‘No, thanks, Frank. I’ve already eaten.’
The waiter reached for the silver cover with a cotton-gloved hand and Smolev felt his stomach tense but when the cover was removed there was just a large rump steak with onions, a fried egg and French fries. Discenza nodded his approval and waved his hand at Verity. ‘Sign the check, Ted, will ya? And give the guy a ten dollar tip, yeah?’
‘Whatever you say, Mr Discenza,’ said Verity, barely able to conceal his disdain. There were two bottles of Budweiser on the trolley, beaded with condensation, and the waiter deftly whipped off the metal tops before handing the check to Verity. As Verity signed for the food, Discenza picked up one of the bottles of Budweiser and drank deeply. He drained half the bottle in one go. ‘You sure?’ he pressed Smolev. ‘The food’s great here.’
‘Considering what it’s costing us, I’m sure it is. You go ahead.’
Discenza carried the plate and Budweiser over to the sofa. ‘Get me the ketchup, will ya?’ he said.
Smolev stared at Discenza’s back and imagined plunging a large butcher’s knife into it again and again. ‘Sure, Frank. I’ll get the ketchup.’
He put the dish of tomato sauce down on the coffee table and Discenza jabbed a French fry into it. He smacked his lips and began cutting his steak up into small pieces like a mother preparing food for a toddler. ‘So, when do I get the girls?’ he asked.
‘Girls?’ repeated Smolev. ‘We’re talking about one girl. One visit. And I’m not even happy about that.’
Discenza shook his head. ‘How I get my rocks off is my own business,’ he said. He popped a piece of steak into his mouth and chewed noisily. ‘Sure you don’t want something?’ he asked, his mouth full of food.
‘I’m not an escort agency, Frank. You asked for a woman, I’ll arrange it. But that’s it.’
‘I asked for company. Female company. I never said how many I wanted.’ He dunked a handful of French fries into the ketchup and thrust them into his mouth, smearing his lips with sauce. He looked as if he’d cut his lip.
‘Don’t jerk me around,’ Smolev warned.
‘That’s an option,’ retorted Discenza, ‘but between you and me I’d prefer a couple of eighteen-year-olds.’
The waiter left the room, followed by Verity. Smolev went over to the window and looked out at the car park.
‘Is it hot in here, or is it me?’ Discenza asked.
Smolev turned around to face him. ‘Feels okay to me. You want me to turn the air-conditioning up?’
Discenza nodded and took another swig from the bottle of Budweiser. He burped as he put the bottle down on the table. Smolev looked around for a thermostat but couldn’t find one. Discenza took a card from his jacket pocket and held it out to Smolev. ‘Call this number,’ he said, ‘tell them I want Terry and Amanda.’
Smolev took the card. ‘How stupid are you, Frank?’ he said.
Discenza’s jaw dropped. The man’s mouth was full of half-chewed food and Smolev averted his eyes. It was a disgusting sight. ‘Now what’s wrong?’ Discenza asked.
‘What’s wrong is that you’re in protective custody, and you expect me to call your regular hookers and invite them over. Don’t you get it? The man we’re after is a stone-cold killer. And if he finds out that you’ve betrayed him, how long do you think it’ll be before he comes after you?’
Discenza swallowed. ‘You said I’d be in the clear, you said you and the Brits would get him, that was the deal, right?’ He loosened his collar. A trickle of sweat ran down the side of his cheek.
‘If you let us take care of you, sure. But if you contact dial-a-hooker, it’s just asking for trouble.’ He paused. ‘Terry is a girl, right?’ he asked.
Discenza scowled. ‘Of course Terry’s a fucking girl. What do you think I am?’
Smolev fought the urge to sneer at the man. He knew exactly what sort of man Discenza was. A liar, a fraud, a cheat, a man who was prepared to pay to have another man killed, a man who’d do anything to save his own skin. A man without honour. ‘Just checking,’ he said, and forced a smile. ‘I’ll arrange the girl.’
‘Girls,’ said Discenza.
‘Girl,’ repeated Smolev.
The two men stared at each other for several seconds. Eventually Discenza smiled. ‘A blonde,’ he said. ‘With tits out to here.’ He held out his cupped hands in front of him.
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ said Smolev.
Discenza nodded and drained his Budweiser. He put it down and then drank from the second bottle. His forehead was damp with sweat. He stabbed a chunk of steak with his fork. ‘Does the Bureau use a regular agency?’ he asked.
‘Oh sure, we have an account with Tits ’R Us,’ said Smolev. ‘What do you think, Frank? You think we call up and say the FBI’s got a hard on and would they send someone over?’ Smolev went back to the window. A large white delivery truck with the name of a laundry service drew up in the car park.
‘Jesus, it’s hot in here,’ complained Discenza.
‘It’s not that bad,’ said Smolev.
‘Yeah, well you’re not cooped up here all day,’ said Discenza.
‘It won’t be for much longer,’ said Smolev, turning around. ‘Like I said, the pictures have been delivered. Vander Mayer’s out of the way, our man’s in place. A few days, max.’
Discenza squinted over at the FBI agent. ‘How the hell did you find someone dumb enough to take Vander Mayer’s place?’
Smolev’s tooth began to ache and he rubbed his jaw. ‘I don’t know. The Brits got him.’
‘Yeah? Does he know what he’s letting himself in for?’
Smolev shrugged. ‘That’s not my business. All I’ve got to do is keep you safe until we’ve got the killer.’
Discenza thrust another handful of ketchup-covered French fries into his mouth and washed them down with Budweiser.
Smolev spotted a thermostat on the wall by the bathroom door. It was set at sixty-five degrees and Smolev felt comfortable, but he lowered it anyway. ‘Tell me, Frank. Why did you take out the contract on Vander Mayer?’
Discenza sneered. ‘That’s between me and my lawyer, Jimmy.’
Smolev sat down opposite Discenza. ‘Come on, Frank, you can tell me.’
Discenza loosened his tie and undid the top button of his shirt. ‘It wouldn’t be smart for me to tell you, now would it?’ He pushed the plate away.
‘Something wrong with the food?’
‘I’m not hungry any more. Maybe the steak’s gone bad.’
Smolev picked up the plate and held it under his nose. ‘Smells all right to me. The food’s supposed to be first class here.’
‘Yeah? Well maybe the chef’s having a bad day.’ He took another swig of beer then slumped back on the sofa. ‘So you wanna know why I wanted Vander Mayer taken out, right? I guess it can’t hurt to tell you, what with the deal my lawyer’s worked out. The conspiracy charge has been dropped, right?’
‘That’s the deal, Frank.’
‘How much did they tell you?’
‘Me? They’re treating me like a mushroom.’
‘A mushroom?’ frowned Discenza.
‘You know, they keep me in the dark and feed me bullshit.’
At first Discenza didn’t get it, then he broke out laughing. ‘Good one, Jimmy. A mushroom. Good one.’ He picked up a white napkin and used it to wipe his forehead. ‘He killed my brother.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Killed him or paid to have him killed. Comes down to the same thing: one dead brother.’
‘How come?’
Discenza undid another button on his shirt. ‘We were putting together a deal in the Keys, a hotel development. Vander Mayer was putting up most of the money, I was doing the legal work and bringing in extra investors and a management team. My brother Rick was helping me. Keeping everyone sweet, you know? He was just a kid. Twenty-five years old. Just out of Harvard.’ Discenza rubbed his throat. ‘God, I’m thirsty,’ he said. ‘Get me some water, will ya?’