The Lazarus Trap (11 page)

“Mr. Smith.” Vince showed him nothing. Not in the gaze, nor the greeting. “What's going on?”

Val forced himself to meet the man's eye. The walk through the New York night back to the hotel had solidified his thoughts into a single focused objective. Val asked, “Did you mind me listening to what went on earlier?”

“That depends. You a cop?”

“Definitely not.”

“No, I don't think so. You come in here all beat up, your clothes a mess. Only thing you're carrying is a shopping bag full of new clothes. And you're wearing those now.”

“You're observant.”

“Comes with the territory. Actually, you know what you look like to me? You look like a sucker.”

Behind Val, the old man now camped out on the sofa wheezed a chuckle. Vince leaned to one side so as to look around Val. “Hey, why don't you take a hike upstairs.”

“I ain't bothering nobody.”

“That so? Well, I'm telling you it's time to hit the sack.” Vince waited until the old man shuffled into the elevator and disappeared. Then he returned his attention to Val. “You were watching what went down with those guys.”

“Yes.”

“Tell me what you saw.”

“You're a loan shark.”

“Don't call it that. I'm a service provider. I've helped out a lot of people. They come to me when nobody else is gonna do a thing for them, except maybe break their legs.”

“What happens if they don't pay you back?”

Vince did something with his eyes. The voice maintained its flat calm. But the eyes opened into bottomless pits. “Oh, they always pay me. Always.”

“I believe you.”

“Personally, I got a soft spot for suckers. I know what it means to be down and out.”

“I'm glad to hear it.”

“What I need to know is, are you trouble?”

“I told you, I'm not a cop.”

“That's nice to hear and all. But I got to
know
. Somebody comes into my place of business, all beat up, pays cash, no plastic, no nothing, now he comes up to me like he's wanting to do business. I got to know what's going on with this guy.”

“It's like you said, I got beat up and arrested.”

“You got any ID?”

“All I've got is a driver's license. And it's fake.” Val fished it out. “It says Iowa. But I'm from Florida.”

Vince inspected it carefully. “Nice work.” He handed it back. Vince moved like a boxer, his motions smooth and economical. Balanced constantly on his toes. His fingers rested lightly on the countertop. But he put no weight there. He leaned on nothing. “An honest out-of-town sucker. You get rolled?”

“Almost. I was in the process when the cops arrived.”

“So why'd they arrest you?”

“They say I attacked them. I don't remember.”

“You hit a cop? In this town? Man, you're lucky to be alive.”

Val touched the bandage on his temple. “They gave me this.”

“That ain't nothing. That's a love tap. Where I was brought up, that'd be a cop's way of saying hello.” He cocked his head. “You know what I see? I see a clean-cut kinda guy, never been in trouble, never done time. No tattoos, am I right?”

“No.”

“Show me your arms.”

“What?”

“Roll back your sleeves. Yeah, like I thought. No tracks. Okay, you can roll 'em back down. People say they want some ID, what they're telling you is, show me you're street. You understand what I'm saying?”

“I'm not sure.”

“Guys doing heavy drugs, they hear that every time they hit on a new source. Show me your ID. What they want to see are needle tracks. Undercover cops won't have tracks. They do, they're one step from turning.”

“I told you—”

“I know, I know. You're not a cop. You're just a guy in trouble.”

“Right.”

“You're not street. You don't have idea one. And you're being straight with what you're saying.”

“As much as I know how.”

“See, normally to do business with me, you got to have an introduction. This ain't about, what you call it, a résumé. Somebody brings you in, tells me you're good for what you want to borrow, say you're after twenty thou like that guy. You don't pay, you skip town or get hit by a bus or whatever, this guy brought you in here? He's got to be good for the loan and the vig.”

“That's hard.”

“Welcome to life uptown.” Vince turned away to deal with the phone. Back again. All business. As impersonal as a robot. “So what are you after, anyway? Money? Blow? Something special in the meat department?”

“A passport.”

“You want paper. That's tough. Tough and expensive. Since the terrorist thing they been cracking down on the paper handlers.”

“Can you help?”

“Maybe. Yeah, I might. Like I said, I got a thing for suckers.” A flick of a smile. There and gone. “You got money to pay for the work?”

“Can you give me some idea how much it'll cost?”

“You want a new name too?”

“No.”

“So this Jeffrey Adams you just showed me on the ID, it ain't real.”

“No.”

“For a passport, good work, I'd call it four, maybe five thou.”

“I've got that much.”

“Then yeah, maybe I can help you out. But I got to know up front, what's in it for me?”

Val wiped his hands up and down his trouser legs. What choice did he have? Vince simply stood and waited. Facing a sweat-stained man at the moment of decision was nothing to this guy.

Val unstrapped the watch from his wrist. “I can give you this.”

Vince held the watch up to the light. Squinted and inspected carefully. “Cartier tank. Twenty-carat frame. With the alligator band. Nice. This hot?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“What, it was a gift? Got some sentimental value?”

“Not anymore.”

“I like that. Cutting all ties. Neat and tidy.” Vince made the watch disappear. “Okay, Jeffrey or whatever your name is. Let me make a few calls. I'll get back to you.”

He stared at the pocket now holding his watch. “Can I wait?”

“Not a chance. I don't like the sound of heavy breathing when I'm working. Go do like the old man, use the bed you're paying for.” Vince reached for the phone. “I'll let you know when it's time for round two.”

TERRANCE WAS SO DEEP IN A MIDNIGHT COMA HE COULDN'T even tell if the pinging sound was a nightmare.

He rolled over and landed on his office floor. His eyes were open now. He crawled to the ringing cell phone perched on the corner of his desk. “What?”

“It's Wally.”

“Wait one.”

Terrance forced himself to his feet. He crossed the hall to the bathroom and washed his face. He had never slept in the office before. He had laid down thinking he could at least remain prone for the two hours until dawn.

Terrance returned to his office. His watch lay on the coffee table. He did not need to check it. He picked up the phone and said, “All right.”

“What I've got, it's not the best news.”

Terrance went from stupor to as awake as he had ever been in his life. Liftoff in three seconds flat. NASA should take lessons.

Terrance raced out of his office and down the side corridor in his T-shirt, pants, and socks. No belt. His front was still damp from splashing himself.

“Are you there?”

“Yes.” He hit the stairwell door with his shoulder. The steel handle struck the wall like an angry gong. “What do you have?”

“Like I told you earlier, I've still got some buddies up here in the force. I had them keep an eye out for me. Which has been expensive. You hear what I'm saying?”

“Spend what you need.” He took the steps three at a time. Ripped the door open.

“I'm spending. Believe me. Spending isn't the question here. It's getting paid.”

He sped down the hall. “We'll take care of you.”

“You better.”

“Haven't we always?” Terrance burst into Don's office. The man was dead to the world. Terrance kicked the sofa. Again. Don lifted his head but didn't open his eyes.

Terrance said to the phone, “You're telling me Val Haines is definitely alive?”

Don did a human catapult off the sofa. He crouched before Terrance, his face a rictus snarl.

“Not definite. Nothing definite about this case. But the evidence is definitely not in our favor.”

“Tell me what you have.”

“It occurred to me that if we couldn't get information on who got toasted in the explosion, we could at least find out who was still walking around. You with me?”

“Go on.”

“I did a run through the local precincts. Just to be sure, you know, since your guy has a rep for going wild when he's up in the big city. I thought, okay, maybe he wasn't at the dance because he was held up somewhere else.”

“You found something.”

“A possible only. The precinct station in question is very far from the trail you'd expect a highflier to take. In the borderlands between Morningside Heights and Harlem.”

Terrance huffed out each word separately. “Do. They. Have. A. Name.”

“Jeffrey Adams.”

Terrance staggered across the room and clutched the wall.

“I've never met Val Haines face-to-face. I been working from a company mug shot. And I couldn't be sure. But I thought, you know, it was worth checking.”

“You were right.”

“This guy Adams was comatose when they brought him in. Apparently he was in a bar that caters to the hard core. Carrying a wad of cash and a driver's license. No plastic. You with me?”

Terrance's senses were in hyperdrive, the same power he saw there in Don's gaze. “Using a fake ID to stay anonymous.”

“Exactly. Some cops were there undercover. Apparently they saved this mark from a bad end. Only Adams took a swing at an undercover cop. So they brought him in. I'm not clear on why he wasn't charged. But they let him go. They've got a mug shot, the name I gave you, and a Des Moines address.”

“Do you have a scanner?”

“Up and rolling.”

“E-mail it through.” Terrance watched as Don scrambled for pen and paper. “Use this address. And stay by your phone.” He hung up.

Don powered up the flatscreen on the wall opposite his desk. He keyed in net access, watched the screen a moment, then said, “Here it comes.”

They stood side by side. The download seemed to take eons. Finally front and side mugshots illuminated the office.

Don moved in close and intently studied the image. “I can't tell.”

“It's him.” Terrance pressed his fist to his gut, pushing against the nausea.

“You can't be positive. His own mother couldn't make a definite ID from this.”

“I'm telling you. This is Val Haines. And his mother is dead.”

Don slumped onto the sofa. “Tell me what you know about this guy.”

“We've been through this before.”

“It'll help me think.”

Terrance walked behind Don's desk. The first time ever. He slid into the high-backed leather chair. Propped up his feet. Twisted the chair slightly so he was aimed at Don and not his nemesis. “Valentine Joseph Haines. Mother died when he was twelve. Father and he were very close. No other siblings. One aunt. They are not close. Father died, let's see, nineteen months ago. Val took it very hard.”

“Get your feet off my desk.”

Terrance remained as he was. “About a week after the funeral, his wife of four years filed for divorce. It becomes very messy here.”

“Nineteen months, that's about the time you beat Val out of the promotion, am I right?”

“As I said. Messy. The divorce turned into a battle over a child that Val apparently did not know his wife was carrying.”

“Your child.”

“In court it was revealed she had been having an affair for some time. Val's lawyer demanded a DNA test to determine parentage. Which was when everything came into the open. Things became quite vicious.”

Don's gaze could pierce Kevlar. “She was having an affair with you, and Val found out when the DNA test came back?”

“Val took this very hard.”

“I can imagine.”

“No, actually, you can't. In court that day, Val became unglued. We're talking totally insane. He accused me of everything except murder.” Terrance's voice remained steady. But inside he felt the old acid biting deep. “He was yelling so loud guards showed up from three courtrooms away. He actually accused me of stealing his child as well as his wife by tampering with the DNA test results.”

“Did you?”

“Don't be absurd. When they finally silenced Val, the judge handed down a restraining order.”

“So Val loses his father. His wife files for divorce. He discovers she's carrying his child—”

“I told you. The child is mine.”