Pleading Guilty (41 page)

Chapter
XXVII. PLAN EXECUTION

A. Up to His Neck in Sand

"This is distressing," said Carl. Those were the first words from him in a number of minutes. He had read the memo, then looked over the photocopy of the International Bank signature form. When he asked me about Pindling, I used the same words as Lagodis.

"A real snake charmer," I said. "You call him, he won't even know my name. I had to pay him in cash." I'd show the charge on my golden credit card if I ever needed to prove that.

We were at the airport in the TN Executive Lounge, in a tiny conference room just big enough for a small table of black granite surrounded by four chairs. There was a telephone between us, as well as an insulated thermos of coffee which neither of us had touched.

Last night I had told Carl it was urgent. He didn't seem especially surprised to hear from me. It fit both his view of what he did and himself to receive emergency phone calls after midnight. It probably happened a lot, some young genius noticing a snafu in an offering circular three hours before they were going into the market. There was the usual deliberative pause when

I asked Pagnucci to catch an earlier plane, leave himself time before Groundhog night. I promised to meet him at the gate. It was almost one now.

Carl looked at the papers a second and then a third time. His mind was moving at a phenomenal pace, trying to absorb everything, but I could tell from his deliberation that he was having trouble figuring it all out, especially the next move. He compared Jake's handwriting, first on the signature card, then on the old letter I'd given him as an example, and minutely shook his head.

"And what is it you propose?" he asked me at last.

"We'll call one of the nice ladies outside in the service center to make copies of all this. The originals I hold."

"Yes?" He watched me alertly.

"You phone Krzysinski right now. Tell him you have to see him at once. Highest priority. Then you take these documents to him. Say you're proceeding on behalf of G &G. You express appropriate emotions. Horror. Regret. Disclosure of course is the only avenue."

"And I do so without advising Martin or Wash?"

"Right."

Pagnucci was sallow, his eyes small and intent. He nibbled a bit at his little mustache.

"Are they in league?"

I didn't follow.

"Wash, Martin, Eiger," he said. "Are they in this together?" I shook off the question. "That's beside the point. I've been around G &G a long time. A lot of people have been good to me."

That was not the sort of feeling I'd expect him to share. One thing about Pagnucci I was banking on was that he was as tough as he made out, the kind of guy who, if he was up to his neck in quicksand, would have the brass to tell you to walk on. I knew cops like that, guys who felt they could prove something essential by refusing--ever--to yield to sentiment. They believed wha
t t
hey believed, absolutely. He sat there quite erect in his perfect blue suit.

"Yes, but let's play this out," said Pagnucci, unconsciously patting the bald spot behind his head. "My partners told me that this memo couldn't be found."

"It turned up. It was a surprise."

"And what about that meeting the other day, where you outlined Eiger's proposal to keep all of this mum? What's to be said about that?"

"Tell Tad. It's part of the evidence. Jake wanted the whole matter forgotten. But we continued to investigate and now you're here on behalf of the Committee, the firm, to bring everything out. Look, no one's ever accused you of saying too much, Carl. You can handle it. But it's your obligation to go forward." Talking to Pagnucci about his obligations felt as vain and mindless as saying, Have a nice day. In the stuttering movements of his dark eyes, you could see him calculating, his mind on the roam. "But who had the memo?" he asked. "Wash?"

I didn't answer. Pagnucci may have had questions, but he'd like what he saw. Carl Pagnucci--man of grit and integrity. Forthcoming with the truth, even when it was devastating to his firm. Pagnucci had already been making contingency plans with Brushy, and this would fit. He understood how his candor was likely to be recalled and rewarded by Tad in the future, now that TN would be floating free as a client. Moving on, he would take some of TN's work with him, even as G&G sank. There was an irresistible cocktail here for somebody like Carl, looped already on the ethers of self-importance.

"And you wouldn't advise sharing this with Martin or Wash before we act?" The fact that his caution exceeded his greed startled me a bit.

"Afterwards you can tell them what you've done, what you've said. They can only follow. If you tell them in advance, they'll try to derail you. They have to. You know that."

Carl continued his silent reflection. The thing that bothered him most, I suspected, was that he was depending on me. "Carl," I said, "there's no choice. We have a duty to the client. Someone from the Committee has to go to Krzysinski, someone who speaks on behalf of the firm."

He considered me soberly. We both knew I was manipulating him shamelessly. But I'd given him what he needed--a good excuse. It had all the right appearances. Highly principled. Above criticism. And very good for Pagnucci. He could salute the flag and steal the client. Beyond that, it did not matter much what I was up to.

I pulled the phone close and dialed TN. It took some time to get to Krzysinski, but he said he had a few minutes for Carl before two.

B . Some People Want Me and Some People Don' t

I waited until three to leave the airport, then took a cab home. Right about now, big powwows were going on at TN: Carl and Tad and TN's head of security, Mike Mathigoris. They were figuring what to do with Jake--question him, crucify him, or just throw his ass out. In another hour or so, they'd be calling the FBI.

When I got home, I stood on the low concrete stoop before my front door and the vines. The rare sunshine had continued, but the air remained cold, with an astringent wind. I looked around for the surveillance vehicles and waved. I raised my hands the way Nixon used to, fingers in V's, and pivoted about for a full minute. Nobody appeared. Inside, I changed into my tuxedo for Groundhog Night and drove downtown. Lyle had even cleaned up the car.

I walked the entire block outside the TN Needle three times, looking for the tail and waiting for them to pick me up, but there was still nobody there. Finally I headed up. Lucinda hande
d m
e three messages. All from Martin. He wanted to see me at once. In my office, I went to the phone.

"Financial Crimes," I told the operator at the Hall.

Pigeyes picked up himself. I was relieved to hear his voice. I thought he might have called off his forces because he'd grabbed Bert, but his voice was full of bovine indifference for the paperbound life in Financials.

"You drop your investigation? I thought you were looking for me?"

"Who the hell is this?" he asked, and then, figuring it out, added, "You think you're all I got to worry about?"

"I'm at the office. I'm ready to tell you whatever you want to know."

He was thinking. Something, God knows what, had him buffaloed.

"Ten minutes," he told me. "And don't go running again to the fuckin dark side of the moon."

I found a cigarette in my drawer: Lucinda stuck her head in. Toots was on hold.

"All done," he told me. "All square. Your fellas are in the clear. Had to remind one or two guys a some things."

"Toots, you're a miracle worker."

Over the phone, the old guy basked in the praise. You could hear it.

"Only one thing," he said, "is the money. We gotta talk about that. I think, you know," said Toots, "I think it's gotta be 275." The number was a blow. I hadn't been thinking of bankrolling Bert like that, but I began to reason it through. Bert was useful to me, essential really. Besides, I was happy to prove to myself that I wasn't quite the lowdown bum Brushy had implied. Toots was explaining. "This here was big stuff, that's what I'm hearing. So it's gotta be that, you know, 275." This was not so much a negotiation as Toots setting a price. And it came to me--maybe something I was supposed to know from the start --that the Colonel would be getting his share. This was Toots'
s s
kill, his profession, fixing things up, making big problems go way. We didn't defend him for free either.

I explained how I wanted to do it. I needed an account number at a local bank. Sometime in the next seven days a wire transfer would hit there from Fortune Trust, Pico Luan.

"What are the ground rules?" I asked. "Is my guy in danger until the money arrives?"

"I got your word, they get my word. It's all done, this here. Never happened. But tell your partner: there can't be no next time.-

Next door Brushy was on the phone. She mugged up and made kissy-face when she saw me, sweeping a hand in admiration of my gallant look in my tux. I tried to smile. She put her caller on hold.

"Can I say I'm sorry?" she asked.

"Sure." I closed my eyes. What was I supposed to be angry about anyway? That she suspected me of bad intentions toward Jake? "Anything from Bert?"

He had phoned an hour ago, she said, and promised to call back soon.

"What about Toots?" she asked. "Did he work it out? Really?" I got a great smile. I was some kind of fella. The door was open to the hall, so she just took my hand. We did an instant of that stuff, gazing fondly. We'd found a sick little cycle, swords and wounds and soft rapprochement. I saw her eyes shift to the threshold. Lucinda was there. The policemen had arrived. And Mr. Gold wanted me upstairs in ten minutes.

"He sounds angry," she added.

"Tell him I'm with the police." I turned to Brushy, who had finished her call. "That'll get his attention," I said.

C. I Try to Satisfy Pigeyes

"Okay, Gino, let's see if I've followed the bouncing ball. After talking to Mrs. Archie, Missing Persons made a trip to the Bath, where somebody with a weak bladder snitched out this little game-fixing thing, and Missing did what they always do, lateraled to someone else, Financial Crimes in this case, telling you what a great investigation you had, and by the way, should you run into an actuary or a corpse, assuming you can tell the difference, give Missing a call. Am I guessing good so far?" He didn't say a thing. We made an odd little group--me, Brushy, Pigeyes and Dewey, scattered around Brushy's high-tech office, each of us visibly wary. Brushy was behind her glass desk, which was sided by the potted jungle plants. I was the only one standing, walking around, waving my hands, having a great time. I was in full dashing formal array, tuxedo and cummerbund and a boiled shirt I'd owned for twenty years and never replaced; it sported silly button-on frills that reminded me of the comb on a cockatoo. Gino'd looked up and down at my getup when he walked in and asked for a T-bone, medium well. "So that's why you're looking for these guys, Kam Roberts especially, and Archie and Bert along the way, and you're pretty sure you have a hot one and you get half the Force helping out cause here's what you see: A, a bunch of characters from the Russian Bath say they were winning money with Bert, who was getting information from someone he called Kam Roberts. B, Bert has got a credit card in the name of said Kam Roberts. C, we have sightings here and there of said Said. And D, the bookie, Archie, is among the disappeared. But there are a few questions: One, who the screw is Kam Roberts? Two, how does a partner in a big law firm fix basketball games? Three, why is he playing hide-and-seek all over North America? And four, by the way, where's Archie? Am I on the right track?"

Pigeyes gave me something, a shrug, a tip of the hand. H
e s
till wasn't talking. You never explain what you're investigating, not until you tell them the charges when they're under arrest. Still in their overcoats, Pigeyes and Dewey were seated side by side on Brushy's chrome-trimmed sofa. I could tell Gino was uneasy because I was having such a good time.

"Okay, so let's explain some of this. Hypothetically, of course, since if one is a big-goddamn-deal lawyer he has to watch out for BAD and his shingle, which is why you're hearing from me. But let's get one thing straight to start: Nobody was fixing games. Nobody here and nobody anybody here is friends with."

That got a rise. "No?" Pigeyes asked. Skeptical, you might say.

"No. Here's how it ran. Archie is a tout, but he's an actuary to start. Clever with computers. Does his number runs. Let's say there are some gentlemen, we'll call them Valpolicella and Bardolino, V &B, who just always seem to get certain Mid-Ten games right. Let's say Archie notices. The nature of the world is that Archie is supposed to keep such thoughts to himself. V &B are making suckers out of the suckers, and Archie's getting a break on his street tax.

"But let's imagine Archie's got a buddy--a real good-type close intimate friend." I hit Pigeyes's peepers to make sure he got it. "Archie clues him on this info. The friend, a certain hotshot partner in a certain big law firm, starts betting what V &B do, winning big. So far so good?"

Pigeyes somewhere had acquired a photo of Bert and he withdrew it now from the many layers of his coats.

"Good-lookin here? We sayin he's that way?"

"How you talk, Gino. Let's not get too personal, okay? Just remember, you're the one who told me about Archie. Pecker tracks in the porthole, didn't you say?"