‘Are those Jimmy Choos?’ Kelson asked the woman when they were sitting. She set her feet side by side, neat enough to ski.
‘Never,’ she said, as though he should know better.
‘What’s wrong with Jimmy Choos?’
‘Nothing – if you wear Jimmy Choos.’
‘Which you don’t?’ Kelson said.
‘I would hope not.’
‘I have no idea what that means. Am I supposed to call you “Winsin”, or do you have a first name to go with the last?’
‘People who work for us usually call me Ms Winsin.’
‘First, I’m not working for you. Second, I have almost zero control over how I speak.’
‘We prefer that you try,’ the white Oxford said.
‘See, a couple years ago, I got shot in the—’
‘We’ve looked into your background,’ the blue Oxford said.
‘My name is Christine,’ the woman said. ‘Chris, if you prefer.’
‘Bob,’ said the white Oxford.
‘David,’ said the blue Oxford.
‘Well, David, Bob, and Christine, I’m buried to my ears in a couple of jobs right now. What do you think I can do for you?’
‘We hope to bury you a little deeper in one of them,’ the woman said. ‘We would like you to locate a gentleman named Marty LeCoeur.’
‘What do you want with him?’ Kelson said.
Bob Winsin folded his fingers over his belly. ‘We’ve invested money through G&G Private Equity – money that G&G seems to have misplaced. We understand that Marty LeCoeur represents our best chance of getting our money back.’
‘How much money?’
‘Will you help find him?’ he said.
Kelson said, ‘Did you get Marty’s name from the Cranes?’
‘We did,’ he said.
Kelson said, ‘The Cranes couldn’t get Marty to find your money, and they’re vicious. What makes you think you can do it?’
Christine Winsin tapped the toes of her tiny shoes on the carpet as if they were windup toys. ‘Harry and Sylvia Crane are tightlipped about everything they do at their firm. They put buffers throughout their investment and distribution processes. That’s the main reason we’ve used their services. But they gave us Marty LeCoeur’s name – and yours – with hardly a protest.’
Kelson grinned at her. ‘You little fellows twisted their arms?’
She stopped tapping her shoes. ‘Don’t make the same mistake others have made, Mr Kelson. Our research says that despite appearances, you’re smart.’
‘You use the word “research” like a knife.’
Bob Winsin said, ‘We pay well for the services we value, Mr Kelson.’ He reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a checkbook.
‘No,’ Kelson said.
‘Excuse me?’ As if Kelson had spoken in a strange language.
‘I could get Marty for you easy enough, but I won’t do it. He’s a friend. Crooked as hell, but he’s a good guy, you know. And I don’t like you. At all. I don’t know where you get your money or what you do with it, and I don’t care. Now, if you’ll leave, I’ll walk out with you – I have somewhere to go that I do care about.’
The Winsins stayed in their chairs, as if they’d bought the office out from under Kelson. Christine Winsin said, ‘Do you know where real power lies? A long time ago, it was with men like you – men who muscled through the world. Then, for many years, it was with governments and churches, with their collective muscle. Then with money.’ When Kelson smiled at that, she said, ‘Yes, it still lies with money. But do you know what the backbone of power is? The nerve center?’
‘I know you’re boring me,’ Kelson said.
Christine Winsin pressed her tiny feet together. ‘The backbone – the nerve center – is personal information. Everyone values it, but few aside from big corporations have the resources to access it. For example, your daughter Sue Ellen – eleven years old – goes to Hayt Elementary School. You should talk with her about the C she’s earning in math. She likes to draw. She has a stuffed animal – a monkey – she keeps on her pillow. You should also probably talk with her about posting personal pictures on the internet. Less easily discoverable, she has a habit of sneaking out of her mother’s house at night. Some might call that a cry for attention.’
Kelson tried to speak – tried to tell her what he would do if she or her brothers ever hurt Sue Ellen or even thought of hurting her – but his words tangled in his mouth. So he reached under the desktop, pulled out his KelTec, and aimed at her.
She and her brothers showed no fear.
‘Now who’s the little fellow?’ she said.
But David Winsin said, ‘Good, we’re getting down to business,’ as if all they’d talked about up until this moment was a tedious preliminary to what mattered.
Bob Winsin said, ‘You should understand, we have no interest in harming anyone. Why would we want to hurt a little girl? Why would we want to hurt her mother? Think of all those kids with unfilled cavities. Why would we want to hurt your friend DeMarcus Rodman? When someone dies in his neighborhood, the police turn their backs and the nightly news does a story on Girl Scout cookie sales.’
Kelson shifted his pistol so it pointed at the middle of his white Oxford shirt.
‘The point is,’ Christine Winsin said, ‘we wish to meet with Marty LeCoeur. We wish to discuss positive outcomes with him. Everyone might benefit – Mr LeCoeur included. Why don’t you contact him – through whatever means you wish to use? Ask him whether he would like to enter a mutually beneficial arrangement with us. If he agrees, we will write you a second check. In the meantime …’
She didn’t need to glance at her brother. Bob Winsin pulled out a pen, wrote a check, and laid it on the desk in front of Kelson.
Kelson picked it up. It was for ten thousand dollars. He made to rip it.
‘Don’t make the same mistake others have made,’ Christine Winsin said again.
Kelson eyed her tiny red shoes. He eyed the silver tie clip on David Winsin’s tie. He eyed Bob Winsin’s ageless face. Then he put the check in his top desk drawer.
He said, ‘I’ll talk with Marty. I’ll see if he’ll meet you.’
‘That’s all we ever wanted,’ Bob Winsin said.
The Winsins got up together as if responding to a silent signal. Bob Winsin set a business card with a phone number on the desk. ‘Soonest would be best,’ he said. He, his brother, and his sister left Kelson’s office. When they shut the door behind them, it made no sound.