In a darkened bar called the Alibi, off I-91, south of Hartford, Ira Wachman, Joe Raines, and Warren Hauck sat in a back booth.
“This is one of those little tête-à-têtes,” Wachman said, “that no one is ever going to know existed, but where the fates of a handful of very important individuals swing in the balance.”
“And then there’s the rest of us,” Warren said, draining the last of his scotch.
“Yes.” Wachman nodded philosophically. “And then there’s us.”
He looked at Raines. “I understand they know about this accomplice of yours? This dealer…”
“Ex-dealer. But that’s nothing to worry about. I’ve got that under control.”
Wachman chuckled gloomily. “Since my friend Warren here was kind enough to introduce us, you’ve said you had a number of things under control, and I haven’t slept through the night since. This Pacello…This ex-employee of yours, he knows precisely what?”
“He knows this gambling thing between Sanger and Kramer is just a sham. He knows that Kramer had nothing to do with it.”
“No.” Wachman shook his head. “It would not be good for that to come out at all.” He sipped his Coke. “Is there some way we can, how to put it—step up the situation?”
Raines looked at him. “Step it up?”
“Ensure things don’t go south any farther. Put a stamp of certainty on it.”
“You mind telling me what that means?” Warren came to life, flicking an ash.
“You know precisely what it means, Warren. Shut this little line of inquiry down. We let this whole thing play out as a form of misdirection…” He looked at Raines. “All that shit you learned in Iraq, right? Problem is, it hasn’t worked any better here than it did there. Now it’s time to just get a little more direct. Up the tempo. What is it we don’t understand?”
“Tell me precisely how you want it upped?” The casino security man shrugged, seemingly without concern.
“Hold it a minute.” Warren didn’t like where this was going. “You and I have an understanding, Ira. Personally, I don’t give a flying fuck what happens to this guy up there, but you and I agreed from the start certain people were hands-off. And as far as I’m concerned that still goes. I’ve got stuff in the works. Give me a week, ten days, max. I’ll get Ty off this. My way. It just needs a little finesse.”
“I’m not sure if we have ten days,” Wachman said to him. “I can’t say I relish the idea of spending the rest of my life in federal prison, Warren. Do you?”
“Five days then. A week.” Warren took hold of the government man’s wrist as he went to pick up his drink. “Listen, you came to me, Ira, you asked me to play this out. I’m in this as deep as you. As deep as anyone.” He turned to Raines. “You keep this Pacello dude under wraps, whatever you have to do. I’ll handle my brother. I’m not the one who dropped this thing right in his fucking backyard.” He shifted back to Wachman. “I said I would work it out. I still will.”
His voice traveled across the darkened bar.
Wachman glared. “We’re all in equally deep, Warren. It’s just that some people have more to lose. Anyway, relax…Never leave it to a political hack to go back on an agreement, right? A week, ten days…Maybe you’re right. I don’t see how that makes a difference. But whatever you have had better work.”
“It’ll work.” Warren nodded, exhaling a ring of smoke and leaning back. “Jesus, you’re starting to make me jumpy, Ira…” He slid out of the booth. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to take a pee.”
Wachman watched the door to the men’s room close, then said to Raines, “My group may not be as committed to our earlier understanding as my friend here. You understand?”
Raines nodded. “That’ll get messy.”
“It’s already messy, Mr. Raines. A government prosecutor is dead. Several other people have been killed to protect that. But it’ll end up the-fucking–Ninth Ward–messy if the rest of this shit hits the fan. My people met a couple of nights ago. We’re all in agreement. Whatever has to be done, just get it done.” His gaze was determined and unmistakable. “Don’t worry about the mess, Mr. Raines. Just shut this investigation down.”
The casino man downed the last of his drink. “Any need for me to hang around?”
“No.” Wachman adjusted his tweed cap. “Sometimes a rising tide sweeps up everything in its path. I’ll explain it to my friend as best I can.”