Deal Breaker (1995)

by Harlan - Myron 01 Coben

  The stairs did not creak. They cracked. Myron kept waiting for them to collapse. On the landing there was only one door. It was open. Myron knocked on the wall and peeked in.

  Myron called out, 'Hello.'

  A man he assumed was Brian Sanford came to the door. All smiles.

  Dressed in a beige suit that had last been pressed during the Bay of Pigs.

  'You the guy who left the message?'

  'Yes.'

  The office was a minicasino. No desk but a roulette table. A one-armed bandit in the corner. Decks of cards everywhere. Souvenir dice, the kind that have a hole drilled in them, littered the floor. So did racing forms. Keno cards too.

  The man put out his hand. 'Brian Sanford. But everyone calls me Blackjack. You know who gave me that nickname?'

  Myron shook his head.

  'Frankie. That's what I call Frank Sinatra. Frankie. Not Frank. Frankie, I call him.' He paused, waited.

  Myron said, 'Good nickname.'

  'See, Frankie and me were playing at the Sands one night, right, and I was on one of my streaks, you know. And Frankie turns to me and says, "Yo, check out Blackjack. He can't lose." Just like that. Frankie says, "Hey, Blackjack." Out of nowhere. The name stuck. Now everyone calls me Blackjack. All 'cause of Frankie.'

  'Great story,' Myron said.

  'Yeah, well, you know how it is. So what can I do for you, Mr . . . ?'

  'Olson. Merlin Olson.'

  Blackjack smiled knowingly. 'Okay, I can play it that way. Have a seat, Mr Olson.'

  Myron sat.

  'But before we start, Mr Olson, I have to tell you one thing right up front.'

  He was holding dice in his hand, moving them around in his hands the way some people do with those Chinese balls that are supposed to help circulation.

  'What's that?'

  'I'm a very busy man. Lots of big stuff going on right now. You know how I started in this business?'

  Myron shook his head.

  'I used to be chief of security for Caesars Palace in Vegas. Head chief. You know how it is. I was in Vegas, right? But Donny - that's what I call Donald'

  Trump, Donny - Donny asked me to head up security for his first hotel on the strip. Then he started nagging me to set up the Taj Mahal's security. I told him, I said, "Donny, I got too much on my plate, you know?"'

  Myron looked up. A small crop plane flew overhead, leaving mucho cow manure in its wake.

  'So my problem is this, you see. I got a meeting tomorrow morning with Steve Wynn. First thing, seven a.m. sharp. Great guy, Stevie.

  Morning guy. Up at five every day. You know he's practically blind? Got cataracts or something. He keeps it hidden. Only tells his closest friend. So anyway Stevie wants me to do something for him. Normally I'd tell him no, but it's a personal favor and Stevie's a good friend. Not like Donny. I'm not crazy about Donny. Thinks he's some hot stud now that he's got Maria.'

  'Mr Blackjack--'

  'Please,' he said throwing up his hands, 'just call me Blackjack.'

  'I'd like to ask you a few questions, uh, Blackjack. I need your particular expertise on an important matter.'

  He nodded. Very understanding. He didn't hitch up his pants importantly, but he should have. 'What's this all about?'

  'You performed some work for a friend of mine recently,' Myron said.

  'Mr Otto Burke.'

  A big smile now. 'Sure. Otto. Swell kid. Smart as a whip. He calls me whenever he comes down.'

  Probably calls him Ottie, Myron thought.

  'You gave him a magazine a few days ago. An issue of Nips.'

  Blackjack looked wary now. He rolled the dice on the table. A three.

  'What about it?'

  'We need to know how you located it.'

  'Who is "we"?'

  'I work with Mr Burke.' Even saying it made Myron feel nauseous.

  'So why didn't Ken call? He's the usual contact.'

  Myron leaned forward. Conspiratorial. 'This is bigger than Ken, Blackjack.

  We don't feel anyone can be trusted with this but you.'

  He nodded. Again very understanding.

  'Frankly, Blackjack - and this has to remain hush-hush.'

  'Of course.'

  'You're our first choice to replace Ken. But we know how busy you are.'

  His eyes gleamed a bit. 'I appreciate that, Mr Olson, but for someone like Otto Burke, I could try to open--'

  Let's talk about this case first, okay? How did you come across the magazine?'

  The wary look again. 'Don't take this the wrong way,' he said, 'but how do I know you work with Otto? How do I know you're not some schmo off the street?'

  Myron smiled. I knew it.'

  'What?'

  'I told Otto you were the right guy for the job. You're not sloppy. You're careful. We like that. We need that.'

  Blackjack shrugged. He picked up the dice, gave another roll. Snake eyes.

  'I'm a professional,' he said.

  'Clearly,' Myron agreed. 'So why don't you call Otto yourself on the private line? He'll confirm everything. I'm sure you know the number.'

  That slowed him down a bit. He swallowed, trying to disguise it, looked, around like a cornered rabbit. Myron could see the wheels churning. 'Uh, no reason to bother Otto with this,' Blackjack said. 'You know how he hates that. I can tell you're an honest Joe. Besides, how would you know about the magazine if Otto hadn't told you?'

  Myron shook his head. 'You're an amazing man, Blackjack.'

  He waved a hand of modesty.

  'How did you find the magazine?' Myron asked.

  'Shouldn't we talk about my fee? On the phone you said something about ten grand.'

  'Otto said you were a trustworthy guy. He said to bill him through Ken, Whatever you think is fair.'

  Another nod. He picked up the dice. Rolled again. Another thre Practice, practice. 'I didn't find the magazine,' Blackjack said. 'It found me.'

  'What do you mean?'

  'I was hired to do a job. Part of it was to send out copies of that mag to some people.'

  'Was Christian Steele one of those people?'

  'Yup. That's how I got suspicious. I mean, the envelopes were given to me already addressed and sealed. I didn't recognize any of the names except Christian's. Otto had already put out word he wanted anything, anything on Steele. So I opened it up and took a peek. That's when I saw the picture.'

  'Who hired you to mail out the magazines?'

  Blackjack placed one chip on red, one chip on odd. He spun the wheel. 'You wanna put down a couple of chips?'

  'No. Who hired you?'

  'Well, that's the weird part. I don't know. I got this big package in the mail with very specific instructions. Plus cash. But no name.'

  'Any return address?'

  'Nope. Just a postmark.'

  'From where?'

  'Right here in Atlantic City. I got it about ten, twelve days ago.'

  The roulette wheel stopped. Twenty-two. Black.

  Blackjack said, 'Damn.'

  'Do you still have the instructions?'

  'Yeah, sure.' He opened a drawer and handed him a piece of paper.

  Here.'

  The letter had been typed:

  Dear Mr Sanford, For the sum of $5,000 (plus expenses) I would like you to perform the following services:

  1. Enclosed find seven envelopes. Two of them should be mailed from thecampus mail box at Reston University on Friday. The other three should be mailed from a post office box in their respective towns.

  2. Please mail out the following New Jersey Bell literature to each personon the list at the same time.

  3. Please arrange a phone number in the 201 area code, one that will workon Return Call. This number should be immediately disconnected should anyone call it back or answer it. I would like you to hook up an answering machine with the enclosed tape to that phone. I would then like you to make a call to each of the numbers listed below from that number. On the first two nights - Saturday and Sunday -you w
ill simply call repeatedly, hold the line when they answer, and say nothing until they hang up. On Monday, you will call and say the following: 'Enjoy the magazine. Come and get me. I survived.' Please make your voice sound female and vague. (As you know, there are phones that can disguise voices and make them sound female.) 4. Enclosed is a money order for $3,000. Upon completion of this exercise Iwill contact you personally on or around the ninth of the month and pay off the remaining $2,000 plus expenses.

  My name must remain anonymous. Thank you for understanding.

  Myron looked up. 'I assume the New Jersey Bell literature explained Return Call.'

  Nod.

  'Who were the seven people?'

  Blackjack shrugged. The dice were rolled yet again. Another snake eyes.

  The guy had the touch. 'I don't remember. Christian was one. Some dean was another. I mailed another from a town called Glen Rock.'

  'To a Gary Grady.'

  'Yeah, that's the name. I also mailed three from New York.'

  'One of those to Junior Horton?'

  'Uh, yeah, I think so. Junior. That rings a bell.'

  'And the last one?'

  'Some other place in New Jersey. Near Glen Rock.'

  Myron stopped. 'Ridgewood?'

  Yeah. Something-wood anyway. A woman's name, I remember because all the rest were men.'

  Myron said, 'Carol Culver?'

  He thought a moment. 'Yeah. That's it. A name with two Cs.'

  Myron's shoulders slumped.

  'Hey, buddy, you all right?'

  Fine,' he said softly. 'What about the phone calls?'

  'The numbers were on another page. I threw them away when I finished.

  I called Steele and hung up a few times. By the time I called him back to give him the message calls, the line was disconnected. Guess he'd moved.'

  Myron nodded. Christian had moved from the campus to the condo.

  'The guy in New York - Junior - he was never home so I never reached him either. The others all got hang-ups and then the message calls.'

  'How many of them used Return Call?'

  'Just two. Christian and the guy from Glen Rock. It wouldn't have worked for the guys in New York anyhow. Return Call only works for that area code.'

  'Have you heard from your client yet?'

  'Nope. And yesterday was the ninth. I tell you, he better not stiff Blackjack Sanford.' Another mental pants-hitch. 'If he knows what's good for him.'

  'Uh-huh. Anything else you can tell me?'

  'About this case? Nope. Hey, you wanna go over to Merv's? They know me over there. I can get us on a good table. Play a little blackjack maybe.

  Watch the legend in action.'

  Tempting, Myron thought. Like having electrolysis performed on his testicles. 'Maybe some other time.'

  'Yeah, okay. Say, how much you think I should bill Otto for? Like you said, I want to be fair.'

  'Oh, I'd bill him for the full amount.'

  'The whole ten Gs?'

  'Yes. You've been very helpful, Blackjack. Thank you.'

  'Yeah, take care. Come by anytime.'

  'Oh, one more thing.'

  'What's that?'

  Myron said, 'Mind if I use your bathroom?'

  It was ten-thirty when Myron arrived at Paul Duncan's house. Lights were still on. Myron had not called to make an appointment. He wanted the element of surprise.

  The house was a simple Cape Cod. Needed a new coat of paint maybe.

  The front yard had lots of budding flower beds. Myron remembered that Paul liked gardening in his down time. Lot of cops did.

  Paul Duncan answered the door holding a newspaper. A pair of reading glasses were low on his nose. His gray hair was neatly combed. He wore navy-blue Hagar slacks and a twist-a-flex Speidel watch. The casual man from Sears. A television played in the background. An audience applauded wildly. Paul was alone, except for a sleeping golden retriever curled in front of the television as if it were a fire on a snowy night.

  'We need to talk, Paul.'

  'Can't this wait until the morning?' His voice was strained. 'After Adam's memorial service?'

  Myron shook his head and stepped into the den. The television audience applauded again. Myron glanced at the screen. Ed McMahon's Star Search. The spokesmodels weren't on, so Myron turned away.

  Paul closed the door. 'What's this all about, Myron?'

  A coffee table had National Geographic and TV Guide. Also two books the latest Robert Ludlum and the King James Bible. Everything was very neat. A portrait of the golden retriever in its younger days hung on the wall.

  Lots of little porcelain figurines adorned the room. A couple of Rockwell plates too. Hardly a swinging bachelor pad or den of lust.

  'I know about your affair with Carol Culver,' Myron said.

  Paul Duncan played stiff-lip. I don't know what you're talking about.'

  Then let me try to clarify myself. The affair's been going on for six years.

  Kathy caught you and Mommy a couple of years back. Adam also caught you two on the night he was murdered. Any of this ring a bell?'

  His face went ashen. 'How . . .?'

  Carol told me.' Myron sat. He picked up the Bible and flipped through it. Guess you skipped the part about not coveting your neighbor's wife, huh, Paul?'

  'It's not what you think.'

  'What's not what I think?'

  'I love Carol. She loves me.'

  'That sounds swell, Paul.'

  'Adam treated her awfully. He gambled. He whored. He was cold to his family.'

  'So why didn't Carol divorce him?'

  'She couldn't. We're both devout Catholics. The Church wouldn't allow it.'

  'The Church prefers marital infidelity?'

  'That's not funny.'

  'No, it's not.'

  'Who are you to judge us? You think any of this was easy?'

  Myron shrugged. 'You didn't stop. Not even after Kathy saw you.'

  I love Carol.'

  'So you say.'

  'Adam Culver was my closest friend. He meant a great deal to me. But when it came to his family, he was a bastard. He provided for them materially, but that's it. Ask Jessica, Myron. She'll tell you. I've always been there. From the time she was a little girl. Who took her to the hospital when she fell off her bike? Me. Who built her swingset? Me. Who drove her down' to Duke her freshman year? Me.'

  'Did you also dress up as the Easter Bunny?' Myron asked.

  He shook his head. 'You don't understand.'

  'Correction: I don't give a shit. There's a difference. Now let's go back to the day Kathy caught you two. Tell me what happened.'

  His face became irritated. 'You know what happened. She walked in on us.'

  'Were you naked?'

  'What?'

  'Were you and Mrs Culver in the throes of passion?'

  'I won't dignify that with an answer.'

  Time to rattle his cage a bit. 'What position? Missionary, doggie, Were either of you wearing handcuffs or a pig's mask?'

  He moved so he was standing directly over Myron. Everyone thought this was tremendously intimidating, towering over a seated foe. In fact Myron could deliver a palm strike to the groin before an ordinary man could even cock his fist.

  'Watch it, son,' Paul said.

  'How did Kathy react to seeing you two lovebirds?'

  'There was no reaction. She ran away.'

  'Did either of you follow her?'

  'No. Frankly, we were both too shocked.'

  'I bet. Did you ever discuss the matter with Kathy?'

  Paul stepped away, circled, sat in the chair next to Myron. 'She only mentioned it to me once.'

  'When?'

  'A few months later.'

  'What happened?'

  He looked away, his eyes darting about, searching for a safe place to land.

  'This isn't easy to say.'

  Myron nodded, feigned sympathy. 'Go on.'

  'Kathy made a pass at me.'

  'Did you catch it?'
<
br />   'What?'

  'As in "catch her pass."'

  He flashed the irritated face again. 'Of course not'

  'You turned her down?'

  'I pretended I didn't know what she was talking about.'

  'Did she persist?'

  'Yes. But I kept ignoring her.'

  'Bet you were real excited, though. Mother and daughter. Both good lookers. Your fantasies must have been in overdrive.'

  Irritation turned to rage. He finally took off his reading glasses. Very dramatically. 'Last warning, pal.'

  'Uh-huh. So now tell me about Fred Nickler.'

  Piss him off. Quick subject change. Keep him off balance.

  'Who?'

  'For a cop,' Myron said, 'you're a lousy liar. Nineteen seventy-eight. You let Nickler plea-bargain a kiddie porn charge. I know all about your connection with him, Paul. What I don't know is how he fits into all this.'

  'He helped me out from time to time. With cases.'

  'Including the disappearance of Kathy Culver?'

  'In a manner of speaking, yes.'

  'How?'

  I guess there's no reason not to tell you.' He coughed into a shaking fist. The golden retriever opened an eye but didn't move. 'Adam found photographs of Kathy in his attic. He brought them to me in the strictest confidence. On the back of one was the name of a photography studio called Forbidden Fruit. I couldn't find them anywhere. So Adam and I visited Nickler. Nickler told us that Forbidden Fruit was now called Global Globes. He gave me the address.'

  Then you went and bought all the pictures and negatives of Kathy?' A throwaway question. Lucy had already identified Paul Duncan from a Photograph.

  Yes. We wanted to protect Kathy's name. But we also wanted the name of the animal that'd brought Kathy to the studio.'

  Gary Grady.'

  'You know about that?'

  'I am,' Myron said, 'well informed.'

  'Well, I checked Grady out completely. He was shady, no question about it. A high school teacher with all those sex lines. He advertised in at least fifty pornographic magazines. I tailed him for a couple of weeks, did a lot of it on my own time. I also had his phone tapped for a while. But in the end we came up with nothing.'

  'How did Adam react to that?'

  'Not well. Adam was always coming to me with some new angle on Kathy's case, mostly out of pure desperation. I don't blame him. She was his youngest daughter. The one child he had a decent relationship with. Adam was willing to do anything to find her. He even wanted to kidnap Grady and torture him until he talked. I told him I'd do anything to help, but that we had to keep within the limits of the law. He didn't like hearing that.'