The Shadow Box (48 page)

The deal is that Hobbs will front for Turkel while, of
course, he's making himself and AdChem rich on what
Turkel feeds him. They tell Turkel what else to look for and who else might need to make some money. Turkel
steers them to a toxicologist who's been with the FDA for
twenty years, is on the approvals committee, is seriously
in hock to a Maryland bookie, and thinks the FDA has fucked him over on promotions.

To Hobbs, this is the mother lode. If you want to stall
a competitor's new drug, it only takes one person on the
committee to question the research and want it sent back
for more testing. And, meantime, to slip you the formula.

Hobbs bought Turkel and the toxicologist for himself
and Lehman-Stone, and of course for the Baron who had
already bought Hobbs. Everyone's getting rich but human
nature is funny. You'll take the money but you hate who
ever bought you. Hobbs, who is a world-class snob, hates
the Baron for being an even bigger snob and because the Baron treats him like shit. This was good for Detective
Lieutenant Philip Parker because it made Hobbs look for
ways to become
independently
wealthy. This was also
good because when Hobbs tried doing one drug deal too
many, and got caught, he tried to save his own ass by
offering to flip AdChem who he says is doing a whole
new kind of dealing.

On the one hand, this had the makings of a very nice
bust. Internal Affairs might have been so impressed that
they'd be willing to forgive and forget. But his commander
would have had to bring in the Feds and the Feds, as
usual, would end up with all the headlines. He'd be lucky
to get a citation out of it.

On the other hand, this also had the makings of a new
career opportunity. Lehman-Stone and AdChem were in serious need of a security consultant who could keep such
misunderstandings from arising in the future.

This was ten years ago. The job had made him a multi
millionaire, but only on paper.

Three good things, however, had come out of Parker's
breakfast with the Baron.
The first thing . . . Rast or Rasmussen or whoever the
f
uck he is backed off on whacking Doyle or even
snatching him. And he said he was sorry for losing his
temper, no hard feelings about decking his German or
about the blood on the rug. But Rast still needs a hole
card because he has to stop Doyle from filing that suit, so
he asks why don't we snatch Doyle's wife.

Parker was in semi-agreement about the wisdom of a snatch. But not of Doyle and not of his wife either. Who
we'll grab, he told the Baron, is the “investigator” Doyle
bragged about to Bellows.

Yeah, I know who he is.

Yeah,
I can bag him in time.

This put the Baron in such a generous mood that he not
only agreed to an immediate bonus—a quarter-million if he pulls it off—but he also upped the ante on the karate kid and the jig, of whom he is basically scared shitless. One million cash for Michael Fallon dead. One million
cash for Moon. That's two eighty-pound suitcases filled
with fifties and twenties. They'll be ready and waiting the
day he produces.

Talk about traveling money.

The third good thing was an idea on how to play this
both ways. But first things first.

Doyle had said “investigators.” Plural.

But as far as Parker could tell, they were all one guy.
At least that's the word around the pharmaceutical indus
try. An investment counselor named Aaronson who's been
making lots of phone calls to people in the business, ask
ing lots of funny questions and who, lo and behold, hap
pens to live not five minutes away from Doyle.

Parker had already put a tail on Aaronson and, sure enough, he was seen entering the building where Doyle
has his office. His first thought was to go talk to him, lean
on him hard. But how do you do that and then let him go?

“Just get him,” says the Baron. “Let Doyle know you
have him. Then question him. I need to know what
Doyle knows.”

“And if he doesn't want to tell me?”
'

”I leave that to you.”

Yeah. I thought you would.

“If you're right,” says the Baron, “and Doyle has noth
ing, you can release this Aar
o
nson in due course.”

Oh! I can? After tickling his balls with a live lamp cord
wire? After he's seen my face? Release him, my ass.

In the end, and for his own peace of mind, he would have to give this guy to the camel drivers.

Parker returned to his office. It took him less than an
hour to set up and rehearse the snatch.

They would steal a car, preferably a taxi, take Aaronson
on his way to lunch. The tail says he eats at the same
place every day, same greasy spoon diner on Flatbush
Avenue where he always orders the same lunch. A West
ern or a Spanish omelet, home fries, buttered rye toast,
and a Diet Pepsi. Always brings the
Wall Street Journal,
reads only the front page, then pulls out the
New York
Times
and does the crossword.

Aaronson is a creature of habit. That's good, thought
Parker. It should make this easy. That's if that shit he
eats doesn't stop his heart while they're dragging him into
a car.

That done, he would place another call to Mr. Julie
Giordano.

This was that third thing, the other good idea.

In one way, it had surprised him that Fat Julie Giordano
took his call about the Pakistani . . . whatzizname . . .
Yahya . . . after Yahya named him as a reference. Wise
guys don't like to talk on the phone. The most Parker had
expected was for one of Giordano's minions to put him
on hold, then come back with something short and unspe-
cific such as “Boss says he's okay.”

But Giordano came on the line with a glowing recom
mendation. He said, “This person in question has been
reliable on at least two occasions.” This, Parker assumed,
had to mean that he'd done two hits. “Many persons,
however, are thusly reliable.” Giordano had actually said
“thusly.” He said, “But this one is special. I am letting
him move on because to hold him would be like keeping
a brain surgeon around in case someone gets a headache.”

The Brooklyn hood gave his blessing.

“But there's a condition,” said Fat Julie Giordano. “If
we ever decide to get into this health care thing, maybe
start our own HMO, we're going to need the right people
and we'll want this guy back.”

You can't get much clearer than that.

Giordano as much as admitted that he was planting this
guy. Getting him into the organization, finding out how it
works, and eventually grabbing a piece of it. And he knew Parker heard him. It wasn't a warning because those guys
don't warn. It was more of an invitation. He was saying,
“Think about it and let's talk. I'll tell you what we can
bring to the party, you tell me what's in it for us.”

That's what you want?

Then how's this?

I will tell you exactly how it works, how the stuff comes
in and how it's distributed. I'll draw up an organization
chart. Names and addresses of all the key people. Names
of everyone we've bought and how we keep them bought.

This will take me about a day to lay out. At the start
of that day, I want to see another one of those million-
dollar suitcases. That's my consultation fee. At the end of
that day, I'm gone. Think it over. You've got till morning.

Parker was sure that Giordano would go for it. All that
remained was to work out how he, Parker, leaves there
with that suitcase alive.

What's that old saying?

The devil is in the details.

Chapter 30

M
ichael had
asked Doyle to be persuasive.

He didn't mean
that
persuasive.

“She's coming for Memorial Day weekend? We're to
tally booked for this weekend.”

An exasperated snarl. “Listen, dickhead . . .”

Michael held the phone away from his ear. He waited
until the lawyer paused to take a breath.

“Okay, wait,” he said. “That will be fine. She can have
my room.”

In fact, it's better. It's the biggest room in the house
and it's the least he can do, especially since she's only
staying through Monday.

Mrs. Mayfield will fly in tomorrow. He'll meet her, he
told Doyle, show her around the island, and then he and
Megan can take her out to dinner. He can sack out on a
cot in the office.

“Who's Megan?”

“Megan Cole. She's
...
a special friend.”

A troubled pause. “From where? From New York?”

“No. She's more or less local.”

Dòyle softened. “I'm glad, Michael. I'm glad for you.”

Fallon wrote down the flight information. The lawyer
wished him a nice weekend and broke the connection.

They have one extra cot, thought Michael. But better
yet, maybe Megan will bring her boat over, tie up for the
weekend in Edgartown. She's not crazy about crowds but
she might. He'll ask her tonight when he sees her.