "It would appear so."

  Myron thought about that for a moment. "Then the timing of the murder can't just be a coincidence. If Greg planned to disappear, it can't be a coincidence that the day he takes off is the day Liz Gorman gets killed."

  "Doubtful," Win agreed.

  "You think Greg killed her?"

  "The clues point in that direction," Win said. "I mentioned to you that the money had come from an account handled by Marty Felder. Perhaps Mr. Felder has an answer."

  Myron wondered about that. Big Cyndi suddenly stopped skipping. She hugged Esperanza and made a la-la noise. Young love. "If Felder knew Greg was going into hiding," Myron said, "why would he leave those messages on Greg's machine?"

  "Perhaps to throw us off. Or perhaps he did not know Greg's intent."

  "I'll call him," Myron said. "See if I can make an appointment for tomorrow."

  "You have a game tonight, do you not?"

  "Yes."

  "What time?"

  "Seven-thirty." Myron checked his watch. "But I need to leave pretty soon if I want to talk to Clip first."

  "I'll drive," Win said. "I'd like to meet this Mr. Arnstein."

  After they left, Esperanza went through the messages on the voice mail. Then she straightened out her desk. Her two photographs--one of her bearded collie Chloe getting Best in Breed at the Westchester Dog Show; the other of her as Little Pocahontas and Big Cyndi as Big Chief Mama, holding up their FLOW (Fabulous Ladies Of Wrestling) tag-team title belts--had been knocked askew by Cyndi's knees.

  As she stared at the photographs, something Myron said kept needling her. He was worried about timing. The timing of the murder. The timing of Downing's disappearance. But what about Liz Gorman's timing? What about the timing of her arrival in New York City? The bank in Tucson was robbed two months ago; Liz Gorman also started working for the Parkview Diner two months ago. A criminal on the run would want to get far away from the crime scene, yes, but to a place as populated as New York City? Why?

  The more Esperanza thought about it, the more she grew bewildered. There had to be a cause and effect at work here. There had to be something about the bank heist that made Liz Gorman come out this way. Esperanza chewed on this for another minute or two. Then she picked up the phone and called one of Myron and Win's closest contacts at the Bureau.

  "They need everything you got on the Raven Brigade bank heist in Tucson," Esperanza said. "Can you send me a copy of the file?"

  "You'll have it by tomorrow morning."

  Chapte
r 24

  Win and Myron shared a somewhat unusual passion for Broadway musicals. Right now, the stereo system in Win's Jag was pumping out the sound track from 1776. A Continental Congressman cried out, "Somebody better open up a window!" This led to a fierce argument over the merits of opening said window (it was "hot as hell in Philadelphia") vs. keeping them closed ("too many flies"). Interspersed in this argument, people were telling John Adams to sit down. History.

  "Who played the original Thomas Jefferson?" Win asked. He knew the answer. Life with Myron's friends was a nonstop quiz show.

  "Movie version or stage?"

  Win frowned. "I don't do movie versions."

  "Ken Howard," Myron answered.

  "Correct. What is Mr. Howard's most famous role?"

  "The coach on the White Shadow."

  "Correct again. The original John Adams?"

  "William Daniels."

  "Best known as?"

  "The obnoxious surgeon on St. Elsewhere."

  "The actress who portrayed Martha Jefferson?"

  "Betty Buckley. Best known as Abby on Eight Is Enough."

  Win smiled. "You are good."

  Myron stared out the window, the buildings and cars blurring into one pulsating mass, and thought about Jessica. Moving in with her. There was no reason not to. He loved her. She loved him. More than that, she had made the first move--the first time he could remember such a thing. In most relationships, one partner has more control than the other. It was just the natural order of things. Perfect balance was a hard thing to find. In their case, Jessica currently had the upper hand. Myron knew that--if he hadn't, Esperanza's constant references to his being "whipped" would surely have made him aware. It didn't mean he loved her more or Jessica loved him less. Or maybe it did. Myron wasn't sure anymore. What he did know for sure was that moments where Jessica made the move--where she was the one exposing herself--were rare. Myron wanted to embrace it, encourage it. He had waited a long time for her to say such words to him. But something held him back. Like with TC, there were a lot of factors pushing and pulling at him.

  His mind churned through the pros and cons, but no conclusions spewed forward. What he really wanted was to bounce his thoughts off someone. He deliberated best that way--by thinking out loud with a close friend. The problem was, who? Esperanza, his most dependable confidante, hated Jessica. Win...well, when it came to matters of the heart, Win was simply not your man; something in that nether region had shorted out a long time ago.

  Still Myron heard himself say, "Jessica asked me to move in."

  For a moment Win said nothing. Then: "Do you get a full share of the playoff money?"