He could tell she was nervous. As well she should be. She knew she had something he wanted very much, and also that he was the only buyer likely to come along. Thus in one sense this could be the deal of a lifetime, and in another a deal she dared not screw up.
Mr. G had authorized payment of one hundred fifty thousand dollars, a very low price for such an object. Hank figured it would be worth close to a million to the four or five fanatical collectors who could afford it. Certainly no less than eight hundred thou. But the Señora had no way of knowing that.
He'd prepared himself for the discussion by bringing along a catalogue of a high profile dealer that featured the so-called Göring Industrial Dagger fabricated by the Solingen firm, Alcoso. The price, shown beneath the picture and description was $100,000. When Hank showed her the catalogue entry, he didn't mention the fact that the original blade was broken and the replacement blade was made in the 1960s.
"This is the only comparable dagger in private hands. As you can see, Señora, it's magnificent...and yet quite different."
"So what are you offering me?"
"One hundred fifty thousand cash. Which I think you'll agree is an excellent wholesale price since the catalogue price I've shown you is retail."
"A tempting offer, but I'll have to think about it."
"Of course. But please remember, I can only stay a week and I must have alterations made on the replica before we make the exchange. The sooner I ship it out, the sooner I'll get it back...along with the cash." He gave her a meaningful look.
"I'll call you noon tomorrow."
"I'll be here waiting."
"Terrific, Hank!" DiPinto was bubbling. "A magnificent performance! I had no idea you'd handle her so well."
Something about DiPinto's confident smirk told Hank it was time to make his move.
"If you don't mind, Luis, I'd like my twenty thousand dollars."
DiPinto stared at him. "Huh? What are you talking about?"
"I was to receive ten thousand for authenticating the dagger and ten more for negotiating its purchase. Now that I've done both, I'd like to be paid."
"Well, of course." DiPinto looked a little deflated. "Thing is, she hasn't accepted your offer yet."
"Then pay me ten thousand now, and the second ten thousand tomorrow when she does."
DiPinto squinted. "What's the matter, Hank? What's bothering you?"
"I've fulfilled my part. Now it's time for you to fulfill yours."
"You seem upset."
"Shouldn't I be? Wouldn't you be upset if you knew you'd been lied to and tricked, used by a bunch of chantas? Or are you guys something else, foreign agents maybe, setting me up as the fall guy when you do whatever you're planning to do?" He moved closer to DiPinto, stared into his eyes. "Like I said, Luis, I've done my part. Pay me now so I can go home. Because, you see, I've a pretty good idea of who you people are. And though I don't know what kind of double-cross you have in mind, I'm not sticking around to take the fall."
DiPinto's confidence seemed suddenly to drain away.
He sees he underestimated me. Now watch him wriggle!
"Sorry, Hank, I don't know what you're talking about."
"Fine! You want to play games, I'll pack up and leave right now."
"But the deal hasn't been completed!"
Right! And now that I've bonded with the seller, you can't bring it off without me.
"Complete it yourself...if you can," Hank said, opening a bureau drawer, tossing underwear and shirts onto the bed.
"You're serious?"
"Since you're not going to pay me, yeah!"
"For God's sakes! Of course we'll pay you! I'll bring you your ten thousand within the hour."
Hank went to the closet, retrieved his suitcase, laid it out on the bed and began to pack.
"Not good enough. I don't trust you, Luis. I haven't since I discovered Luisa Kim's a fake." He turned on DiPinto. "Don't sputter and don't deny it. I followed her to her acting class, then to lunch with her good friend, Laura."
"Followed her?"
"Yeah, see, I used to be a private detective. Seems your background check didn't go nearly deep enough." He folded his one suit into the suitcase. "Did I mention I also found Joyería Rosenfeld and had a nice chat with Max? I know Gerhard Adler made the replica. He's one of only three people in the world who could have, and I checked with the other two.
Adler lives in Israel. That was a pretty good hint. So you see, Luis, I have an idea of the parameters, and I don't feel like playing—what's the Yiddish word for the guy left holding the bag? 'The schlemiel?' In Chicago we call him 'the sucker.'"
"I think we should sit down and talk, Hank. I can explain."
"What? That you've been setting me up? I'm not interested in being sweet-talked, particularly by you. There's only one person I'll listen to now. Not that I trust her, you understand. But at least I'll listen to what she has to say."
"Marci?"
"That's right. If you want me to stay, get her sweet little ass down here. She'll have to tell me everything, own up to the scheme and everything connected to it. Otherwise I'm leaving. You've got a phone. Call her right now and put me on."
DiPinto studied him as if evaluating whether he was serious. Then he nodded. "I'll see what I can do. Excuse me while I consult my team."
Hank continued to pack even after Luis left the room.
Three minutes later there was a light knock on the door.
Hank opened it. Marci stood there smiling.
"Hi, Hank." He gazed at her. "Yeah, that's right. My 'sweet little ass,' as you so nicely put it, has been down here the entire time."
Chapter Seventeen
COUNTERPUNCH
It had been raining since dawn, a nasty cold late autumn rain. The sky was slate grey, the streets slick. Drivers, it seemed to Marta, were steering even more recklessly than usual.
She and Rolo had just left the safe house in Barracas. They'd stashed Andrés Quintana and his friend, Miguel Giménez, there and were now on their way to the Homicide Bureau to get Chief Ricardi's permission to target Liliana Méndez.
Marta turned to Rolo. "Timing's crucial. We have to approach Liliana when she's most vulnerable."
"How 'bout when she's in the sack with her girlfriend?"
Marta smiled; she'd noted Rolo's leer. Like most macho cops, he found lesbians fascinating. He had the car radio tuned to Radio La Colifata. An old man, obsessed with conspiracies, was babbling out his paranoia:
"You have to look beyond the obvious for the one you can't see," the man was saying, his cracked voice breaking to a whisper. "You know the one I mean, the Wizard!"
"Please turn it off," Marta said. "Life is crazy enough."
Rolo switched to a tango station.
"Still...the old codger may have a point."
"You mean if Charbonneau's 'the Wizard,' why are we wasting our time going after small fry?”
“I know you're doing this step by step, Marta. But it seems like every time we learn something new, the conspiracy grows even bigger."
Marta thought the same thing, which was why, while Judge Lantini was questioning Andrés and Miguel, she'd phoned Shoshana, her Mossad contact.
"You helped me the other day. Now I'm returning the favor," she told Shoshana, relaying Andrés' story of how Viera, believing the photos of his wife with Sylvia were real, had beaten her up.
"Thank you!" Shoshana told her. "At least we accomplished something with those pictures!"
"What do you know about a group that calls itself the Immaculates?"
There was a pause. "We know a few things about them," Shoshana said. "But nothing I can tell you. Sorry."
Ricardi didn't react much when Marta described how Liliana had beaten up Raúl. Perhaps on some level, Marta thought, he believed Raúl deserved it. But when she described how Liliana had extorted money from Miguel Giménez, sweat broke out on the top of Ricardi's shaved skull.
"She's everything I hate in a cop," he growled
. "You have my blessing to take her down."
"She's a champion boxer, Chief," Rolo said. "She's not going to turn meek and surrender."
"All the better." Ricardi's face was filled with gloat. "I'll loan you four of my toughest guys."
Marta shook her head. "Thanks, Chief...but Rolo and I can handle this."
Liliana's girlfriend, Bianca Portela, lived on a quiet respectable block not far from the new National Library.
"Bianca just got home," Rolo told Marta on the phone. "You're not going to believe this. She roared up on a big black Kawasaki Ninja, same model as Raúl's."
Could Liliana really be that stupid?
"Does it have Raúl's plate number?"
"There's a temporary cardboard plate on it. I'd check the serial number, but she parked right in front of her building. If she sees me snooping, it'll blow our plan."
"Still, we have to find out. If it's Raúl's, we've got Liliana cold."
As astonished as Marta was, she imagined a possible chain of events: after the beating, while Liliana's buddies were breaking Raúl's hands, she and Bianca took his Kawasaki out for a thrill ride. Bianca liked it so much, she begged Liliana to let her keep it a while before they turned it over to a chop-shop. Liliana agreed. How could she resist the ardent entreaties of her lover? Besides, Bianca looked hot perched on it in her skin-tight leather pants and sharp black leather jacket! So Liliana glued a temporary plate number over Raúl's, then told Bianca she could use it to zip around town for a couple days. Vargas, after all, was in the hospital...so who the hell would know?
The sky had cleared when Marta arrived at the house, a flat-roof three story building subdivided into flats. The late autumn sun, setting earlier each day, created long inky shadows on the sidewalks as people hurried home from work.
Marta immediately spotted the black Kawasaki parked in front. She found Rolo sitting in his car across the street.
"Bianca went out an hour ago," Rollo told her. "Came back carrying groceries."
"Good! They'll be eating in."
"How'll we know when they're making love?"
"We won't. It's better if we can catch them asleep."
Rolo pointed out Bianca's windows on the top floor.
"We'll hit them an hour after the lights go out," Marta told him. "Let's hope Liliana's tired...after a long strenuous day of law enforcement work." She glanced at Rolo. "I've been thinking about what you said when that nut was talking about 'the Wizard.' We're not allowed to investigate Charbonneau for obstruction, but neither Ricardi nor Judge Lantini ever told me we couldn't investigate him for murder."
At nine-thirty a taxi pulled up. Liliana got out wearing a track suit, carrying a gym bag.
"She's been working out," Rolo said. "Her gun and uniform are probably in the bag."
"I hope her boxing gloves are in there. If the lab finds traces of Raúl's blood, that'll be another way to pressure her." They watched as Liliana started toward the door, then suddenly stopped. She stared at the Kawasaki, put her hands on her hips, shook her head, then whipped out her cell phone. Moments later Bianca came out the front door. As she approached, Liliana pointed at the motorcycle and gestured with displeasure. Bianca hung her head like a whipped dog, then mounted the Kawasaki. She revved the engine and took off down the street. Three minutes later she reappeared from the other direction, parked the motorcycle in the shadows beside the building, gave it a loving pat, then returned to Liliana. Liliana embraced her, then the two of them went inside.
"Perfect!" Rolo said. "Now I can check the serial number."
Marta pulled a penlight from the glove compartment, said she'd do it. Approaching the motorcycle, she felt her pulse speed up. The machine was still warm from Bianca's sprint around the block. Kneeling beside it, Marta located the serial number, jotted it down, then paused under a street lamp to check it against the number in her notebook.
A perfect match! Marta was exultant. Liliana's police career was as good as finished!
Rolo, being a narc, wanted to bust in. Marta disagreed. The best way, she told him, would be to catch Liliana unaware, separate her from her girlfriend, confront her with the stolen motorcycle, then press her to talk.
"No gun play. Everyone stays cool. The calmer she is, the more clearly she'll see there's no way out."
"And if she chooses to fight?"
"We'll neutralize her. Let's hope it doesn't come to that."
She instructed Rolo to find the building manager, obtain a floor plan of the apartment, and keys to front and rear doors.
An hour later he returned with the keys, a freehand sketch of the layout, soft drinks and a bag of empanadas. Studying the sketch while they ate, they agreed on a plan, a way of arresting the women before they realized what was happening.
The lights in most of the windows went out shortly after eleven. There was a glow in the bedroom window for another half hour, the flicker of a TV. After the TV went off, they waited forty-five minutes, then moved to their respective entrances.
Marta crept up the stairs to the rear door, waited behind it to be certain all was quiet. After five minutes she inserted her key and cautiously turned the lock.
Just inside she caught the aroma of broiled beef. The women had dined on steak. She took off her shoes, placed them beside the rear door, then moved into the kitchen where the cooking smells were still strong.
She paused again to listen. Hearing the floor creak in one of the front rooms, she understood Rolo had entered safely through the front.
She waited for her eyes to adjust to the dark, then crept toward the hall. There was a patch of dim light on the floor just outside the kitchen, cast through one of the front windows that faced the street. She paused, heard breathing, saw a shadow move. It was Rolo, also in his socks, pistol extended. When he turned to her, they were just a foot apart.
They peered down the hallway. There was a closed door in the center and an open door at the far end. According to the floor plan, that would be the bedroom; the other door opened to the bath.
Marta was about to move forward, when she felt Rolo's hand on her arm. She turned to him. He frowned, touched his ear and shook his head to signal he found it too quiet. They froze and listened some more. After a minute, hearing nothing, Rolo shook his head again. He wasn't happy.
Since it wasn't possible the women had gone out, they were either very quiet sleepers or had heard them and were now frozen in the bedroom waiting to spring at them the moment they entered. Maybe I should call this off.
Just then Marta heard footsteps overhead, followed by the sound of a door opening above.
"They're up on the roof!" she whispered. "Someone's coming down!"
Together they backed into the living room. Marta remembered too late that she'd left her shoes by the back door. No time to retrieve them; she could hear the key turning in the lock.
The person who entered apparently did not notice the shoes, for she didn't stop at the door or even bother to turn on the light. Rather she moved swiftly through the kitchen, then into the hall. Marta caught a glimpse of her from the rear. Though she'd never seen Bianca Portela, she knew the slender naked woman turning into the bathroom was not Liliana.
Rolo signalled they should move into place to capture Bianca when she came out. They approached the bathroom quietly, taking up positions on either side of the door. When the toilet flushed, Marta tensed. The moment the door opened, Rolo grabbed hold of Bianca, then spun her around while covering her mouth with his hand.
The young woman was terrified. She struggled to free herself. Marta, afraid she'd bite Rolo's hand, moved close.
"We're cops," she whispered. She picked up the odor of Liliana's cologne on Bianca's naked flesh. "We're here for Liliana. She's on the roof, right?"
When Bianca tried to kick out at her, Marta stuck her pistol into her belly.
"Stop struggling or I'll shoot you. You stole a motorcycle. You're going to prison."
Bianca's eyes enlarged, then she went limp.
<
br /> "Does Liliana have a gun up there?"
Bianca shook her head.
"Is it in the bedroom?"
Bianca didn't move.
"Let's go see."
Marta led the way to the bedroom. Rolo, following, held Bianca high so her feet couldn't touch the floor. Marta spotted Liliana's gym bag. She found Liliana's revolver inside and also a pair of boxing gloves. She sniffed the gloves, stripped a pillow case off a pillow and stuffed them in. She emptied the revolver and pocketed the bullets. The bedding stank of Liliana's cologne.
"I'm going to ask you a couple questions," she said. "Rolo will uncover your mouth so you can answer. If you speak in anything above a whisper, he's going to hurt you. Understand?"
Bianca nodded.
"Put her face-down on the bed," Marta instructed Rolo. Then, when he did: "Push her mouth into the pillow and grab her by her hair. Now force her head down and remove your hand slowly from her mouth. If she makes a sound, smother her!"
When Rolo had Bianca in position, Marta knelt beside her.
"Where on the roof?" she whispered. "In the hammock?"
Bianca didn't move.
She's wondering how I know.
"Is the boxing ring set up?"
Bianca blurted something into the pillow.
Marta turned to Rolo. "Let her speak."
Rolo raised Bianca's head a fraction.
"Fuck!"
Rolo crushed her head back down, stifling her cry.
Marta was furious. "Stupid bitch!" Then, to Rolo: "Tie her up and gag her."
She didn't know whether Liliana had heard, but figured that even if she had, she'd have no reason to suspect intruders were in the flat. Still she might come down to find out why Bianca hadn't returned.
Marta tip-toed back to the kitchen, slipped into her shoes, then waited just behind the door, poised with her pistol extended in case Liliana decided to come down.
After five minutes, she figured the women had been asleep, Bianca had slipped out of bed to use the bathroom, and Liliana, still sleeping, hadn't yet noticed she was gone.
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