CHAPTER FOURTY-NINE

Alan Bestwick played with the label on the beer bottle. He scraped one edge until it began to lift, then pulled. The label came off in one piece. He set it on the glossy wood tabletop and glanced about for the thirtieth time. The inside of the yacht was opulent, polished teak and chrome, with a wide-screen plasma television tucked against the bulkhead. The window coverings were drawn shut, and it was dark. The television was off, and there was no remote control in sight. He simply sat and waited as Edward Brand had told him to an hour ago when he arrived at the yacht. Brand was on the phone in another part of the boat, and Alan could pick up occasional snippets of the conversation when the man’s voice rose. Brand wasn’t happy about something.

The wall clock had just ticked past two o’clock when Brand pulled open the door to the salon and entered. He walked through the plush salon and into the galley. He took a beer from the fridge and twisted off the cap, then returned and sat opposite Alan on one of the soft leather chairs beside the television.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked.

Alan shrugged. “The weather in Paris is shitty. I felt like getting some sun.”

“This isn’t the only place on the planet with warm weather.”

“It’s been almost four months,” Alan said. “The proverbial dust has settled. The job is over. We did it. You’re just being overly cautious.”

Alan’s easygoing manner partially disarmed Brand. He sipped the beer. “Still, it’s not a good idea. The less we’re together the better.”

“I wanted to find out what you were up to. To see if you had anything on the go.”

Brand motioned to the room he had just left. “I’m trying to get something off the ground, but I’m dealing with idiots. I don’t think it’s going to work.”

“What’s wrong?”

“There’s an industrialist in Germany who is looking for offshore investments. I’ve set up a shell company in St. Lucia and a great prospectus on a company about to be listed on the New York Stock Exchange, but the banker in St. Lucia is getting greedy. He wants twenty-five percent. The figures aren’t working with him taking that kind of slice.”

“What are you going to do?” Alan asked, rising and grabbing two more beers from the fridge. He set one in front of Brand and retook his seat.

“I’ve got a man on the Island who is willing to take care of my problem.”

“The banker?”

Brand nodded. “For ten large he’s fish food. It’s simply amazing what a small sum of money can buy.”

Alan laughed. “I’ve always found that interesting. An absolute value on a human life. Ten grand. So that’s what a Caribbean banker is worth.”

“This particular piece of shit, yes. That leaves me with having to find a substitute. I’ll be doing that while the police are poking about trying to figure out who killed the first one. It’s a no-win situation.”

“Go to a different Island.”

“A lot of the Islands are starting to tighten up. The Caymans are still the best, but that’s where the NewPro money is, and I’m not drawing any heat to that. There’s too much money in that account to do something stupid.”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

Brand’s face clouded over again. “I still don’t like that you’re here, Alan. It’s a dumb idea.”

“Okay, I’ll stay a couple of days and then take off. Maybe go down the coast to Acapulco. Lots of nightlife there. Lots of women who like money.”

“You get your share okay?” Brand asked.

“Fine. Thanks.”

“You earned it. Good job with Taylor.”

Alan’s face changed. Emotion flooded into his eyes. “Taylor is an incredible woman. There were times when I wished this whole thing would collapse, and we would back off. I think I could have stayed married to her and been quite happy. She’s beautiful and intelligent. Very intelligent. It probably sounds kind of strange, but I miss her.”

“You were married for three years. It’s normal. You’ve got to let it go.”

“Yeah, I know.” Alan paused, staring at the ground, then said, “You want to go out and get some dinner?”

Brand shook his head. “Something’s not getting through that thick skull of yours, Alan. I don’t want to be seen together. Not now, not ever, unless we’re working and we know the marks. Doing stupid things is how people get caught.”

Alan launched himself off the couch. “All right, but I’m going to have some fun. Maybe I’ll stay in town. If I don’t make it back, I’ll be at the Sheraton.”

Brand’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t make it back. Stay away, Alan. Your presence only complicates things. For no reason.”

Alan gave him a grin as he headed up the stairs. “Nice boat, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Brand muttered under his breath to the empty room. “Idiot.”

Edward Brand finished the beer and picked up the empties. It was almost New Year, just three days until the fireworks would usher in another January 1. This year had been very good to him. He wondered about what the next would hold. Perhaps he should quit while he was ahead. It was the safe thing to do. Even as he cleaned the galley and wiped down the countertops, he knew that wasn’t going to happen. Conning people, taking their money, was like a drug. He thrived on it. Needed it, almost. No, no almost about it. He needed it. It was his habit, and he needed his fix.

He finished cleaning the galley and headed toward the aft of the boat. He was going stir crazy on the yacht. His crew was stripping one of the motors and retooling a drive shaft, and he wanted to see how things were coming. Patience, he told himself as he strode through the luxury craft. Patience. Something always came up. Never failed. The world was funny that way.