“You’re going to make out like bandits,” Peanut told the Russian. “You pay nine million and get stuff worth a minimum of three times that much.”
“What you think,” Sarnov said to Peanut, “is of no importance or of any interest to me.” He turned back to Laughlin. “For all I know, the Feds have located the missing merchandise. Maybe what we have bought is long gone, or maybe they are waiting to catch us taking possession of it, or maybe they will track it and take down the people we sell it to. Perhaps the risks have risen exponentially with the passing time.”
“The type of business we do is filled with maybes,” Peanut said. “Bigger profits always come with bigger risks.”
Sarnov continued, “My employers have decided that some changes in the terms are necessary.”
Mr. Laughlin crossed his legs. “Alterations at this point on an agreement that is in place? Your employers and I have a mutually profitable history.”
“The cigarettes my people get hold of we sell to you people at less than we get from a lot of others,” Peanut added.
Mr. Laughlin sat back and placed the tips of his fingers together.
The Russians bought hundreds upon hundreds of cases of hijacked cigarettes and, after affixing forged state tax stamps to the packs, sold them to store owners all over the world.
Sarnov said, “But for the other business that we do, you and your helper here would be dead already. Keeping an advance without delivering on an agreed-upon schedule isn’t something we would normally allow.”
“What?” Peanut said, bristling at the man’s threat. He wished he could whip out his stainless.44 special and blast the Russian’s heart out.
“What sort of alteration do you have in mind?” Laughlin asked.
“The up-front payment will become a rebate against the total we owe,” Serge said.
“Bull dooky,” Peanut scoffed.
“I could do this,” Mr. Laughlin said, cool as a cucumber. “I repay the three mil out of my own pocket and you walk away from this deal. It’s the long-term association that matters. I am quite certain I can line up new buyers for the Bryce merchandise.”
Sarnov smiled. “In order to salvage our reputation with our buyers, we will expect to take delivery of that shipment and pass it along as planned. Naturally we will have to give the buyers a considerable discount for the inconvenience factor.”
“You mean you’d like a thirty-three percent discount on the deal?” Mr. Laughlin asked, raising a brow.
“Yes. It’s fair for the year you’ve had our money,” the Russian said.
“You must be on dope!” Peanut blurted out. “Of all the screwball crap I ever heard, that takes the cake!”
Mr. Laughlin held up his hand to silence Peanut.
Peanut was running figures in his head. He was getting a twenty percent cut of Mr. Laughlin’s ten points on Colonel Bryce’s deals. He was getting one hundred grand for the Dockery kidnapping and disposal of the bodies. Four of his kids would get five thousand each. If Sarnov got his asked-for cuts, Peanut would lose a lot of money.
Sarnov lit a cigarette without asking permission, which bothered Peanut, but nobody else seemed to care. “We don’t have any business history with Colonel Bryce.”
Laughlin said, “After this is over, your people can do deals with him for years to come.”
Max nodded his agreement.
Sarnov shrugged. He looked down at the ash on his cigarette, down the coffee table, and, seeing no ashtray, casually tapped ash into a cut-glass dish with peppermint candy in it.
“If we don’t get the shipment, we expect you to pay us the profits we would have made if we had completed our end. A moment ago, Mr. Peanut set that figure at three hundred percent, which if my math is correct is twenty-seven million we would expect to receive.”
“What?!” Laughlin said in disbelief.
Peanut was sure he was hallucinating. Twenty-seven million dollars for something that never happened was insanity.
Sarnov took a long pull from the cigarette and exhaled the smoke across the table. “In the interest of friendship and a valued business relationship, I’ll get my employers to take nine million if the deal doesn’t go through. If it works out, we pay a total of six for the shipment. After that, we do the deals like we initially agreed. A third down, two thirds upon delivery.”
Peanut had watched the color drain from Mr. Laughlin’s face by degrees-his lips tightening. He had never seen Mr. Laughlin physically affected by anything.
Peanut could keep quiet no longer. Mr. Laughlin didn’t know Russians as well as Peanut did, having watched the History Channel. “You commies have been pulling this bluff crap since World War II,” Peanut said, guffawing. He gestured with his hands in the air. “Ask for something crazy as hell, then threaten something insane like maybe a nuclear war, then y’all take the best deal going backwards you can get. You’re the world’s biggest bluffers.” He wagged his finger and smiled. “Ballsy sons of bitches. I’ll give you that. But it don’t play here in America. Not any longer.”
Peanut knew he had the bastard’s game pegged, and he was sure Sarnov knew he knew it. The Russian had lost his ability to shock them with a sky-high demand.
Sarnov pinched the cigarette’s filter between his thumb and index finger, held it up level with his face, and stared at the smoke flowing from its tip. “Negotiations are over. Ross, tell your howling monkey to shut up while you are ahead.”
Peanut bristled. “You mean to sit there and poke a barky stick up our butts and say smile? Buddy, the damned Berlin Wall came a-tumbling down. In case you didn’t notice, you lost.”
Sarnov tilted his head, breaking off his gaze on the cigarette, and, looking at Ross, said, “I never allow hired help to sit in on business meetings. If I require their presence, I do not allow them to speak, and to insult a guest would demand severe punishment. You should explain to your help the fact that you are winning here. It costs you a little bit of money; we get a fair settlement and we don’t have to bury anybody. And, for the benefit of the severely misinformed, the fact is that the Wall came down to allow us better access to business opportunities.”
“I don’t threaten easy,” Peanut growled, rising from the ottoman, looming like a thunderstorm over the narrow Russian seated on the couch. His anger had canceled his ability to reason beyond the present. “You communist piece of-” He was already swinging his fist down at Sarnov’s face, knowing that the man was as good as unconscious.
It was odd the way Peanut’s perspective suddenly changed and, before the lights went out, he was somehow looking up at a fluorescent light fixture in the ceiling.
14
The North Carolina Piedmont, once a sleepy southern backwater with one hand on the plow, one on a loom, gold ore in its pocket, eyes on the Bible, and its nose to the grindstone, had become over the centuries the nation’s second-largest banking center.
Winter was fond of most of the additions to Charlotte’s skyline in the years since he had come to North Carolina to work in the satellite office of the United States Marshals Service, serving under Hank Trammel. The vast majority of the additions to the skyline seemed to have crossed the city’s “traditional Presbyterian brick-solid” with a sense of whimsy. Towering buildings like Bank of America’s headquarters and the Hearst Tower looked like inhabitable sculpture. Trammel liked to say the city was looking like the set for a Batman movie.
The Westin Hotel, one of Charlotte’s newer buildings, was a sleek glass-skinned structure with the visual warmth of an ice cube.
Winter parked in the deck, grabbed his overnighter from the passenger’s seat, and strode across the courtyard, going inside through one of the glass doors opened by a man in a black suit. At the front desk, he dropped his name and the clerk handed him a pair of electronic keys to room 412. No check-in required. As was his habit, he scanned the lobby for anything worth noting, allowing his mind to sort and file away its impressions.