by Bill Eidson
“Yeah, you’ve still got it,” Bannerman said. He gestured to the room, the equipment, the black belt. “But this boy is in some kind of shape.”
Over the phone, Lazar was bounced through the personnel office at Jansten Enterprises until finally a Ms. Barry told them that, “Geoff Mann is no longer employed by the company.” She told him Mann’s starting and ending employment dates and said that it was company policy to reveal no more.
“He left last week,” Lazar said to Bannerman. “Don’t know if he was fired or quit.”
“Getting more interesting,” Bannerman said.
So they went to Jansten Enterprises themselves and showed the receptionist their badges. Bannerman said, “We would like to speak to the president.”
“Are you sure you don’t want Security?”
“We’re sure,” Lazar said, cheerfully. “Tell him it’s in regard to a former employee, Geoff Mann.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “The acting president is Mr. Dern. I’ll call to see if he is in.”
She said into the phone. “Monica, the police are here to see Mr. Dern about Geoff Mann.”
After a few minutes, a cool-looking woman wearing white linen came out and walked them back to the executive offices. “Mr. Dern isn’t in,” the secretary said. “However, I talked with Mr. Jansten, and he agreed to meet with you.” She was quiet and professional, with short blond hair. They walked past a glassed-in conference room with a huge boardroom table, big enough for thirty people. Lazar found himself straightening his tie, and when he looked over at Bannerman, his partner winked. But he looked nervous, too.
Jansten’s secretary was a tougher sort and looked at both cops critically as she spoke into the intercom. “They’re here,” she said.
As they walked into Jansten’s office, Lazar heard her speak crisply to the other secretary. “Monica, Mr. Jansten is only in a few hours a day now, and we’ve got to nail down some of these dates.”
“I know, but Steve’s been busy, and hasn’t returned my calls—”
“Well, where is he?” the older woman asked.
Then Jansten waved them to the chairs. He was a powerful-looking old man with ruddy skin. “What’s Mann done now?” he boomed.
But as Lazar got closer, he noticed the weariness around Jansten’s eyes. The old man sat down heavily after shaking hands with both detectives.
Lazar began. “Mr. Jansten, would you know if Mr. Mann’s car was leased?”
“It was,” Jansten said. “In fact, I had them make a BMW available to him as sort of a ‘welcome to Boston’ gift.”
“Would you know if it has been repossessed?”
“I don’t. But it should have been by now if people are doing their jobs right. If Mann has a problem with that, he can talk with our attorneys. Did he send you concerning that?”
“No, he didn’t send us. Just a routine question.”
“Ah. The famous ‘routine question.’ What’s he done?”
“He may be a witness to something we’re investigating,” Lazar said, smiling. “The TV shows have made the routine question phrase a problem, but we really do have them sometimes.”
“Have you been to his apartment?”
“Yeah,” said Bannerman. “He’s not there.”
“Then how can I help you?”
“Do you know how we can get in touch with his family?”
“Maybe it’s in his personnel file. Give me your card, I’ll have it couriered over to you this afternoon.” A smile touched Jansten’s lips. “It would be pretty interesting to know what kind of family he had. Met one of his girlfriends once, beautiful young girl out in San Francisco. Spent some fund-raiser dinner whispering in my ear, ingratiating herself for his benefit. Kelly. Don’t know her last name. She said his parents died when he was young. Grew up with his grandparents. I would have figured wolves myself.”
“An aggressive guy?”
“Certainly. I encourage that around here.”
“So did he quit or did you let him go?”
Jansten hesitated the barest instant, his eyes momentarily blank. Lazar read the look: He saw it every day. Jansten wanted to tell his story, but he wanted to come out clean himself.
He told them about the rock climb, about Harrison’s fall, and how Dern’s wife had slapped Geoff. “I thought he was going to attack her.”
“Jesus,” Bannerman said. “Sounds violent for the upper echelons of American business.”
Jansten laughed. “You’ve got no idea, young man.”
“Is that why you fired Mann?” Lazar asked.
“Partially. That he would try such a stunt proved he wasn’t ready for the role. You probably know that he’s a sports nut. Could’ve been a pro athlete, the sport of his choosing. That’s a fine background for a salesman, but top executives need to demonstrate a little more balance. He’s made some money for us, though, no doubt about that.”
“But you let him go anyhow.”
“Sure. It was him or Dern. And Dern has the brains, the balls, and the maturity to make this company thrive. Mann’s got the first two attributes, but when it’s all said and done, he’s a nut.”
“You think Mann saw it that way? Him or Dern?”
Jansten smiled, tiredly. “If Geoff knows anything, he knows who he has to beat.”
“Could we speak to Mr. Dern?”
“Talk to his secretary, have her set something up. When you see him tell him that I’m looking for him myself.”
Chapter 28
Just after three, Steve walked into a striptease bar in the Combat Zone.
He watched a surprisingly pretty young woman take her clothes off onstage before a hooker came up behind him and pressed herself against his back. “Like what you see?” she said into his ear. She put her arms around his waist as if they were old friends.
He nodded.
“Hard not to, isn’t it?” She looked up at the other woman and slid her hand along his leg. She hesitated, perhaps seeing some resistance in his face. She drew away. “Are you a cop?”
“Just a guy looking to get laid,” he said.
She laughed. “Guess that’s clear. Sure, let’s go.”
He followed her onto the street and turned up toward Chinatown. Steve was aware of the way it looked, following this woman with jet black hair and a tight pink miniskirt down the street. On one level, it embarrassed him. But mostly he was impatient with the wasted time.
She said, “You got some cash, honey, for the man? We get there, he’s going to want fifty for the room.” She said, with studied casualness, “I’m going to want double that, unless you want something special. Just say it if you do.”
Once in the apartment building, a tough wiry-looking man wearing jeans and black T-shirt drifted out of the lower-floor unit and looked Steve over carefully. He snapped his fingers. “Rent’s due.”
Steve paid, and followed the hooker up the stairs. She was even more overtly provocative, swinging her hips and looking back at him, saying, “This is gonna be so good.”
He couldn’t help but wonder if anyone ever really believed her.
The room was musty smelling, with cracked plaster walls. It was dominated by a huge platform bed. She slid the window open, smiled blankly at him, then started to pull the tube top off. He put his hand on hers and said, “Wait. Let me tell you what I want.”
She nodded, warily.
“I want to buy a handgun.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Yeah?”
Steve gave her a hundred and fifty dollars. “That’s for the sex we didn’t have, plus a bonus. I’ll give you another hundred when you hook me up with whoever has one to sell. I’m looking for a revolver, a thirty-eight or three-fifty-seven.”
She sighed. “How about we just keep it simple and fuck? You look like a nice guy, what do you need a gun for?”
“Indulge me.”
She took a piece of chewing gum from her purse and looked at him appraisingly as she peeled the wrapper. “I thought you were a li
ttle different from the average guy I see around here. You sure you’re not a cop?”
“Positive.”
“Lift your shirt.” She felt along his chest and back, apparently looking for a wire. She then asked him to stand, and she checked him out thoroughly and perfunctorily. All her flirtatious behavior was gone. “All right. I know a guy. I don’t want Tommy downstairs to know I’m doing this, okay?” So wait here with me a few more minutes, which is about all it takes usually, then walk down past him with a guilty look on your face and go back to the bar. I’ll call this guy, see if he can meet you.”
She put the cash in her purse. “Got to admit, this is easier.”
An hour, and three dancers later, she slid up beside Steve at the bar. She ran her hands over him again, checking him out. She kissed him loudly on the cheek and whispered, “Got something for me?”
She held his hand as she walked him to one of the tables in the back, where the lights were even lower. A middle-aged man with a fringe of gray hair sat looking at the girl onstage. He ignored Steve and said to the hooker, “You know the chick on the runway, Jenny?”
“Sure. You like Chastity?”
He laughed. “That her name?”
“Yeah. Hey, I’ll introduce you to her.” The woman grinned and held both of Steve’s hands in hers as he palmed her the hundred. “It’s my new sideline. You two should talk.”
“I should, huh? How well you know this guy?”
“Well enough. Twice now, I checked, and he’s clean as a whistle.” She bumped her hip against Steve and grinned.
“Huh.” The guy pointed to the chair beside him, his eyes still intent on the dancer. “We’ll talk once I can concentrate.”
Steve sat down and Jenny sauntered away. The gun dealer looked like an aging hippie: His gray hair was long on the sides and he wore wire-rim glasses and a Grateful Dead T-shirt. Steve ordered himself another beer and sipped it until the dancer left the stage wearing only a cowboy hat.
The man turned to him. “Okay, this is how it works. We rent a room, which you pay for, and I’ll show you the stuff. You want it, I’m gonna want to see cash right then. You’re gonna need five hundred, minimum. I’ve got some absolutely top-rate pieces here. Don’t waste my time if you haven’t got that on you now.”
“I’ve got money.”
The dealer nodded. “Let’s do it.”
On the street, the man stopped at a Cadillac convertible and took a big black case from the trunk. They continued on to a hotel that smelled of roach powder. The registration clerk was protected by Plexiglas.
The dealer rapped on the window. “One of your finest.”
“You got it, Ed.”
Upstairs, he spread the weapons out on the bed. “Okay, you got your automatics. Nice Beretta there, that’s a nine-millimeter, fifteen-shot magazine. This Glock’s got a seventeen-shot. Or that Colt, that’s a thirty-eight with a seven-shot.” His glasses winked as he looked at Steve. “Don’t know what sort of application you have in mind.”
Steve didn’t answer and Ed continued. “An auto’s fast, but you’ve got those shells ejecting. You’re gonna want to pick them up later. That might be a drag. I got a silencer for the Colt if you want. This Uzi I modified myself so it’s fully automatic. Pull the trigger, it’ll squirt enough lead to take all your troubles away. Again, you’re gonna have a ton of shells strewn about.”
He threw a few revolvers on the bed. “If that’s a problem, these will solve it, but you can’t use a silencer. This Colt King Cobra’s got a nice short barrel. It’s a three-fifty-seven, six-shot. Or if you’re not worried about concealment, this Smith and Wesson forty-five with the long barrel will take care of big game.” He took out a small gun that fit in his palm. “Two-shot American Derringer twenty-two, good for close work.” He swept his hand across the bed with obvious pride. The room smelled of gun oil. “What’s your pleasure?”
Steve hefted the guns and chose the Colt revolver and the derringer. He paid for them and two boxes of ammunition for each.
“How do I get in touch with you if I want something else?”
The dealer raised his eyebrows. “Just what are you into?” He went on, clearly not expecting an answer. “You want me, just call the front desk here and leave a number for Ed from … Mr. Grim. That’s what I’ll call you. I can get you rifles, military weapons. You need plastic explosives, I can get C-4.1 can get you detonators, dynamite, hand grenades. If it’s in the armament business, I can get it. I’ve got access to military, police, and a bunch of wacko private parties you wouldn’t believe.” He put Steve’s guns into a heavy paper bag and handed them over. “Buddy, you just made an excellent purchase.” He fanned the cash Steve had given him. “And I’m going to get to know that Chastity better. Life is good.”
There was a heavy set black man sitting in the cockpit of Steve’s boat when he returned. His stomach tightened and he thought, Geoff’s got a new partner.
The Colt was loaded and Steve shifted the paper bag to his left hip so he could draw the .357 with his right hand if the guy started anything.
Steve said, “What are you doing on my boat?”
The man stood up. “Mr. Dern?”
“That’s right.”
“I’m Detective Lazar.” He showed a badge. “I’ve got some questions about Geoff Mann.”
Chapter 29
What a long day, Geoff thought. It was just after six in the evening. He had been driving around for so long, it felt as if a drill bit were spinning between his shoulder blades. Just driving up and down the state highways, killing time. The van stunk of coffee, take-out food, and sweat.
He had the van jammed way back behind a hedge. The house and driveway were visible through the brush. The place was secluded, private. Something he had noticed the first time he was there. Back then, it had been a mere detail.
A bedroom for him alone would be nice, he thought. But he knew he would have to watch Carly. Make sure she didn’t hurt Lisa. Geoff knew Carly wanted him to tell her it was all right, that he didn’t care about the scar.
But he did.
He winced whenever he looked at her.
Although he was proud of the way she had fought, the way she held on to Lisa, he found himself thinking more and more about how Lisa had fooled them. The way she had fought Carly and Jammer.
Damned impressive.
He looked back. Lisa was staring at him, murder in her eyes. He couldn’t blame her. Tape over her mouth, hands bound. She was back in the shit again.
“Hey, a shower for both of you,” he said.
“For her?” Carly asked.
Geoff smiled to himself. She was such a kid. For her too, daddy?
Jansten’s car turned into the driveway. The old man was alone.
“For everybody.” Geoff put on a baseball cap and pulled the brim low. “Right after he turns off his alarm system.”
When Jansten opened the front door, his face was already cast in an expression of impatience. “What?” he said, before recognizing Geoff.
Geoff raised the gun.
Jansten reacted fast for an old man. He tried to shove the door closed, but Geoff pushed his way into the foyer.
“What the hell are you doing!”
Geoff put the gun to Jansten’s forehead.
Jansten blanched, but his voice was strong and contemptuous. “Get the hell out of my house.”
“No boardroom here, Jansten. Just me and my gun.”
“Get out!”
Geoff punched him once just under the rib cage. The blow knocked the breath out of Jansten. Geoff waited, saying nothing, as Jansten’s face turned bright red and he gasped for breath. Geoff thought of Raul, peering at Jammer. Geoff felt something close to puzzlement. Was this what he had become?
Finally the old man said, “I don’t know what you’ve done—I didn’t tell them anything.”
“Tell who?”
“I had nothing to tell them.”
“Who?” Geoff prodded him with the
gun.
“The police.”
“What police?”
Jansten looked confused and frightened, although he was trying to hide it. He shook his head.
Geoff cuffed him with an open palm. “Who? What did they want?”
“Two detectives.”
“A black guy and a white guy?”
Jansten nodded as he covered the side of his face with his hand. “They came to the office this morning, wouldn’t tell me why. They just said it was routine. I just told them you didn’t work for us anymore.”
Geoff’s mouth was dry. Those two cops.
He returned to Jansten. The man was looking at him with bright, shrewd eyes. Trying to figure out just how much trouble he was in.
Jansten said. “I don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into, and I don’t want to know. If you need cash, I can probably scare up a thousand or so dollars here and then you should just go. I won’t pursue this because I’ll know that you could always come back. I won’t tell a soul.”
Geoff said, “Are you expecting company tonight or tomorrow? A cleaning lady?”
Geoff saw the old man thinking so he shoved him hard against the wall. “Who?” he shouted. “Right now, who?”
Jansten shook his head, apparently too frightened to lie. “No one.”
Geoff shoved Jansten to the phone. “You’re going to leave a message with the service that your secretary is to cancel all your appointments for the next two days and to have no one disturb you with phone calls. That you’re not feeling well and you need the rest.”
Jansten tapped out the number with a shaking hand. Geoff listened in, his ear next to the receiver. Jansten’s voice had a quavery sound and the woman taking the message said, comfortingly, “You sure don’t sound good, Mr. Jansten. You should go right to bed and take it easy.”
“Good idea,” Geoff said, after hanging up the phone. “Let’s go upstairs.”