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I called Abit to tell him his old buddy was back in town. Then I brought out the percolator and sat down in a rocker across from Nigel. We drank our coffee in silence, until he felt ready to explain what was going on. “I believe I told you the Treasury Department made me retire a few months ago,” he offered as an opener.
“Yeah, you did, and I figured it was about time. I knew lots of folks who had to retire well before the age you are now.”
“Ah, yes, don’t remind me. I am well past mandated retirement, but they’d kept me on because, well, I’m so good at what I do.” He paused, then added, “Now don’t give me that raised-eyebrow look. I’m not bragging, it’s true.”
“I know it’s true—but it’s also true those talents got you in a load of trouble in the past. What’s the story this time?”
“I’m getting to that.” Nigel got up, brushing crumbs from his rumpled suit, though he’d managed to iron it upstairs and look somewhat presentable after a hot shower and close shave. He walked to the back and helped himself to more coffee. He drank tea in the afternoons, but for his elevenses he preferred coffee. When he sat back down, he continued. “Some bureaucrat declared I was too old to work there. As if crime—and outsmarting it—knows time.”
“Okay, but I haven’t heard anything that would necessitate your skipping town in the middle of the night.”
“It wasn’t the middle of the night. You know that train schedule better than I. I got here, Timbuktu, in the middle of the night.” I nodded, conceding that volley, then gestured for him to go on. “So back to D.C. You know me. I’m not used to sitting around doing nothing, and I was feeling, well, all sixes and sevens.”
“That has a financial ring to it.”
He managed a wan smile. “Yes, I felt restless, and of course that led to itchy fingers. That’s the only reason. I don’t need the money. I was just bored.”
“Oh, Nigel. What have you gotten yourself into?” Years ago I’d made a vow to stop sticking my nose in other people’s business. I’d had varying degrees of success with that, but in this case, Nigel had dumped this unholy mess in my lap.
His face flushed. “A bit of bother, I’m afraid. Seems the man I was doing forgery for wasn’t some hapless bloke, but rather a gangster of what I’ve only recently learned is considerable ill repute. RICO, if you catch my drift. And to make matters worse, the feds think I’m the man RICO paid me to forge the signatures of. Oh, it’s all very complicated, and quite unforeseeable, but needless to say, I couldn’t stay in D.C. And I had nowhere else to go. My daughter and her children moved to New York recently, but that turned into a blessing. Thank heavens they’re not close by in case RICO or the feds come looking and ...”
“Oh great,” I interrupted. “So instead they follow you down here to us!”
“Now, now, of course not, my dear. The feds aren’t looking for Nigel Steadman—they don’t realize it’s a forgery because I did such a good job signing for Rodney Highsmith.” He looked so pleased with his abilities, I felt like growling at him. He hurried ahead with a somewhat plausible explanation. “They’re looking for Highsmith, and no one—RICO, Highsmith, the feds—have any idea where I am. This is the last place any of them would look. And I’m good about covering my tracks. I forged a few documents so this boyo I know could take a long trip to Mexico—as Highsmith. It’s just a red herring, but it will throw them off track for some precious weeks. He’s still down there on a beach somewhere with enough money to travel before returning home to his real life as Michael Monahan.”
I wasn’t consoled. “One crime begets three or four. Isn’t this how you got caught before?”
“Let’s not get into all that past history.”
“What other kind is there?”
He looked flummoxed. “I’m sorry, my dear. What is your question?” He turned his hand flamboyantly like Pavarotti singing La donna è mobile.
“There’s only one kind of history, Nigel. Past. Which is what your penchant for forgery should have been. Quit stalling—and don’t you dare wave your hand at me again, dismissing me as though I were just being silly. I wish I were.”
Just then the bell over the door rang.