Genie for Hire (17 page)

“Excuse me if I don’t cry,” Biff said.

“Laskin did not cry either, but when Petrov handed him the
paper he was very angry.”

“Paper?” Biff asked. “What paper?”

Biff could see that Jimmy was eagerly following the
conversation, all thoughts of his Frappuccino now gone.

“A printout of Laskin’s bank account,” Farishta said. “He
pointed out the transfer into the account to pay Laskin for the murder. And
then the transfer out, to cover the cost of the lost product.”

Biff looked at Jimmy. “If Laskin has that piece of paper in
his possession when you pick him up, can you use it as evidence?”

“I’m not an attorney,” Jimmy said. “But I believe having it
in his possession gives us reasonable cause to question him about it.”

Farishta said, “If Jimmy arrests Laskin, the police will
take away the amulet from him, correct?”

“If they book him,” Biff said.

“Then I think it is time for the police. Laskin is by the
elevator now, ready to go downstairs.”

Biff turned to Jimmy. “You heard all that. You ready to go?”

Jimmy slurped the last of his Frappuccino and stood up,
pulling out his own cell phone. “Have your gal pal stay on him until I can pick
him up.”

Biff relayed the message to Farishta, who snorted. “I am
staying with him until I see him remove the coin.”

By the time the valet had pulled Laskin’s Porsche up, Jimmy
and two squad cars were blocking the exit of the Odessa. Biff watched from the
sidewalk as Jimmy walked up to Laskin and spoke to him. Then he handcuffed the
Russian and led him down to the Charger.

Biff could just make out a faint disturbance in the air
above Laskin’s right shoulder, and the telltale sense that the humidity in the
air had been drained away, which meant that Farishta was following the Russian.
He stood there and watched as the swirling air remained behind Laskin as he
slid into the back of Jimmy’s sedan.

He sighed. Farishta. It was always amazing while it lasted.
But now she would get her amulet, and flit off to wherever she wanted to cause
some trouble.

He heard Raki chittering, and looked down at the pavement.
The squirrel was sitting on his back legs looking up at Biff. He realized that
he couldn’t understand anything the little creature vocalized; the only way
they could communicate was on a direct thought level, though Raki usually
understood when Biff spoke. Or maybe it was just tone and body language. “Come
on, squirrel. Let’s get back to the office.”

Farishta’s scent lingered in the Mini Cooper, and Biff put
the top down to diminish it as much as possible. He wasn’t going to waste time
mooning after Farishta like some love-struck schoolboy. She had used him to get
what she wanted, and now she would be leaving. Maybe she’d stop to say goodbye,
once she had the amulet, or maybe not. Either way, Biff had to move on.

As Biff returned to his office his phone was ringing.
“Andromeda Investigations.”

“Finally! I have been calling all morning.”

The woman had a slight Cuban accent and sounded agitated.
“If my friend Celia had not recommended you I wouldn’t have bothered. I left
you three messages!”

“I do apologize,” Biff said. “I was on a stakeout and wasn’t
able to access my messages. How can I help you?”

The truth was he hated voice mail, and when he didn’t need
the work he ignored it and hoped potential clients would find someone else. But
with Farishta leaving town… a new client would be just the thing to keep him
busy.

“I need to meet with you as soon as possible,” the woman
said. “My name is Dilenys Cardozo. My husband is cheating on me, and I want you
to catch the bastard.”

“I’ll do what I can to help you. How soon can you get here?”

“I work a few blocks from your office. I can be there in ten
minutes.”

She hung up before he could agree to the appointment, and
within the specified time she was knocking on his door. She was about fifty
years old, with sallow skin and black hair pulled back into a severe bun. She
wore a black knit blouse and black slacks. She wasn’t unattractive, but she
seemed intent on minimizing her curb appeal. “How can I help you this morning,
Mrs. Cardozo?” he asked as he ushered her into his office.

He looked around for the squirrel. He was pretty sure
Dilenys Cardozo would not react positively to a furry-tailed rodent hopping
around the furniture. But Raki was nowhere in sight.

 “What makes you think so?” he asked, leaning forward.

“He has a password on his email account, and on his cell
phone. Why would he do that? Is he sending pictures of himself to women?”

“Everyone has a password,” Biff said. “That’s nothing to
worry about.”

“What about this?” she asked, pulling a piece of paper from
her black vinyl shoulder bag.

Biff peered at the photo. The man in question was fairly
slim, with smooth skin, and white jockey shorts with the Calvin Klein logo on
the waistband. The shot had been framed so that the picture began just above
the waistband, and ended a few inches below the bottom of the shorts. He wasn’t
particularly well-endowed, but maybe he just wasn’t excited at the time he took
the photo.

“Is this your husband?” he asked.

“It must be.”

“And where did you get it?”

She sat back in her chair with her arms crossed in front of
her. “I found it on his computer. In the trash folder. He must have forgotten
to empty it.”

He nodded. “You have another photo of your husband? One with
his face?”

As she opened her purse and extracted her wallet, Biff
sniffed the air. Had Raki somehow left the office while Biff was out? Where had
he gone?

He realized with a start that he was worried about the
little creature. When had that happened? Raki wasn’t his pet. Or his familiar,
as Farishta had called him. He was just a little squirrel who had started
hanging around.

Once he focused, he identified Raki’s distinctive scent—part
coconut, part asphalt, part something feral. The squirrel was dozing underneath
the desk.

Dilenys handed Biff a two-thirds shot of a middle-aged man.
He had graying hair, with a salt and pepper goatee and neatly trimmed beard. He
wore a plaid sports shirt, and Biff could see dark hair sprouting under his
neck.

“How hairy is your husband?” Biff asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Body hair. He have a lot, a little?”

“He is like a monkey,” she sniffed.

He pushed the crotch shot back to her. “You see hair on this
man?”

She looked at the photo, then looked up at Biff.

“The man in the photo looks slimmer than your husband, too,”
he said.

Her laugh was almost like a bark. “The idiot. He does not
even take a real photo of himself to send. Of course not—who would want him the
way he is?”

That wasn’t Biff’s take on the situation, but there was
clearly something to investigate, so he printed out a contract, which Dilenys
Cardozo didn’t read. She scrawled her name at the bottom of the form and handed
him a check.

“Tell me about your husband’s routine. Where does he work?”

“He’s an accountant for a company that rents out vending
machines,” Dilenys said. “Their office is in that big glass building at
Presidential Circle in Hollywood—you know, the one with the big American flag
in the center?”

Biff knew it. “He belong to any clubs or organizations? The
Elks, the Kiwanis, that kind of thing?”

She shook her head. “He’s not very social. He goes to work,
then he comes home. On the weekends he’s always underfoot.”

“Does your husband go out for long lunches that you know
of?”

“He gets a club sandwich from the deli in his office
building,” she said. “Every day, the same thing. If he ever eats a hamburger,
he complains about indigestion for the next day.”

Carlos Cardozo did not appear to be the swinging type. “Let
me look into some things and get back to you,” Biff said.

Dilenys left, and Raki crawled out from under the desk,
yawning and waving his tiny paws. “Do you want water?” Biff asked him. “I need
some tea.”

The squirrel merely cocked his head. “Am I speaking too
quickly for you? I realize you have only a very small brain.” He focused his
energy on the squirrel and transmitted a single word.
Water
?

The response came back.
Yes
.

Biff took an old pottery pitcher decorated with veiled
dancing girls down the hall to the men’s’ room and filled it with water. Back
in the office he poured some into a flat dish ashtray advertising a
long-extinct brand of French cigarettes, and the squirrel slurped greedily from
the dish, spilling water in little puddles on the tile floor.

Biff accessed a computer database and pulled up Cardozo’s
driver’s license and registration. No criminal record, not even a motor vehicle
infraction. Probably the kind of guy who slowed down for yellow lights. He
nibbled at a bar of halvah and rubbed his lamp for a boost of energy. He
couldn’t see how Cardozo could have an affair if he didn’t take long lunches
and was at home every night and every weekend, unless he’d mastered the art of
the restroom quickie.

“This country is stupid!”

Biff looked up to see Farishta in front of him. “What do you
mean, my love?”

“This Laskin? He does not even go to jail. An attorney
arrives at the police station, argues, and then walks away with Laskin. He does
not have to take off the necklace at all!”

“So you’re stuck here,” Biff said.

“And I am not happy.”

He clutched his chest. “I am devastated that you are so
eager to leave me, my love. You break my heart.”

“And you are a silly man. What are you doing here?”

 “We should take a break,” she said, nuzzling his ear. “Your
home, it is close?”

“Very close,” he said, his mouth dry.

She wrapped her arms around him, kissed him on the lips,
then pulled her whirlwind around them both. The next thing Biff knew they were
back at his apartment, in his bed, both of them naked. He had no idea where his
clothes were, and he didn’t care a bit.

Biff woke up with Farishta nestled against him, her dark
hair spread out against the white pillows like the tentacles of a dangerous
deep sea creature. In the bright golden light he could see the threads of silver
more clearly, and the tiniest of lines beginning to gather at the corners of
her mouth.

She woke, stretched, and smiled. “Did you sleep well, my
Bivas?” she asked.

“I regret every moment I waste in sleep when you are by my
side,” he said. He leaned down and laid feathery kisses along her brow line.
She giggled and turned away.

“You have always been a silly flirt. Don’t you have work to
do?”

“I do.” He yawned and looked around the room. “Where are my
clothes?”

Farishta sat up and crossed her arms in front of her
breasts, which Biff noted were still quite firm and lovely, despite her
protestations of her impending decrepitude. “I am not your housekeeper.”

He pushed the sheets off and stood up.

“You are still a very handsome figure,” Farishta said from
the bed.

He turned back to her and bowed from the waist. “At your
service, my dear.”

He pulled on a fresh pair of sweat pants and a muscle
T-shirt. “I’m going back to my office. Do you want to come with me?”

“I need to think,” she said. “I must find a way to separate Laskin
from the amulet.”

“You won’t leave town without saying goodbye, will you?”

Farishta reclined against the bed in her most seductive
position. “Our time together is not finished, my Bivas.”

“I’ll take your word for that.” He walked outside; it was mid-afternoon,
and there was a gentle breeze through the palm trees as he strolled from his
townhouse down to the shopping center. His car was still in the parking lot,
and Raki was in his office, chittering angrily. He chose not to open a channel
to communicate directly with the squirrel.

“Don’t blame me, blame Farishta,” Biff said.

His clothes, and Farishta’s, were in a pile in the middle of
the office floor. He collected them all, then decided he would drive over to
Carlos Cardozo’s office home. He closed up the office and ushered Raki outside.
But instead of heading to the Mini Cooper, the squirrel scampered up a palm
tree. Biff watched him for a moment, then said, “Suit yourself.”

Even squirrels needed a break, he figured. Perhaps there was
a Mrs. Raki who was worried her husband was cheating on her, and Raki needed to
check in. Biff drove to the angular towers of Presidential Circle in Hollywood,
navigating the complex circle, and pulled into the lot. He cruised around twice
until he identified the man’s car, and parked in a position to watch Cardozo
when he left work.

Cardozo was easy to identify from the photo that Dilenys had
provided. He was short and trim, with tanned skin and dark hair. He wore black
slacks and a white guayabera, a Cuban dress shirt with multiple pockets. As
Biff had predicted, he drove carefully, negotiating traffic and construction
with the care of a man at least thirty years older.

He took the simplest route from his office to his home, in a
fifties-era single family home community near the football stadium. He and
Dilenys shared a ranch-style house with a single-car garage and a narrow
driveway. Carlos drove into the garage, and a half hour later Dilenys arrived
and blocked him in.

Biff was sure that if Dilenys let her husband out of the
house, she would call him. So he returned to his townhouse. He was disappointed
that both Raki and Farishta were gone. Were they together? Had Farishta taken
off for parts unknown to research ways of outsmarting the amulet, and taken the
squirrel with her?

Or was Raki back at the shopping center? What if he’d missed
one of his spectacular jumps and gone crashing to the pavement? Suppose he’d
been sitting in the middle of the parking lot and been run over by a car?