35. As Soon as I Enter My Apartment

As soon as I enter my apartment, I sense something. It’s about six p.m. Monday, and I’ve returned to walk Gomer the Turd and to eat before we meet with the Bureau technicians. But I know I’m not alone. Gomer is in the far corner of the living area with his little eyes racing. He usually retreats there when I have visitors, as if he needs space to plan his future actions. And even if it’s below the threshold of actual hearing, I sense somebody else’s breath.

“Toy?” I ask.

“Don’t shoot,” I hear him say. Strangely, I haven’t yet reached under my arm for my gun. Koob steps out of my bedroom. He is thinking about smiling but isn’t positive how that will be received.

“Wow,” I say, absorbing the total-body shock.

“Sorry,” he says. “I tried to call you.”

“‘No Caller ID’?”

“That’s my name,” he says with the same suggestion of a smile.

I was with Rik and a client and couldn’t answer when my phone lit up about 3:30 p.m. I assumed it was the FBI with details about tonight’s meeting, which I then received from Tonya by text.

“I was kinda thinking I’d never see you again,” I say. “What’s going on?”

Life is not a rom-com, at least not mine. I suppose there’s a chunk of me that would get a thrill if he said he’d left his wife and was here because he needs to hang with me every day and thinks I’m great and is all in for me. And there’s another, maybe bigger part of me that would never believe that or would be totally freaked about any commitment. But there’s nothing in me that really expects him to say that.

“I understand there’s a meeting tomorrow,” he says. “Involving your client.”

I’m alarmed at first, then realize who he’s been talking to. Neither Walter or Lucy is sure yet about a meeting. I take a beat to remind myself Koob and I are back to being on opposite sides.

“Then you know something I don’t,” I say. “Where did you hear that?”

“The Ritz called me.”

“Okay.”

“He wants me to provide counter-surveillance. He thinks it may be a setup.”

“Really?” I hitch a shoulder, noncommittal. “Then why would he go?”

“Well, he has faith that his comms guy will outwit law enforcement, I guess.” He comes closer to a smile than usual, as he compliments himself. “And I think he’s concerned about what your client will say about him on the witness stand.”

“Last time I saw you, you were afraid Ritz might kill you.”

“I have not completely disregarded that thought. But it turned out when Darnell called the payment intermediary that Ritz had fallen way behind in what he owed us, which helped explain why I just took off. And the Ritz does appear to accept that cooperating with law enforcement would be lethal for our business. Not to mention our freedom. It’s also been weeks and nothing bad has happened to Ritz or the matters that concern him. So I think he feels reassured.”

“Still. Why not tell him, ‘Nice knowing you’? Why take the chance?”

“As I said. Ritz owes us a great deal of money. He’s been playing some excuse about a sharp rise in the price of bitcoins. But the transaction will supposedly take place the instant he sees me tomorrow. It’s the kind of power play you would expect from Ritz: You quit when I say you quit. And obviously, showing up again will probably lessen any suspicion he has that I turned on him.”

“Is this the money he owes you for spying on me?”

Koob knots up his lips to keep from smiling again.

“For many services. It is a lot of money, but if this is an undercover operation, probably run by the FBI, given their earlier involvement, then I would rather not be there—at least not without some preconditions. Obviously, I have no interest in being held for questioning.”

“We don’t talk about our clients. Remember?”

“I understand.”

“So what I know or don’t know, I have nothing to say.”

“Understood. But I have spent some time thinking this through. If I show up tomorrow and it is a sting of some kind, then I like to think I will figure that out. Whatever means the FBI employs to intercept the communications, radio or recorder or even a laser tap—do you know what that is?”

I nod. It’s a dream addition to the PIBOT. The mechanism uses a laser to turn the vibrations of speech against a hard surface, usually a window, into sound, applying the same principles involved in a microphone.

“Well, whatever devices are in use,” he says, “I suspect I will detect them. Certainly, if I were the FBI, I would not like to take that chance. So I want to propose a win-win. For me. And your client. And the FBI.”

I tumble my hand forward, indicating he should explain.

“If I recognize something, I will keep it to myself,” he says. “I will go through the motions, searching, using the appropriate machinery, but if I uncover anything—” He extends a thin finger over his lips. “And all I get in exchange is a day pass. I come and I go. No one detains me. No one comes looking for me afterwards.”

“And if I say I can’t help?”

“I head home now.”

“Explaining what to the Ritz?”

“Too risky, I suppose.”

Which would be like posting a ‘STOP’ sign. If the surveillance guru has decided meeting Lucy is too perilous for him to show up, Ritz won’t proceed either.

Koob has reasoned this through carefully. Bottom line, the Bureau needs to accept his terms. It’s the only way the Ritz will see Lucy.

“And just say it turns out to be law enforcement?” I ask. “Won’t Ritz think you were part of it, if he gets rolled up?”

“He may. But my name will never appear on any government witness list. And I can say the feds must have developed some advanced technology that fooled my machinery. The federal agencies go to great lengths not to disclose their newest surveillance techniques, even at trials, and the courts usually permit them to keep their secrets. I’ll have some deniability. And frankly, if Ritz is under arrest, he will have less time to bother with me. Darnell and I both think this is the best course for us.” Koob looks at me in that unflinching way he employs when he’s getting to some uncomfortable truth. It’s a cool deal for him. They get their money. They never turn on Ritz visibly. And they silently assist in apprehending somebody they now know to be a true sinister shit and a killer.

I tell him I need to make a call or two.

“Go walk for an hour,” I say. “And hey, do you mind taking Gomer with you?”

I phone Rik first. Then Tonya. She calls back in about forty-five minutes.

“The FBI hates being dictated to,” she says. “Some of them just wanted to say, ‘Fuck him,’ but the cooler heads realize they have no choice. Still, Joe, or whatever his name really is, has to understand that he can’t play games. If they think he’s tipped off Ritz, this deal evaporates and your guy ends up in cuffs. So he better be super convincing when he tells Ritz it’s cool to go ahead. And they were emphatic that you can’t confirm to Joe that it’s a law-enforcement operation. They don’t want to take the chance that he’ll let something slip to Ritz beforehand, even by accident.”

When Koob returns, he’s brought carnitas from Ruben’s. I laugh and we sit down at my table.

“Just play it out tomorrow,” I tell him. “One way or the other, you’ll be able to go on your way.”

“Thank you,” he says.

He talks to me about his daughter while we’re eating. He sees no signs she’s growing up. It’s sex, drugs and rock ’n’ roll. And shopping.

“That’s not a good feeling,” he says, “to look at your own child and think, You’re shallow.”

“And young,” I say. “She’s young. People change. Right?”

“Sometimes.”

“The way you describe your wife, your daughter’s got a lot she’s getting over. So maybe that’s why she needs to stay on the surface.”

He looks up like he’s never considered that.

At ten to nine, I fold the food wrapper and get ready to go. I have told him only that I have a meeting with Rik.

“Where you staying?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Ritz would pay for a hotel.”

“You can stay here. But,” I say, having considered it, “no hooking up. It wouldn’t be fun for me. I mean, it would be fun. But not afterwards.”

He nods several times. “I have been thinking the same thing.”

I think he means it. He looks kind of relieved.

“So, you know, help yourself to the sofa,” I tell him.

“Okay,” he says. “If I’m not here, I will talk to you before I go.”

We hang there by the door.

“Oh, just, fuck,” I say and hug him quickly before I leave.