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After Rory asked that question—Don’t you think Carducci would pay some serious cash for that information?—Bryce had freaked out a little.
“But you’re talking about getting Albert killed, right? I mean, that’s what would happen, isn’t it? Carducci would send somebody to kill him.”
“But that’s not our problem,” Rory said. “We just want the money. It’s up to Carducci what he does after that.”
“No way, man. That’s crazy. You know what he would do.”
“Ha,” Rory said. “Take it easy, man. I was just kidding. I wouldn’t do that to Albert, despite the fact that he’s an asshole.”
“Okay, good.”
“But...”
Rory waited and Bryce said, “But what?”
“That doesn’t mean we can’t ask Carducci for the money up front...and then never tell him where Albert is.”
“So now you’re talking about ripping off a mob guy?”
“We just make sure he can never figure out who we are. Not a big deal.”
“But what if he does figure it out?”
“He won’t. We’ll make sure of that.”
They went back and forth on that for a few minutes, but eventually Rory’s confidence and vague assurances—along with a fresh joint—brought Bryce around.
They pondered how to pull off their scheme, and later they wrote a simple note.
I know where Miguel Lopez is.
They were able to find Carducci’s address in the county tax records. Then they drove to San Antonio and mailed the note in a light-blue envelope with no return address. They were careful as hell. Instead of going to an actual post office, where they would be on security cameras, they found one of those blue dropboxes on the street and slipped it in there.
The postmark would reveal that the letter had come from San Antonio, but there wasn’t a way around that, and after some discussion, they agreed it wouldn’t be worth it to drive to Dallas or Houston or somewhere farther away.
A week later, they drove to San Antonio and mailed a second note in another light-blue envelope: Want to know more? I’ll be in touch.
After another week, they figured Carducci, if he had a vengeful streak and could hold a grudge for nineteen years, was just about dying to find out what they knew. He might even have a plan of action ready to go as soon as the anonymous letter writer shared his information.
So they drove to San Antonio and mailed their third note in a light-blue envelope: If you want to know where he is, send a text to 210-557-1216. Say your name is Glen Johnson.
The number went to a throwaway phone they’d bought with cash in San Antonio after their second trip down there. It had the San Antonio area code and everything, so it all matched up. Rory had taken the phone to work a few times and snapped several candid photos of Albert throughout the day. It wasn’t as easy as you’d think to get a really good photo of a person without that person knowing.
Five days passed. Surely Carducci had received the latest note. Surely he was anxious to make contact and learn Miguel Lopez’s location as soon as possible. Right? A guy like that—a fucking Mafia kingpin—wouldn’t just let it go, would he?
But the throwaway phone remained quiet. Why? It was frustrating as hell. What value would this information have if Carducci didn’t want it?
Maybe Carducci thought it was a trap of some kind. Maybe he thought one of the other mob families was trying to screw him over somehow.
Then, the next day, a text arrived.
This is Glen Johnson.
Rory texted Bryce to tell him what had happened, and Bryce came over to Rory’s apartment. Then Rory sent a reply to Carducci. Good to hear from you, Glen. Is this your boy?
He sent a photo of Albert.
Ten minutes passed. What was Carducci doing? Did he think it was a scam? Or that Albert wasn’t Miguel Lopez? Another ten minutes passed.
Then Carducci answered. Where is he?
Rory and Bryce were just about doing cartwheels at this point.
Won’t come cheap.
What’s your price? Don’t get crazy.
Rory and Bryce had already figured out what they would say. They’d decided to start out with a really high number, because the mobster would want to negotiate downward. Where would it end up? What would a guy like Carducci pay? How badly did he want Miguel Lopez? Pretty badly, obviously, considering that his anger was still burning all these years later.
Rory’s heart was hammering when he sent the answer. $100,000.
This time, a full thirty minutes passed. Rory was convinced they’d blown it, and that Carducci would not respond. But he did. Finally.
Told you not to get crazy. I don’t have that much lying around. Not even close.
So Rory waited ten minutes, then said, 50k.
Ten minutes passed, then: Still way too high. Can go 20k, with 10k now, the rest when I get the info.
Well, shit. Rory had figured Carducci would agree to the $50,000, with $25,000 up front.
“So whatta we do now?” Bryce asked.
“We counteroffer again,” Rory said.
“You sure, dude? Twenty grand is a lot of money.”
“Remember, we’d only get the ten up front and that’s all, because we’re not gonna tell him where Albert is, so we won’t get the other ten.”
“Oh, right. But ten thousand is still a lot of money.”
“It’s not that much,” Rory said.
“Maybe not for you, but it sure as hell is for me.”
“You’d only get five.”
“I know, and that’s plenty,” Bryce said.
“Worth risking your life?”
“But you said he’d never know who we are! We already agreed on that. So I say we take it.”
“Man, this is my thing, okay? So I get to decide what—”
“I helped you figure it all out!”
“Okay, just settle down,” Rory said. “But I’m telling you, we’ve got to counteroffer again. He’ll pay more than twenty thou. He’s lowballing us. I mean, come on. We start at a hundred thousand and he wants to get us down to twenty? That’s an insult.”
Bryce didn’t say anything.
“I say we ask for thirty, with twenty up front. That means we get ten thousand each.”
“Dude,” Bryce said, shaking his head.
“What?”
“That’s pushing it.”
“No, man, it’s not. I promise. You’ve got to trust me. My mom is a lawyer and I’ve seen how she negotiates. You’ve gotta be a hard-ass. I’ve watched her do it, and it totally works. We’ve got something he wants real bad. Remember that part.”
Bryce didn’t appear convinced, but finally he said, “Yeah, okay.”
“But we’re gonna make him wait for a while,” Rory said. “Same as he did to us.”
Bryce was up and pacing now. So Rory rolled a joint and let Bryce hit it first, to calm him down. Then, of course, Bryce went into Rory’s kitchen to get a bag of potato chips. The dude was a straight-up chip junkie.
Finally Rory sent another text to Carducci: Can’t go lower than 30k, with 20k up front. We can tell you exactly where he lives, where he works, what his name is now, what he drives, all of it.
Carducci replied two minutes later. We?
“What does that mean?” Bryce asked, looking over Rory’s shoulder.
“No friggin’ idea.”
“We what?”
“I don’t know.”
“Should you answer?”
“Oh, crap.”
“What?”
“We’ve been saying I all along. In the last text, I said we. That’s what he’s asking about. Now he knows there’s more than one of us.”
“Shit.”
“I know.”
Rory realized he should’ve known better than to handle this texting while he was high. He was bound to slip up eventually.
“You blew it, man,” Bryce said.
“Give me a fuckin’ break, okay? It’s not the end of the world.”
“So what do we do now?” Bryce asked.
“I’m thinking. Could you stop eating chips for a minute? It’s distracting.”
Bryce put the bag down on the coffee table, then he sat in the chair to Rory’s right.
Rory thought about it and send a reply. What?
Carducci answered immediately: How many people am I dealing with?
Two of us.
Then why did you say I earlier?
Rory came up with an answer: Because it was just me texting. Why does it matter? Then he quickly sent another. We need 30k. You in or out? Bet Miguel would pay us more than that to keep the information to ourselves. We’re considering that option.
One minute passed. And another. Finally, a reply.
Okay.
“Yes!” Rory said, and they high-fived. “Told ya.”
“That was awesome!” Bryce said.
“I knew he’d friggin’ pay,” Rory said. “I knew it.”
Then his phone dinged with another text.
If you’re jerking me around, it will be the biggest mistake of your life.
Rory had to ignore the lump that text put into his throat.