ON THE THIRD RING, he rolled to his left side, regretfully withdrawing from her.
“Ohhhh…” It was a soft, sated protest. “Oh, no. You can’t—”
“Shhh. Wait.” He laid a forefinger on the parted curve of her pouting mouth. “Lemmee hear the machine.”
As, from the living room, he heard his own voice, recorded, followed by the caller’s voice: “Yes, this is Mr. Carter, calling from California. I wish you’d give me a call as soon as—”
Quickly, he snatched the phone from the bedside table. “This is Fisher. Hold on a minute, please. Just a minute.” And to the woman: “When I pick it up in the living room, I want you to hang this up. Then I want you to get your ass in the bathroom, and close the door.”
“But—”
“Save it. This is business. Someone listened in on me, once, and I never forgot it. And neither did she, I’ll guarantee you that. She didn’t forget, and neither did anyone who ever looked at her, after that. You follow?” As he spoke, he gripped her naked shoulder, felt her spasm of pain, heard her gasp. Then, quickly, he got out of bed and walked into the darkened living room. He winced as his bare buttocks touched the cold leather of the couch, then picked up the phone. With his palm over the mouthpiece, he called, “Okay, hang it up. Then do like I told you.” Into the telephone he said, “Just one more minute, Mr. Carter. Just hold on.” He waited until he saw her briefly in the hallway: a slim white body moving languidly in the darkness. When he heard the click of the bathroom door closing, he spoke again into the phone: “Yes, sir. Sorry for the delay. What can I do for you?” As he spoke, he could visualize the other man’s face, with its pursed, prissy mouth and its narrow, pinched nose. He could visualize the eyes, too: coward’s eyes, always moving. And it was the eyes that told the story. Always. Venezzio had told him that, told him to watch the eyes. Always.
“Are you alone?” the other man was asking.
“I’m alone enough to talk. You can talk, too. Nobody can hear you. Don’t worry.”
“Yes. Well, I—I’ve got another assignment for you.”
Leaning gingerly back against the couch, he smiled. Satisfied customers, that’s what business was all about. You did good work, you got called again, pennies from heaven.
Be sure your umbrella,
Is upside down…
“Well, sir, I’m happy to hear it. What’s the rundown?”
“It’s—ah—” The voice caught, faltered, finally continued: “It’s the woman. You know what I mean, don’t you—know the one I mean?”
“You mean—” He hesitated. How should he say it, to be safe? “You mean the woman that was with him, out there—the guy we did business about, last week? That woman?”
“Yes. That woman.”
To himself, pleased, he nodded. A woman had to be easier than a man. And he knew her already, knew her by sight.
Satisfied customers…
Be sure your umbrella,
Is upside down…
“Is she at that same place?”
“No, she’s not. She’s down in Southern California, just about a hundred miles southeast of Los Angeles, maybe a hundred fifty. So I was thinking, we could meet at the airport, like we’ve done before. Not the San Francisco airport. The Los Angeles airport. LAX. Wouldn’t that be simpler than going into all this on the phone?”
As he listened to the other man asking the timid question, as he heard the tremor of fear in the voice, he smiled. Because this moment, this feeling, was what it was all about. The money was wonderful. Every day, every single day, he charted his stocks, calculated the value of his CDs. But this was what it was all about, this small, secret rush of satisfaction, listening to them squirm. And the terror in their eyes, too, face-to-face, win or lose, live or die—that was something only he could experience: Willis Dodge, the best in the business.
“Yes, Mr. Carter, LAX, that’d be better. It’ll be the same price—the same deal. Right?”
“Y—yes.”
“Half up front, half afterward.”
“Yes.”
“Good. It’s about a hundred fifty miles from Los Angeles, you say?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. I’ll get the first plane out of here in the morning, bright and early. Why don’t you call me back in a half hour? I’ll have a time for you, when I’ll be arriving.
“Yes. Good. Thank you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Carter.” He let the mockery come into his voice now, let him hear the playful contempt. “Thank you very much, Mr. Carter.”