It proved easier than expected to get through to Uspensky. Hannibal simply called the office and gave the receptionist his name. When Uspensky picked up his phone after a surprisingly short wait, Hannibal heard a mixture of impatience and gratitude in his voice. Even without knowing what Hannibal had to say, he seemed to appreciate the fact that he called at all.
“Jones. You got something for me?”
“I’ve come across some information you might find of value,” Hannibal said. “But it’s not the kind of news that belongs in a telephone conversation.”
“My day’s already pretty full. Be here tomorrow around 4:30.”
Knowing the fates of Nikita Petrova and Boris Tolstaya made mobsters less intimidating. “You asking me or telling me?”
Long pause. Hannibal could almost feel Uspensky’s mind working. Weighing options. Considering possible outcomes. Cost-benefit analysis.
“Can you be here tomorrow around 4:30?”
Better. “Why, yes, I think my schedule is clear at that time. I’m sure I can make it. And it will be worth it to you. See you then.”
Hannibal felt a little better when he hung up the phone. In his world, one relished one’s small victories. He checked his watch and decided that he didn’t want to deal with either Rissik or Van Buren so close to the end of their workdays. Seeing the time also made him realize how hungry he was. He had missed lunch entirely and dinner time was coming up. And that made him think of Cindy. His Cindy, on her way to dinner with a slick real estate salesman. Unless they decided to dine later. But he knew she liked to eat early.
His right hand moved of its own accord, snatching the phone off its cradle again. While he held it, he used his left to tap computer keys. In a few seconds he had the phone number to Bobby Van’s. He dialed and took a deep breath, knowing that he was crossing some invisible line.
“Yes, I’m sorry, but I’ve forgotten what time my reservations are for tonight.”
“Sorry sir,” the hostess said. “Your name?”
“Johnson,” Hannibal said. “Reggie Johnson.”
“Yes sir. Johnson, party of two, for 6:30.”
“Great. Thank you.”
Now, what did his hands expect him to do with that information? He looked out at the hazy, indecisive sky. The rain had stopped, but the eaves still dripped in front of the big windows. Was it clearing, or just taking a breath before another burst of rain? Would it become really light before the darkness set in?
Could he just sit there and watch the darkness take over?
Early evening was the worst possible time to be driving into the District, especially if you were struggling up from Southeast to the opposite corner of the city. The only good point from Hannibal’s point of view was that he would not be holding anyone up if he cruised down the street slowly. The rain had stopped and sharp sunbeams came in from the west, giving the sidewalk and the asphalt on the street a sparkling sheen. Even the air looked cleaner, and the Washington Monument glowed like a ghostly signpost.
The steakhouse sat in an old bank building practically around the corner from the White House. Hannibal wasn’t sure where he would park and was even less sure of what he would say to Cindy when he arrived. Would it be less rude to join them or to ask Reggie to excuse them for a moment?
Then he saw her, sooner than expected. Despite the evening cool they were at one of the outdoor tables, talking to their waiter. Opposite her, Reggie sat in a purple suit and orange shirt. A starburst of light flashed off one of his diamond cufflinks.
Cindy was lovely as always, wrapped in a camel coat. Her skin was smooth teak. He thought she had added an auburn tint to her dark brown tresses and left it down, just touching her shoulders, feathered in front. High cheekbones accented her Cuban roots. Her black heels had to be more than two inches high, force-flexing her shapely calves. He had not seen this suit before. The navy skirt looked a couple of inches higher on her perfect thighs than her usual length. A single string of pearls around her neck was the perfect accent, echoing her perfect teeth as she smiled and chatted with a man who could be a professional athlete and had the kind of style that allowed him to pull off wearing a purple suit without effort.
Hannibal took in the whole scene in a few seconds as he rolled past, unnoticed.
She looked so damned happy.
Austin Camacho
Russian Roulette
32
The sun was just flashing in from the eastern edge of the horizon when Hannibal came within sight of his building and slowed to a brisk walk. The pain lancing through his right side told him that he had held his speed a little high that morning. His heart was drumming triplets in his chest and each inhalation was a dagger in his lungs, almost bringing tears to his eyes. His jogging suit dripped with his sweat, but the early morning breeze cooled him quickly after he unzipped his top.
He had pushed himself for five miles at a pretty strong pace, but he could not outrun his self-loathing for the night before. He dragged himself up the sandstone steps into his building and managed to get back into his apartment without having to say hello to anyone. That was his first success feeling of the day.
During the time he stripped, showered, and ate two hardboiled eggs, Hannibal thought only about Cindy, sitting at an outdoor cafe table, unaware of his presence. He wondered why he had needed to see that sight, and how he could have just kept driving, never stopping to speak to her.
He wondered, but he knew.
Then he got dressed. He pulled on a white cotton dress shirt, not significantly different from the others hanging in his closet except that it had French cuffs and a designer label and that it was a gift from Cindy. He had said thank you at the time, then since he had no idea who or what an Ermenegildo Zegna was, he had looked it up online. He still didn’t understand what could make a white cotton shirt worth $235. He wore the shirt only because it made him feel closer to her.
While putting his cuff links into place he considered where he would go that day. By the time he was tying his tie, his mind was entirely on the business at hand. This was the day he expected to wrap up the whole mob business that had him going in circles like a roulette wheel, chasing a stolen fortune.
Hannibal’s day would start with phone calls. Once he was dressed, he went across the hall to make them. There was nothing wrong with his home phone. He just liked to make business calls from his desk. His first important call was to Rissik’s office. He pushed the speed dial button, set the phone on speaker, and reached for the coffee beans overhead.
“You’re up early,” was Rissik’s first comment.
“Just couldn’t wait to hear your voice, Chief. Now, what’s this about Barek’s mother?”
“She wants to see you,” Rissik said. “Maryland law couldn’t answer her questions, so they put her on to me. I didn’t want to disappoint an important citizen of one of our allies, so naturally I told her I knew the ace detective who had been following her son’s movements.”
“Thanks,” Hannibal said, pouring water from a carafe into the coffeepot. “That will probably get me killed.”
“Actually, she’d like to find out all she can about her little Hamed’s American adventures, and she’ll be stuck in the Moroccan embassy all day waiting for the murder victim formerly known as Dani Gana to be driven down to Washington from Baltimore. When I didn’t hear from you last night I took the liberty of making you an appointment. What the hell is that noise?”
“Sorry,” Hannibal said. “Grinding the beans. Someday you’re going to have to come over here and get a decent cup of coffee. Now, you were saying about an appointment?”