"Can we pull that bank dodge again?" she asked him.
"Oh-ho," he said. "Getting ambitious, are you?"
"It's so easy," she said.
"Sure it is. The problem is whether or not to use the
Gloria Ramirez ID again, and if we do, hit another Boca bank or try somewhere else. I'll have to think about it."
"Who printed up that queer check?" she asked idly, staring out the side window.
"A genius," he said, and she didn't push it.
An hour later they were lying naked on the terrace lounges. The sun was behind a scrim of high cloud cover, but it was strong enough to cast shadows and hot enough to make them sweat. They drank iced tea from a thermos.
"I'm going to have to change my plans," he said.
"What plans?"
"A schedule I had mapped out. I was going to give it maybe another six months and then retire, get out of the game."
She raised her head to look at him. "What about me?"
"Not to worry," he said. "I'll take care of you; you know that. But this check scam changes things. The possibilities are tremendous if it's handled right. Also, something else came up the other night that could be a gold mine. So I think I'll stick around for a while."
"Where were you going?"
"Oh. . there are a lot of places in this world I haven't seen yet."
"When you decide to go, can I go with you?"
"We'll see. Let's take another half-hour of sun and then go shower."
"And then what?"
"You know what," he said.
That night they dined at an Italian restaurant on Atlantic Boulevard, and David ordered a bottle of Dom Perignon to celebrate their triumph at the Crescent
Bank. Then they drove to the Grand Palace and found the gang already assembled at the big table in the Lounge. Rita sat in one of the mate's chairs and watched as Rathbone beckoned James Bartlett over to the bar. The two men stood close together, talking with lowered heads.
"Jimmy, have you given any more thought to what I suggested on poker night?"
"The commodity trading fund? Yes, I've talked to several clients about it. You know, David, these guys are shrewd. They've got all the street smarts in the world, but they don't understand options and futures. Finally, I stopped trying to explain, and just told them it would mean money in their pockets. That, they could understand. Four of them definitely will sign contracts for delivery in three, six, nine, and twelve months at preset prices."
"They'll trust you?"
"On the first delivery. If I welsh, I'm dead; you know that."
"So actually we have three problems. One is to analyze the market for the coming year and determine prices that'll yield a profit. The second is to make sure funds are available to take delivery. And finally, we've got to line up markets and sign contracts with buyers."
"You've got it."
"Jimmy, I think now is the time to bring Sparco, Coe, and Little in on this. It's too big for the two of us to swing alone."
"I agree."
"Then let's talk to them. I think they'll go for it."
"They'd be idiots not to."
"Who were the four clients who agreed to play?"
"Three Colombians and one American. These are not men you'd want to introduce to your wife, David- if you had a wife."
"Hard cases?"
Bartlett rolled his eyes. "Last year one of the Colombians murdered his younger brother because the kid lost a shipment to the Coast Guard. You know how he killed him?"
"No, and I don't want to know. Let's get back to the table."
"Rita is looking especially sexy tonight, David. She's not beautiful, but she's striking."
"I know."
"You serious about her?"
"I don't know how I feel about her. All I know is that she's got me seeing pinwheels."
"That sounds serious. Does she know what you do?"
"I'm letting her in on it, little by little. It doesn't turn her off. I think she likes it. Maybe it's the risk, the danger."
"Uh-huh," Jimmy said, staring at him. "And maybe it's fear. With some women fear can be an aphrodisiac."
Rathbone laughed. "And what's an aphrodisiac to men?"
"Guilt," Bartlett said.
18
"Mr. Harker," the secretary said on the phone, "will you come to Mr. Crockett's office, please."
Tony pulled on his jacket, straightened his tie, walked down the hall. There was a somber man seated alongside the chief's desk. He wore wire-rimmed spectacles with lenses so thick they made him look pop-eyed.
"Tony," Crockett said, "this is Fred Rabin from the Federal Reserve. Mr. Rabin, this is Anthony Harker, who spoke to your office."
Rabin didn't stand up or offer to shake hands, but at least he nodded. Tony nodded back. No one asked him to sit down, so he remained standing, looking down at the two men.
"Mr. Rabin," Crockett said, "will you please repeat what you told me."
The Federal Reserve man stared at Tony through those thick glasses. "You asked us to put a trace on a U.S. Treasury check in the amount of $27,341.46, issued to a Gloria Ramirez and deposited at the Crescent Bank in Boca Raton. Is that correct?"
"Yes."
"Why did you ask for a trace?"
"Because I had good reason to believe the check was counterfeit. Allowing it to clear the Crescent Bank and then recovering it would give me hard evidence of bank fraud. Did you find the check?"
"Oh, we found it," Rabin said. "Would you like to see it?"
He took a long glassine envelope from an attache case and held it up for Harker to inspect. It appeared to be filled with greenish-blue confetti.
"What the hell is that?" Tony said, bewildered.
"That's the check you wanted."
"What happened? Did it get chopped up in a canceling machine?"
Rabin sighed. "The intact check was retrieved in Atlanta, on its way to Treasury. It was put aside to be mailed to you the next morning. But in the morning, this was all that was left of it. It just shredded away, disintegrated. We have our lab working on it now."
Harker turned to Crockett. "There goes our case," he said.
"Your case may be important," Rabin said, "but not as important as finding the source of this paper that self-destructs. Do you realize what this could do to the banking system? Chaos! We are now in the process of preparing a letter of warning to every bank and savings and loan in the country."
"Mr. Rabin wants the Secret Service to take over the whole investigation," Crockett said, lacing his fingers across his vest. "He feels they have more manpower and resources than we have."
"We already have a Secret Service man working on it," Harker said. "Henry Ullman, a good investigator."
Rabin shook his head. "One man is hardly sufficient to assign to a problem of this magnitude. I must ask that you turn over to us all the information you have in your possession, such as how you knew the check was forged, who deposited it, and any other evidence you may possess bearing on the case."
Silence in the room. Finally, Crockett shook his head.
"No, Mr. Rabin," the chief said, "I don't think so. I am sure you'll go over my head and your request with my superiors. If they order me to turn the case over to you, then I have no choice. But at the moment I do have a choice, and I choose to have this organization retain control of the investigation."
Rabin looked at them, eyes blinking furiously. "I shall certainly inform Washington of your refusal to cooperate. You are making a very, very serious error of judgment."
He stood, gathered up hat and attache case, stalked out. He didn't exactly slam the door behind him, but he didn't close it gently either.
"Thank you, sir," Tony said.
Crockett shrugged. "Calculated risk. I have some chits in Washington I'll have to call in on this, but I think we're safe for a time. I'll ask for six months. Can you do it?"