“That makes sense,” Barry said. “And that it makes sense means that I have made some terrible mistakes in my life, doesn’t it?”
“You can always change,” I said. “Look at Father Eduardo.”
Barry considered this. “Where are we going?”
“I need you to get me the best money plate your money can buy,” I said.
“My money?”
“This is your problem we’re solving,” I said.
“I know a guy named Jacques,” he said. “He’s from the old school. He might not deal with you.”
“I’m sure you can be persuasive,” I said.
“I’m only saying I may need to take the lead here.”
“Like you did with Junior?”
“Similar situation, possibly,” he said, which meant to me that no matter what relationship Barry had with this Jacques, by the end of our time together, he’d understand who was really in charge, even if I didn’t make a single move.
“All right,” I said, “we’ll do it your way.”
“I’ll need some new clothes,” he said. “And is there any way we could get some lunch?”
When you’re a spy, sometimes your toughest job is keeping your informants dressed and fed. It’s not always about beautiful women, shiny cars and blowing things up.
Unfortunately.
15
Making money costs money. This is true as both a frothy maxim you might read on a poster and in reality. Each note the U.S. government prints costs four cents in simple materials, but the lead-up process is far more costly. The plates used in the production of money are hand engraved, a meticulous process that takes a substantial amount of time and dedication, but this is done for a very exacting purpose: You can re-create a computer’s etchings very easily, but it’s impossible to precisely emulate the hand of a human being. There will always be subtle differences.
So if you really want to counterfeit money, a printing system like the Latin Emperors had set up at the Ace Hotel would suffice only for the short term. You can print and press money using only computer software and a particularly detailed reproduction of an actual bill. But if you want to make money to make money, you’ll need a hand-engraved plate.
And it would help if you had Barry, too.
While Sam and Fiona finished setting up Junior’s office with the appropriate listening and tracking devices (and to ensure that no one came in and made an attempt on Father Eduardo’s life), and to manage the Leticia situation if she bothered to return to work, which was not something I was sure would happen, I set off to learn just how Barry handled his business.
Not that I didn’t have a pretty good idea as it was, but it was always interesting meeting new friends. Or new friends of friends. And, really, Barry was eager to help this project along… Or, well, he was eager for this project to be over so he could leave town for as long as possible without worrying about his family being killed.
I sat in my Charger and waited for Barry to come out of the Dillard’s department store he’d gone into to purchase a new outfit, since the one he was wearing just had too much blood on it. I opted not to join him, figuring it would probably be better all around if security cameras picked up one shady, blood-covered individual and not his friend, too. And since this Dillard’s was housed inside a nice suburban mall in Doral, I really didn’t want to have to fight off a SWAT team.
That, and I was afraid of watching Barry shop. There are some things you simply do not want to do with certain people, and I had a feeling shopping with Barry would be a situation that might engender thoughts of murder in me. But the real reason we were at this mall and not some other clothing store was that Jacques, the engraver Barry had contacted about our specific job, told him he’d only speak to him from a certain pay phone, and that certain pay phone was located just adjacent to the men’s room on the second floor of Dillard’s.
Finally, after at least thirty minutes, Barry came out of the store, wearing a cream-colored, short-sleeve button-down that was opened (none too discreetly) to the center of his rather clammy-looking chest, brown chinos and a pair of braided leather flip-flops. He looked like he was ready to play badminton in someone’s backyard. He’d also purchased a new pair of sunglasses and, judging by the smell when he slid into the Charger, stopped by the cologne counter, too.
“That’s a wonderful new fragrance,” I said.
“You like it?”
“Not really.”
“And I didn’t like getting strangled by Fiona, so that makes us even.”
“If that’s what does it, fine.”
Barry inhaled. “I think it smells fresh.”
“Barry,” I said, “did you talk to your guy?”
“It has a vanilla scent on the back end,” Barry said. “You don’t get that?”
The issue with Barry is that he’s stubborn. He’s used to doing things on his own timeline. Occasionally, you have to work within that knowledge if you wish to have a successful interaction with him.
“You look and smell just like a vanilla bean,” I said.
“I appreciate that, Michael,” Barry said. “I like to think that if you look good, you feel good, and I feel good now. Better than I have all week.”
“That’s wonderful,” I said. I gave him a big, warm smile. “Now tell me what your guy said before I strangle you, too.”
Barry cleared his throat and then reached into his pocket and pulled out a torn out page from the phone book with scribbles on it. “You’re gonna wanna get onto Sixteenth Avenue and turn left.”
“Where are we going?” I said.
“I’m just following directions,” Barry said. “My guy was very specific.”
“Who is this guy?” I said.
“I’ve only ever known him as Jacques,” Barry said. “Never seen him in person. But I told him I was in a bind and I really needed his help. He owes me a few favors.”
If you’re the kind of guy who knows how to move things on the black market-and Barry was pretty much the Walmart of the black market-you end up with plenty of acquaintances who owe you a favor or two. In that way, Barry wasn’t so different than Sam. In all other ways, it was like apples and chainsaws.
“This is a guy who can keep a secret?” I said.
“He’s a ghost,” Barry said. “Really. The guy is Fort Knox. You think guys who can hand engrave plates for money just blab to everyone they meet about their special skill?”
I started the car and headed out of the mall and followed Barry’s circuitous directions until we came to a stop on Aragon Avenue in Coral Gables, some ten miles from where we started, even though we’d traveled closer to twenty. I looked around for some obvious sign of the world’s finest plate engraver, but all I saw was a taupecolored strip mall that boasted a hair salon, a coffee place called Cliffhanger and…
“What did you say this guy’s name was?” I said.
“Jacques,” Barry said.
“Not Harvey?” I said.
“Why would it be Harvey?”
“I don’t know, Barry. Maybe because we’re currently parked in front of Harvey’s Trophy World,” I said. I pointed out the window to the storefront. A painted sign in the window announced that Harvey’s was THE OFFICIAL HOME OF ALL YOUR LITTLE LEAGUE NEEDS!
“Everyone has a day job,” Barry said.
“Yeah,” I said, “what’s yours?”
I got out of the car, and Barry trailed after me. “He said no guns,” Barry said.
“I’m not coming to rob him,” I said.
“He might pat you down,” Barry said.
The door to Harvey’s shop opened up and a young boy and his mother came out clutching an armful of awards. “Great,” I said. I went back to my car and dumped my guns. I didn’t even bother to pick up the paintball gun, for fear that I might shoot Barry with it. “You sure this guy is what you say he is? Because I don’t want to walk into this place and find out we’ve wasted the afternoon.”
“Mike, trust me,” Barry said. “Have I ever steered you wrong where money was concerned?”
He had a point. Barry was especially good for his word with money, so I let him lead the way across the street and into the shop.