"I got both floors on a short lease, first and last month in advance. It was more than I planned to spend, ate up half the front money, but it's as good a setup as I ever saw, so I went five grand over budget." John stopped in front of a picture window that looked out over the city. Cable cars climbed the steep hills like brightly painted Chinese beetles. "I called the museum and told them I was the President of Fentress County Petroleum and Gas. By the way, I'm calling myself Linwood 'Chip' Lacy. I said I was a big art lover and that I'd like to sponsor some young local artists… but that I need to live with the art for a month before buying. I said we'd be interested in donating some of our wall and pedestal space to promising San Francisco artists and sculptors to be reviewed by major art critics at our grand opening in January. They're ecstatic. It should get some pricey stuff in here for no money," he said, surveying the acre of paneling.
"Good going," Beano said as they wandered in and out of the offices.
The west windows looked out at Exxon Plaza and the Golden Gate Bridge. The huge Exxon sign with the double locking x's glittered in red from the roof across the street.
"Damn, that's sweet," Beano said, as he admired the view. "Nice to be able to keep an eye on our competitors," he grinned.
"I'll rent furniture and do the decorating myself," John said. "Fax machines, phones, all that stuff will be mostly rentals. We'll put extra office noise and pages through this speaker system from a background tape," he said, pointing to recessed speakers in the ceilings. "Still, I'm gonna need five to ten thousand more to do it right," he said.
"Looks great. How long will it take?"
"Two, three days, if I hurry and don't get messed up. Also, I need to staff this place. I need at least forty-five people, so I'll have to see how many Bateses are in the area. I checked the book, it looks pretty thin."
"That's because they aren't all in there," Beano said. "The sharpers doing local cons aren't listed 'cause the cops are getting hip to the X. You'll have to get one of our cousins from around here to help you make contact. We need to put the mark in play by Sunday. Once we run the tat, we don't want to give him any time to think."
They moved to the ornate elevator and went down to inspect the floor below.
"I'm gonna put the big conference room down here for when we run the fire sale," Paper Collar John said grinning, and Beano nodded.
John handed him some airline tickets. "I had these messengered over from the hotel. You and Victoria are booked to Miami at six tonight. You gotta buy your tickets to the Bahamas from there. The Customs Shed at Sabre Bay closes at five and the last flight gets in at four-thirty, so you'll have to go over to the island tomorrow afternoon. Duffy's already there with Dakota. They took a peek at the casino, and they think the tat's gonna work fine in the main room, ground level. There's a High-roller room on ten, but they didn't want to run the risk of staying in there too long, so they didn't try to case it."
"Okay, good," Beano said, as they moved out of the twenty-fourth floor, got in the elevator, and descended to street level.
"I'll be staying at the Stanford Court, so you can reach me there," John continued as they rode down. "I'll keep you up on how I'm doing. Don't worry; even though it's short notice, one way or another, I'll be dressed and ready when the ball drops."
Because Beano always liked to have a second way out of any location, he checked the ground-level fire door on the east side of the building as a possible "blow-off" escape route. He disarmed the alarm with his pocket knife before he opened the door. Then he swung it wide… and found himself looking straight at Texaco Phillips! The big ex-linebacker was leaning against a pole, holding a newspaper, pretending to be reading while he watched the front entrance. He looked directly over at Beano, but no recognition registered on his huge, flat face.
"Hi," Beano said, smiling.
"Hi," Texaco said back.
"Just checking the fire doors." Beano made a big show of carefully checking the latch. He worked the mechanism once. "That's a big okey-dokey," he said to the mechanism happily, then closed the door. He turned with panic on his face and looked at John and Victoria. "We're fucked," he said.
"We're what?" Victoria said.
"That steroid jockey that Joe Rina keeps for a pet. He's right out there."
"Texaco Phillips?" Victoria asked, amazed.
Beano nodded. "He's out there, watching the front entrance. This jerk-off is actually hiding behind a newspaper like some character from a Bogart movie."
"Whatta we gonna do?" John asked, worried.
"Upstairs," Beano said.
They moved quickly back to the elevators and punched the button. Victoria was holding Roger. Sweat was forming on Beano's face and neck, as he waited for the elevator. The panic he often felt about Joseph Rina now enveloped him. When he'd seen Texaco Phillips, adrenaline hit his heart like a shot of cold piss. He could barely catch his breath. When the elevator arrived, he pushed twenty-five and they rode up in the plush antique-mirrored car. Nobody said anything. Beano tried to get his unreasonable panic under control. How could he possibly run a complex game against Joe Rina if the mere sight of his dumb, ugly bodyguard threw him into such distress?
When the elevator door opened on twenty-five they got out and moved into the office and locked the lobby door. Beano was badly shaken.
"Are you okay?" John finally asked, noticing the trembling.
"I'm fine," Beano lied.
"How could he be here?" Victoria asked. "We didn't tell anybody but Dakota we were coming out here."
"Dakota didn't finger us," Beano said immediately.
"How do you know? Just because you've still got a thing for her? Maybe she's mad at you."
"It's not Dakota," he said again, and this time his voice was angry, exacerbated by the adrenaline coursing through his body. His tone said that the subject was closed. "It's something else."
"You don't know that," Victoria pressed. "Somebody had to tell him. That moron isn't telepathic; I deposed him. He needs instructions to get his pants on."
"Dakota and Duffy don't even know about this building," John said softly. "I didn't tell them about it yet, so Texaco didn't get it from them." It was unassailable logic and Beano was grateful that it shut her up.
He turned to John. "Maybe he just spotted you. Have you been out of here, walking around on the streets?"
"No, never left since the real-estate deal was closed. I even had a guy from the hotel bring the airline tickets over. I booked them through the Concierge Desk."
"The fucking tickets!" Beano said and he yanked them out of his back pocket and stared at them like disloyal culprits. "Joe could have scammed an airline computer. They have cross-checks on reservations now from the city of origin. You bought them at the Stanford Court Concierge Desk; he could find that out and send Texaco over. You're registered under Bates; he followed you here."