"Gross was 27K plus," Rathbone said. "The pusher drew two thousand as I told you. That leaves 25K plus in the kitty."
"Manna," Tommy said. "How do you want to split?"
David turned sideways to stare at him. "Thirds," he said, "You, me, and the printer."
"You crazy?" Tommy cried. "I thought we were going to stiff the Kraut."
Rathbone put a soft hand on the other man's arm. "Don't you trust me, Tommy?" he asked.
"Remember that old sign in saloons. 'In God We Trust. All others pay cash.' "
"There'll be more cash than you can count if you go along with me on this. First of all, the Treasury check went through without a hitch. But Tommy, how many times can we pull that dodge? We'd have to find a different pusher for every operation, and you know as well as I do that the more people you let in on the action, that's how much your risk increases. There's a better way of using that queer paper. And giving the printer a third will tickle his greed."
"Yeah? What's on your mind?"
"Persuade the German to use the paper for making fake twenties and fifties."
"He'll never go for it," Tommy said. "That's what put him behind bars the last time."
"No, it wasn't," David said. "What put him behind bars was that the feds caught him selling and grabbed the queer. But if he prints on self-destruct paper, where's the evidence?"
"The feds won't have any evidence, but the customer won't have any money either. They'll have paid for a bag of confetti. It'll shred away before they have a chance to push it. Then they'll come looking for us."
"Just listen a minute, will you? The German prints up the fake bills on that freaky paper. But we don't try to sell the bills for the reason you just said. Instead, you and I open bank accounts with phony ID and make cash deposits. It's credited to our accounts. Then who cares if the cash dissolves three days later? The bank takes the loss. And we withdraw clean money whenever we want."
Termite Tommy looked at him. "Nice try, David, but how much cash can we deposit before the banks get suspicious?"
"They're not going to ask questions if we keep each deposit under ten grand. And what if they do? We can always say we sold our car for cash. We each open maybe a dozen accounts so all the queer doesn't go to one bank."
"I don't like it."
"Tommy, my scam will have two big advantages. First of all, it cuts out the need to use pushers. There's a saving right there. Second of all, we'll be getting face value for the queer. How much was the German making before he was nabbed? Twenty percent? Thirty?"
"About that."
"There you are! We do it my way and we make twenty on a twenty and fifty on a fifty."
Tommy was silent. He had turned his head away and was staring out the window.
"Now what's bothering you?" David asked.
"It means I'd have to become a pusher," the other man said in a low voice. "I'm not sure I've got the balls for it. Ten years ago I'd have jumped at the chance. But that time I did in stir did something to me, David. I never want to go back in there again. Never!"
"All right, Tommy," Rathbone said, "I can understand that. Look, you brought me this deal; it's only right that I pay my way. I'll do all the pushing. I'll open accounts in a dozen banks. You get the cash to me as quickly as you can. I'll stick it in the banks as fast as I can, while the money is still fresh. I'll take all the risk."
"You'll really do that, David?" "Of course I will. Because that's how positive I am that this thing is going to work."
"I'm not sure I can talk the German into printing bills again."
"Why don't you let me meet him? I'll convince him that this is the way to go.^'
"And we split three ways? On the face value?"
"Absolutely."
"Yeah," Tommy said, "maybe that's the way to handle it. I'll go back to Lakeland and set it up. Then I'll give you a call, and you drive over. Now what about the payoff on the fake Treasury check?"
"I'll bring it to you and the German when I come to Lakeland."
Termite Tommy nodded and got out of the Bentley. "I'll be in touch," he said. "Goodbye, David."
Rathbone lifted a hand in farewell. Then, watching the other man walk back to his battered pickup, he said softly, "Goodbye, Tommy."
28
A black man from the Drug Enforcement Administration had a desk in the bullpen next to Roger Fortes-cue's. His name was Hiram Johnson, and he was working a case involving a ring peddling a new laboratory drug called "Rapture" to schoolkids in Dade and Broward counties. The two investigators-the only blacks in the room-discovered they were both graduates of Howard University, and whenever they had the chance, they had lunch together, or a few beers, and talked shop.
They were scoffing fried fish in Long John Silver's on Federal Highway when Fortescue brought up the subject of Haiti.
"A lot of drugs coming in from there?" he asked.
"Indubitably," Johnson said, which was the way he talked. "But you must realize, my dear confrere, that very limited quantities of controlled substances originate in Haiti. Like Panama, Haiti is a transshipping point. Because it's closer to the U.S., y'see. Heavy shipments of la dope come in on freighters or flights from Colombia, or Bolivia, or wherever, and are packaged in Haiti for delivery in bulk to Miami or New York."
"Is the stuff flown here or brought in by boat?"
"Both. And smuggled through in hollowed-out lumber, under false bottoms in furniture, in cans of flea powder-a thousand different ways. A few years ago we intercepted a shipment of toothpaste, each tube filled with heroin."
"Toothpaste?" Roger said. "Unreal."
"The villains are extremely clever," the DEA man went on. "Every time we uncover one subterfuge, the rascals come up with another. Just last year the Spanish police intercepted a million dollars' worth of cocaine concealed in a shipment of coconuts. A neat little plug had been drilled out of the shell of each nut, the meat and milk removed, the coconut filled with coke, and the plug replaced. A lot of arduous labor involved there, but justified by the profits, I do assure you, bro."
"Coconuts," Fortescue repeated. "That's cooL"
After he left Johnson, Roger drove to a locksmith's shop on Dixie Highway. It was owned by Louis Falace, an ex-con. After spending almost thirty of his seventy-four years in the clink on several burglary raps, Falace had decided to go straight and had opened Be Safe, Be Sure, a successful store where he sold locks, bolts, chains, peepholes, window guards, alarms, and other security devices designed to thwart the kind of Breaking amp; Entering artist he had once been.
Fortescue, who had helped send Falace away on his last trip to the pokey, stopped by occasionally to see how the old man was doing. There was no enmity between crook and cop; they were both professionals.
"Lou," Roger said, "I need your advice. There's this place I want to get into, but it's surrounded by a high, chain-link fence. The gate faces a street and is usually lighted, so I don't want to go in that way. I figure I've got to cut a hole in that fence or take a ladder along and go over it. Which do you think is best?"
The old man smiled. He had new dentures, and they glistened like wet stones. "No cutta hole," he said. "No climba over."
"No?" Fortescue said. "Then how do I get in?"
Falace went into a back room and returned in a moment carrying a folding entrenching tool with a khaki cloth over the blade: standard U.S. Army issue.
"Go under," Falace said. "Dig just deep ^nough to wiggle beneath the fence. When you come out, fill in the hole, make it nice and neat. Everyone says, 4How did he get in?' "
"Lou, you're a genius," Roger said. "I'll return your little shovel."
44Don't bother," Falace said. "I don't go digging anymore."
Fortescue's next stop was at a sporting goods store. He bought a baseball. It cost $7.99 plus tax. He carried his purchase (in a little plastic bag with handles) out to the car and before he examined it, he entered 44$7.99 (baseball) and 48 cents (tax)" on the page of his notebook where he recorded his out-of-pocket expenses.