"On my way," he said.
He stood in front of Crockett's desk and told him about the lists of words from Rathbone's wastebasket. He handed over the copies.
"I couldn't make any sense out of them, sir," he said.
Crockett read the lists slowly. Then again. "Nor can I," he said.
"I showed them to my men. Roger Fortescue caught it. The lists start with C, H, and M. Standing for cocaine, heroin, marijuana."
Crockett looked at him and nodded. "Possible," he said.
"Probable, sir," Tony said. "And if so, Rathbone, his pals, and that Fund are involved in drug dealing. Those lists are potential code words. The nouns with checkmarks are the ones Rathbone selected. I guess they need code words for messages, documents, and telephone conversations concerning their deals."
Crockett nodded again.
"It's all supposition," Harker said. "Smoke and mirrors. But I think there's a good chance the Fort Knox Fund is trading commodities all right: coke, shit, and grass. Now can I put central-office taps on Rathbone's phones and bugs in his town house?"
"All right," Crockett said, "you win. Draw up a detailed plan of how all this is to be accomplished and the evidence justifying it. We'll have to get a court order."
"Will do," Tony said.
"And you're still determined not to tell Sullivan about the bugs?"
"She has no need to know," Harker said stubbornly.
Crockett didn't say anything. Tony turned to leave, then stopped.
"I was supposed to be covering white-collar crime," he said. "As I told my men a half-hour ago, it now looks like the sharks we're tracking are into drug dealing. And Rathbone is dabbling in counterfeiting. It's unusual for criminal leopards to change their spots. How do you account for it, sir?"
The chief clasped his fingers across his vest, stared up at the ceiling almost dreamily. "The something-for-nothing syndrome," he said. "Con men depend on human greed for their livelihood. If it wasn't for greed, swindlers would have no victims. What do they call them-mooches? Most people have get-rich-quick dreams. How else can you explain the popularity of lotteries? The sharks exploit that dream and profit from it. But their defeat is inevitable. Because they themselves are not immune to the dream. Your swindlers and sharpers see the enormous profits being made in the drug trade, and they can't resist trying to get a piece of the action. They are just as unthinkingly greedy and vulnerable as their mooches. In fact, they are mooches, too."
Tony Harker laughed. "Maybe we all are mooches."
Lester Crockett brought his gaze down from the ceiling and stared at him. "Maybe we are," he said. "Greedy in irrational ways. Not only for money, but for fame, pleasure, power." He paused. "Perhaps even for love," he said. "Your five minutes are up."
32
A few of the yaks in Sid Coe's boiler room worked till midnight, culling their lists for West Coast suckers.
But Manny Suarez and most of the others quit work around six or seven o'clock. Ten hours in that noisy sweatbox were enough; they had to unwind, have a cold beer, replenish their store of nervous energy for the next day's wheeling and dealing.
"Suarez," one of the yaks called as Manny was heading for his Ford Escort, "do you have a few minutes?"
"Yeah, sure. You wanna go have a coupla brews?"
"Not at the moment," the man said, coming up close and lowering his voice. "I have a private matter I'd like to discuss with you. Let's sit in my new Porsche. I just took delivery."
It was a midnight-blue 928S4 model, and Manny could believe the talk that the owner was the highest-paid yak at Coe's, averaging a reported two grand a week in commissions. His name was Warren Fowler. He was an older man who dressed like an investment banker and never removed his jacket no matter how steamy it got in the boiler room. Suarez thought he talked "fancy."
"Nice car," Manny said, stroking the leather upholstery. "I even like the smell."
"It's advertised as capable of doing one-sixty," Fowler said, "but I haven't let it out yet. Would you like one just like it?"
"Oh sure," Suarez said, "but I don't rob banks. Not my shtick, man."
"You won't have to. Tell me something: Do you enjoy working for Coe?"
"It's hokay. The moaney's good."
"Good? Compared to what Coe is netting, it can't even qualify as peanuts. Ten-percent commission-that's obscene!"
"Yeah, sure, but he's taking all the risk. The feds move in, and he's liable for fraud, and he goes to the slam. You and me, we can cop a plea and maybe get off with probation or a slap on the wrist. But Sid would do hard time."
Fowler shrugged. "I doubt if he'd get more than a year or so. Just the cost of doing business. And when he came out, I'm sure he'd still have all his profits in overseas accounts."
Suarez turned sideways to stare at him. "What's on your mind? You want us to go on strike for more dough?"
"Don't be absurd. But about six months ago a gentleman came to me with a proposition that sounded too good to resist. I've tried it, and it's turned out to be just as good as it sounded. This man wanted me to talk to a selected few of the other high-producing yaks to see if they'd be interested in doubling their income. I've spoken to four so far, and they've all joined up. Now I'd like to lay it out for you. I should tell you immediately that I get a bonus for every yak I bring into the scheme. But my bonus is nothing compared to the money you'll be making."
"So now you've given me the buildup. Let's hear the rest of the script."
"It's simplicity itself. Here's how it works: This man has established a small office in West Palm Beach. It's really just a mail drop. Now suppose I close a deal for five thousand. My regular commission would be five hundred. But if Coe isn't hanging over my shoulder, I tell the mooch to mail his check to that office in West Palm Beach. When the money arrives, I get seventy-five percent or a sweet $3,750. How do you like that? The man running the mail drop takes twenty-five percent for renting the office, cashing the checks, and the risk."
"It's a rip-off."
"Of course it is. But there's poetic justice there. Coe is sweating his peons and paying a ridiculously small commission for our hard work. Now the clipper is getting clipped. Nothing wrong with that, is there? But of course you can't do it with all your deals or Coe's income would fall off drastically, and he'd smell a rat. I usually limit myself to one big sale a week, and I've advised the other four yaks to do the same. The important thing is not to get too greedy. Coe will never notice if you're skimming one deal a week. Just make it a biggie."
"And you've been pulling this for six months?"
"That's correct. And our esteemed employer doesn't have a glimmer of suspicion that he's being royally rooked."
"If he ever finds out, he'll have your kneecaps blown away."
"How can he possibly find out? The man who devised this scheme is very insistent that we keep our take modest. Even at that, I estimate the five of us are costing Coe close to a hundred grand a month. Serves him right."
"This guy who's running the chisel," Suarez said, "what's his name?"
"You have no need to know that," Fowler said. "Just take my word for it that he pays off promptly. He's content with his cut."
"He should be," Manny said. "With five yaks nicking for him, he's probably clearing twenty-five big ones a month."
"He's entitled. After all, old boy, it was his idea. Well, what's your decision? Coming in with us? You'd be a fool not to. And if I thought you were a fool I would never have solicited you."
"Lemme think about it tonight," Suarez said. "Ho-kay? I'll tell you tomorrow."
"Excellent," Fowler said. "If you decide to join us, you get the address of the West Palm Beach office and can begin doubling your income."
Manny drove home in a thoughtful mood. Since working at Instant Investments, Inc., he had been turning in his weekly take to Anthony Harker-but not all of it. He had been skimming two or three yards a week and sending money orders home to his wife in Miami. He figured the government would never miss the money, and if the boiler room was raided, Suarez was confident that Coe kept no records of commissions he had paid his yaks.