“Right.”
“For your own sake. And ours.”
“I understand.”
“I can’t help you if you don’t keep me fully informed, okay? From now on, I want you to keep me in the loop. Help me help you. I don’t want you getting burned on this.”
68
Eddie lived in a small condominium complex called Pebble Creek. It had been built about half a dozen years ago, and consisted of four five-story buildings-stained wood, red brick, big windows-set on a big square of grass and gravel. Each of the condos had its own white-trellised balcony, where residents had put out things like folding chairs and trees in pots. It was a look Nick had heard described as neo-Prairie. No creek anywhere, but plenty of pebbles around the parking lot. There were homey-looking office parks that looked like this-the Conovers’ pediatric dentist was located in one-and some people might have found Pebble Creek a little officey-looking for a home. Eddie wouldn’t have been one of them.
“Be it ever so humble,” Eddie said as he let Nick in. He was wearing black jeans and a gray knit shirt that was furred from one too many tumbles in the dryer. “Welcome to the Edward J. Rinaldi fuck pad.”
Nick had never visited Eddie at his home before, but he wasn’t surprised at what he saw. A lot of glass, a lot of chrome. Blue-gray carpeting. Black lacquered furniture and booze cabinet, big mirrors on the wall behind it. The biggest things in the room were two big flat Magnapan speakers, in silver, standing at either side of a black sofa like shoji screens. Everything more or less matched. In the bedroom, Eddie showed off an immense waterbed that he said got so much use he’d had to replace the liner three times already.
“So what do you know?” Eddie said, walking Nick into the area of his living room he no doubt called his “entertainment center,” though maybe he had a more colorful name for it.
“Well,” Nick said, “I know that ‘J’ was the last letter added to the alphabet.”
“No shit? How did they get by without it? Jacking off. Jheri Curl. Jism. Jesus. Jock straps. You got all the basics of civilization right there.” Eddie opened the drinks cabinet, twisted open a bottle of Scotch. “Not to mention J & B. And Jameson’s. What’ll you have?”
“I’m okay,” Nick said.
“Yeah,” Eddie said, settling into a chair covered in fake silver-gray suede, and putting his feet on the glass coffee table, next to a couple of books titled Beyer on Speed and Play Poker Like the Pros. “I think maybe you are.”
“What makes you say that?” Nick sat on the adjoining sofa, which was covered in the same fake suede.
“’Cause, Nicky, I got something for you. Figured you wouldn’t mind coming over to my place to look at a couple of e-mails our boy Scotty deleted a couple of weeks ago. I guess he figures if you delete something it’s gone, poof. Doesn’t realize all e-mail’s archived on the server. So who’s Martin Lai?”
“Martin Lai. He’s our manager for Asia Pacific, out of Hong Kong. In charge of accounting. Truly the deadliest, most stultifyingly dull guy you’re ever going to meet. Human ether.”
“Well, check it out.” He handed Nick a couple of pages.
To: SMcNally@Strattoninc.com
From: MLai@Strattoninc.com
Scott,
Can you please confirm for me that the USD $10 million that was wired out of Stratton Asia Ventures LLC this morning to a numbered account, no attached name, was done at your behest? The SWIFT code indicates that the funds went to the Seng Fung Bank-Macau. This entirely depletes the fund’s assets. Please reply soonest.
Thank you,
Martin Lai
Managing Director, Accounting
Stratton Inc., Hong Kong.
And then, Scott’s immediate reply:
To: MLai@Strattoninc.com
From: SMcNally@Strattoninc.com
This is fine-just part of the usual process of repatriation of funds in order to avoid tax payments. Thanks for keeping an eye out, but all is OK.
– Scott
When Nick looked up, he said, “Ten million bucks? What’s it for?”
“I don’t know, but it looks to me like Scotty-Boy’s being a little reckless. Playing fast and loose, huh?”
“It does, doesn’t it?”
“Not like you.”
“Huh?”
“You’re not being reckless at all, right?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“What you’re doing, man, is a fuck of a lot stupider than whatever Scott McNally’s up to. You better check yourself before you wreck yourself, bro, or we’re both going to the slammer. And don’t think I’m going to take the rap for you.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Eddie’s gaze bore down on him relentlessly. “You want to explain what the fuck you’re doing layin’ pipe with Stadler’s daughter?”
Nick was speechless for a moment. “Are you spying on me, Eddie? That’s how you knew where I was going that day, in the rain, isn’t it? You have no business monitoring my e-mail or my phone lines-”
“It’s like we’re on a road trip together, Nick. We gotta be taking the same turns. You need to be watching the speed limit, observing all traffic signs. And right here, see, there’s no Merge sign. Sign says DO NOT ENTER. Are you hearing me? Because it’s real important that you do.” Eddie locked eyes with him. “Do you realize how unbelievably fucking reckless you’re being?”
“It’s totally none of your business, Eddie.”
Eddie stretched, raised his arms and put his hands behind his head. Under his arms, sweat stains blackened his gray shirt. “See, that’s where you’re wrong, buddy. It’s very much my business. Because if this keeps up, we could both be making license plates in the shithouse, and I promise you, that’s not going to happen.”
“This is out of bounds. You lay off her.”
“I wish you’d lay off her too. You tell me you’re getting rim jobs from the local Brownie troop, I could give a shit. You tell me you’re setting up a crystal-meth lab in your basement, I could give a flying fuck. But this thing involves the two of us. You let that piece of ass into your life-for whatever freaky, fucked-up reasons of your own-and you are jeopardizing both of us. What the fuck do you think she’s after?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“News flash,” Eddie said in a low voice. “You wasted her old man.”
The blood left Nick’s face. He was groping for words, but none came.
“You really don’t get it, do you? Cops think you might’ve had something to do with it. Let’s say the cops talk to her, maybe let on their suspicions, let it slip, see if she knows anything, right? So this little girl figures she gets close to you-I’m just spitballing here-and maybe she finds something out. Something that could help bring you down. Who the hell knows what? Maybe her thing isn’t really getting into your pants. Maybe it’s about getting into your head.”
“That’s bullshit. I don’t believe it,” Nick said. It felt as if his guts had furled into a small hard ball.
That time at Town Grounds.
God, someone who’d do something like that to your family.
I’d want to kill him.
“Believe it,” Eddie said. “Entertain the goddamn possibility.” He drained his glass, exhaled with a loud alcohol wheeze. “The ass you save could be your own.”
“I’m not going to sit here and listen to this,” Nick said, his face burning. He stood up, went to the door, but stopped halfway there and turned back around. “You know, Eddie, I’m not so sure you’re in any position to be giving lectures about recklessness.”