“Well, I think everyone knows who everyone else is,” Simms said. “So any introductions would probably be unnecessary as well as tactless.”
“Let her sit down,” Imperlino said.
Durant guided Silk to one of the wooden chairs. She sat down in it, her eyes even wider and more frightened than before. She looked at Imperlino and then at Simms and finally at Durant. She stared at him for a long time and then closed her eyes wearily and slumped back in the chair. After a moment she opened them and stared out the window at the ocean, which seemed crisply blue and sparkling under the warm June sun.
“Let’s get to the money,” Durant said.
“The two cases there,” Simms said.
Durant went over to the cases, knelt down, and opened one of them. He kept his pistol in his right hand. The case was filled with fifty- and one-hundred-dollar bills, bound in neat bundles by heavy red rubber bands. Durant pawed through the stacks with his left hand, taking some of the packets out from the bottom and riffling through the bills.
“You are suspicious, Quincy,” Simms said.
“Very.”
Durant closed the case and then opened the other one and made the same kind of inspection. When satisfied, he closed the second case and rose.
“Well” he said, “I think that takes care of everything.”
“No,” Imperlino said, and stood up. He had a pistol out now, one that looked to Durant like a Luger. Durant didn’t examine it too carefully because it wasn’t aimed at him. It was aimed at Silk Armitage instead, but rather casually.
“What do you mean, no?” Durant said.
“For our own protection, Mr. Durant, you are going to have to be a party to the murder of the young lady,” Imperlino said in a quiet, reasonable tone.
“I’m not going to kill her,” Durant said.
“No, of course not,” Imperlino said. “I shall do that — with much regret, although such a comment from me at this time must seem rather tasteless. But since you’ve sold her to us — and will witness her death — then in the eyes of the law you will be held just as guilty of her death as either Reg or I.” Imperlino paused. “Morally, I should think, even more so.”
Durant nodded. “They told me you were smart.”
Imperlino ignored the remark. “Let’s get it over with.”
“Most brilliant, too, I understand,” Durant said. “At Bowdoin, I mean.”
“Do you have a point to make, Mr. Durant?”
“Well, if I’d been voted most brilliant at Bowdoin, I think I’d be smart enough to be a little suspicious when my old college roommate suddenly shows up on my doorstep with a hot two million dollars that he’s stolen from the Saigon embassy. Two million dollars that nobody was even looking for because it supposedly had been burned. And my old roomie, the eternal company man, has suddenly, unexpectedly turned apostate, even renegade. Now, that would have given me pause. Yes, sir, it would have.”
Imperlino stared at Durant. Finally, very carefully, he said, “Why?”
“You mean, why he suspicious? Well, let’s look at it this way. The war was ending in Vietnam just as you were making your first moves into Pelican Bay. We’ll call that a coincidence, but it’s the last one you’ll have to put up with. So your old roommate comes back to Saigon from the wars — embittered, cynical, maybe even burnt out. He sees the opportunity to steal two million dollars with virtually no chance of being discovered. Well, he stole it. Who wouldn’t? And to help him do it, he enlisted the help of somebody called Eddie McBride, not too bright, not too dumb. Just average.
“So after they’ve stolen the two million and hidden it away for future recovery — and here comes the part that really bothers me — well, Simms makes a date to meet McBride in, of all places, L. A. Or rather, Beverly Hills. But he never shows up, and poor Eddie wanders all over town trying to sell his map of where he thinks the two million still is to whoever’ll pay him a few thousand for it.
“So why did your old roommate do that, Imperlino? Why didn’t he just meet Eddie and buy him off with a sweet stall and a few thousand? It wouldn’t have taken more than that to make Eddie happy. But instead Eddie flits around L.A., a walking, talking advertisement to the fact that the money was indeed stolen.
“So whom was your old roommate trying to convince?” Durant shook his head sadly. “You, I’m afraid.”
“You’re saying that they didn’t steal it?” Imperlino said softly.
“What I’m saying is that somebody let them steal it.”
Imperlino looked at Simms. “Well?”
Simms shrugged easily. “He’s trying to talk himself out of a hole, Imp.”
Imperlino nodded and turned back to Durant. “Go on.”
“It’s obvious. The same somebody that let them steal the money decided to send Simms in after you. But they knew he’d have to get all the way inside. So they figured that he’d have to come to you with unclean hands. The dirty money out of Saigon would be perfect. Somebody back in Washington heard about the six million that had to be burned, so they set it up. It was perfect. Unaccountable bait money. And Eddie McBride wandering around as a living testimonial to the fact that, yes, it sure enough had been stolen. You bought it, of course, along with your new partner — although from now on, if I were you, I’d sort of watch my back.”
Imperlino smiled politely, as though thanking Durant for some useful but not terribly important information. Then, still smiling a bit politely, Imperlino turned quickly toward his old roommate and was raising his pistol when Simms shot him twice through the chest.
The polite smile went away and then came back and then went away again, this time forever, as Imperlino stumbled back, slid down the wall, and died sitting on the bare wooden floor, in the dust, staring at Simms and wearing a look of deep disappointment, one that not even death could quite erase.
“Okay, Reg,” Durant said, his pistol now aimed at Simms. “Nothing quick or cute. Just turn around and put it down on the desk. Take all the time you want.”
When Simms turned, Durant was surprised by the look of almost total grief that had distorted his face. Well, how are you supposed to look, Durant thought, when you kill your best friend? He has a right to it.
Simms did exactly as he was told. He put the Beretta down on the desk and slid it slowly toward Durant.
“Now sit down and put your hands on the desk,” Durant said, moving cautiously over to the Beretta. He picked it up and put it into his pocket.
“I was going to have to do it sooner or later, of course,” Simms said in a thoughtful, reasonable tone that bore no resemblance to the tortured lines that he still wore on his face.
“Were you?” Durant said, and looked quickly at Silk Armitage, who was staring down at the dead Imperlino. She started shaking her head slowly and was still shaking it when Durant looked back at Simms.
“You don’t believe me?” Simms said.
“It doesn’t matter much what I believe.”
“You were right about poor Eddie McBride, of course. He was my bona fides, so to speak.”
“Who sent you in, Reg?”
Simms shrugged, some of the grief now gone from his face. In its place was a questioning look. “That doesn’t matter,” he said. “What I’m intensely curious about right now is what you intend to do with me.”
Durant stared at Simms for several seconds and then said, “What I’m trying to decide is whether I should pull the trigger.”
“Should or can?” Simms said.