“Concrete?”
“Whatever. You get my point.” Mitch leaned into the couch. His headache was fading, but the memory was enough to make him wince. “I don’t think we should tell the others about this.”
She looked at him over tented knees. “Why?”
“You know I love them both.”
“But?”
“I’m not sure they need to know. I’m not sure…” He hesitated. It was a big statement, especially considering what they were in the middle of. “I’m not sure we can really trust them right now.”
He expected her to get mad, to call him a hypocrite or worse. But she just nodded slowly. “I know what you mean.”
“You do?”
“Ian with the coke. And Alex… I don’t know.”
The words spread like a warm balm through his chest. It had kept him up at night more than once, the thought of the two of them together, big strong Alex, the sensitive weight lifter with the daughter, the guy who never had trouble talking to women.
Focus. “OK. So we keep it, and we don’t tell them about it. That way we’re covered if something comes up. If nothing does, they never need to know.”
“They’ll think of it eventually. The same way you did.”
“We’ll tell them we got rid of the car.”
“What do you mean? Aren’t we going to?”
He shook his head.
“Why not?
“Because that’s where we’re going to keep this stuff. At a safe distance. Besides, that way if somehow the cops do get involved, search our places-”
“We don’t have to explain it.” She smiled. “You think of everything, don’t you?”
“I’m trying.”
She leaned forward to take his hand. “I’m glad.”
That warmth spread farther.
CHAPTER 19
THE MAN REFLECTED IN THE WINDOW was standard-issue Lincoln Park: designer jeans, faded Cubs hat, and a baby carriage. Somewhere between youth and middle age, in vaguely good shape. He stopped at the north corner of a restaurant called Rossi’s and propped one foot up on the brick base a of the storefront to tie his shoe. As he did, the dark shadow of a limousine slid wa vering past in the glass.
It stopped in front of the restaurant. The blinkers came on. The side windows were opaque, but the windshield framed the driver, square-jawed with restless eyes. For a moment the car idled, and then a door winged open and Johnny Love climbed out. Two broad-shouldered men followed, glancing up and down the street. The three walked to the front door of the restaurant and went inside.
The man with the baby carriage exchanged one foot for the other, carefully untying and reknotting the laces. Then he straightened and headed south, whistling as he pushed the stroller. He smiled down into it, and said, “Beautiful day, huh? How’s my favorite baby boy?”
When the carriage was parallel to the limo, Bennett leaned forward, lifted the fuzzy blanket and picked up the Smith he’d concealed beneath. Then he turned with a fluid motion, opened the side door and flowed in, pointing the gun at the man on the seat opposite, a stylish dude in a beautiful suit.
“Tell your driver it’s OK.”
Victor’s eyes narrowed.
“Sir?” The voice came over the intercom. “Do you-”
Victor thumbed the microphone. “Everything’s copacetic, Andrews. Thank you.” His voice calm.
Bennett nodded and closed the door without looking. “You know who I am?”
“I’ve got an idea.”
“Good. Now I know that Johnny told you he’d brokered a meeting. But instead of having it in his restaurant with your security watching, I thought maybe we’d have it right here. I hope you don’t mind me changing the plans.”
“Depends what you’ve changed them to.”
“Fair enough.” Bennett leaned forward. “I’ll get to the point. I didn’t burn you. We’ve never met, but I’m coming here with respect.” He spun the gun sideways, then set it in his lap and removed his hand. “This was just a precaution to make sure we had a chance to talk.”
Victor watched him move. His eyes were difficult to read. A poker player. Abruptly he scratched at his chin, and Bennett forced himself not to react to the sudden motion. Victor said, “You’re a careful man.”
“The people who think consequences don’t apply to them end up on the floor. Yeah, I’m careful. You’re Johnny’s buyer, I presume.” Bennett raised his hand. “It’s OK, you don’t have to answer. I know you’re careful too. What did he tell you about me?”
“That you had a specialized product. He also said that you may have been doing the whole thing as a con. That both the people who robbed him and the corpse in the alley might have worked for you.”
Bennett nodded. “I figured it was something like that. You don’t mind my asking, did he volunteer that, or did you have to press him?”
“Why?”
“I want to know how annoyed to be.”
Victor considered for a moment, then shrugged. “I pressed him. But he’s silly putty, not steel.”
“There’s an understatement, brother.”
“My turn for a question.”
“Shoot.”
“Why are you here, Mr. Bennett?”
“Just Bennett. Like Prince, only taller. Two reasons. First, to tell you that I didn’t rip you off. Second, it wasn’t just you that got robbed. Someone made off with my money.”
“So you don’t believe Mr. Loverin was in on it?”
“Johnny?” Bennett shook his head. “Risk screwing me and you both? He’s stupid, not dumb.”
“I agree.” The man paused. “That does put the suspicion back on you.”
Bennett fired a grin. “If I’d stolen from you, we wouldn’t be having this lovely chat. I’d have blown your brains across the back window.” He said it lightly, theatrically.
Victor returned the smile. “Andrews, show Mr. Benn-sorry, just Bennett-what ‘copacetic’ means.”
There was a buzz, and the partition rolled down. The driver was perched on his knees in the front seat, a Colt 1911 zeroed in perfectly steady hands. For a moment, Bennett’s grin faltered. He snatched for it, got it back. “Very nice. The partition isn’t bulletproof, I take it?”
“Just the exterior glass.” Victor turned. “Thank you, Andrews. That’s fine. And you can relax now. I think we understand each other.”
Bennett picked up his pistol, snapped the safety on, and leaned forward to tuck it behind his belt. “So. You know I didn’t steal from you, I know you didn’t steal from me, and neither of us believes Johnny is suicidal. Where does that leave us?”
“Seems unlikely the robbery was random. Someone knew something.”
“No kidding. How are you working it?”
“To start, Johnny is spreading his name and money around, asking for tips.”
“Risky.”
“Only to him.”
“Still.” Bennett cocked his head. “Even if he gets something, Johnny is about as subtle as a strap-on cock.”
“You’re right.” Victor leaned forward. “What I need is someone on the ground who has a brain. Who can operate with a little grace.”
“Uh-huh. And what’s in this for me?”
“I get my goods. You get your money.”
“No deal. The product they won’t know what to do with. But money goes easy. I could find these assholes for you, discover they’ve spent what’s mine.”
“How much did Johnny promise you?”
“I should say three hundred. But two-fifty.”
Victor nodded. “All right. I’ll stake you. Whatever we don’t recover, I’ll make up.”
“Your margin that good, huh?”
“My margin is my business. Deal?”
“Sure. Understand, though, I’m not working for you. We’re cooperating. I work alone.”
“Fine. And I only stake you if I get my goods and they’re intact. Half the product, half the money.”
“Fair enough. I’ll be in touch.” Bennett reached for the door handle. “By the way. You don’t mind my asking, what was someone like you doing slumming with Johnny Love?”