Big Mango (9786167611037) by Jake Needham

money, all crated up and ready to be flown
out of the country.”
    Reidy had leaned so close to his face that
Eddie could smell the peppermint tic-tac he must have popped before
he came into the office.
    “You and your squad were the last people we
know of who had that money,” he said.
    Eddie was still drawing a complete blank when
Reidy suddenly reared all the way back in his chair, spread his
arms, and smiled broadly.
    “We just want you to tell us what you did
with it, Eddie.”

 
     
     
Six
     
    WINNEBAGO sucked hard on the
butt of his Camel then without breaking stride flicked it across
the sidewalk into a dark green garbage bin. “So what did you tell
them?” he asked Eddie as they crossed Union Street against the
light.
    “The truth. I told them they had bad
information. We were on the embassy walls kicking people down until
we lifted out, not guarding crates full of money.”
    “Did they believe you?”
    “Of course not.”
    Eddie and Winnebago were walking down
Columbus into North Beach, the fiercely Italian quarter of the city
that surrounded Washington Square.
    “But it’s true, Eddie. We weren’t guarding
any damned money.”
    “You sure of that?”
    “Of course I’m sure. I know what money looks
like.”
    “Somebody sure as hell thinks we know
something about it.”
    “Yeah, so?”
    Eddie shoved his hands deeper into the
pockets of his leather jacket as they crossed the square toward the
wedding-cake towers of St. Peter and Paul Cathedral.
    “Maybe they’re right, Winnebago.”
    “What the hell does that mean?”
    “I’m just saying that maybe we do know
something about it. Sometimes you know things you don’t know you
know.”
    “Oh, for Christ’s sake. That doesn’t make
sense even to me.”
    Eddie watched a few tentacles of fog licking
at the foot of Columbus where it ended at Fisherman’s Wharf. Out in
the middle of the bay, Alcatraz was already lost in a cotton-candy
swirl. In another hour or two, Eddie suspected, a lumpy flood would
submerge the city’s hills, leaving only the tops of buildings
poking out here and there, buoys posting the hazards in a
diaphanous sea of white.
    Eddie had always thought that its famous fogs
suited San Francisco perfectly. The city was a wispy, fragile
place, a watercolor world where everything was always slightly out
of focus. When Eddie looked at it that way, he figured San
Francisco was exactly the right place for those damned photographs
to turn up.
    “We were only grunts, Winnebago. Half the
time we didn’t know where we were and the other half we didn’t know
what we were doing there.”
    When Eddie continued, he lowered his voice.
He felt silly doing it, but he just couldn’t help it.
    “Maybe we were around that money without
knowing it.”
    Winnebago started to say something, but Eddie
waved him off.
    “Think about it. First somebody sends me
those two pictures. Then, a couple of days later, the Secret
Service shows up in my office and asks me what we did with the
$400,000,000 we were guarding when Saigon collapsed. That can’t
just be a coincidence. It’s all got to be connected somehow, and if
it is…” Eddie reached across with his forefinger and tapped
Winnebago on the shoulder, “then somebody other than the Secret
Service thinks we know something about that money, too.”
    They reached the other side of the square and
Eddie led the way to an empty bench facing the cathedral. They sat
in silence for a while, but then Winnebago scratched the back of
his neck and cleared his throat.
    “Maybe that wasn’t really the Secret Service.
Maybe those guys were the same people who sent the pictures,” he
said.
    “Yeah, I wondered about that at first, too.
But what sense would it make?” Eddie looked at his watch. “Anyway,
Wuntz can probably find out. He said he’d be here by nine.”
    “Are you sure you want to tell him about
this, Eddie?”
    Eddie glanced over at Winnebago. “When did
you develop such a suspicious