simply wants to come home,” I said.
“Go ahead, Mr. Carl,” said Spurlock. “Explain what we can do?”
“My client is currently under indictment for crimes he committed long ago. He is actively being sought by both the district attorney’s office and the FBI, as well as by his former gang, who would like to silence him. What he wants is a deal with the government that will give him protection and allow him to avoid any jail time. It all seems fair enough to me. But the feds have let it be known that the deal is not acceptable to them. I was hoping someone with influence would ask them nicely to change their minds. Isn’t there a congressman on your board? Isn’t one of your benefactors also a large contributor to the Republican Party?”
“You’ve done your homework, Mr. Carl. And you are telling me there is to be no money involved?”
“This is America,” I said. “There’s always money involved. My client would like to start a new life with a nice stake, but his needs aren’t excessive and the amount won’t be anything you’ll have trouble meeting, even with your financial troubles. I’m sure we can work that out later.”
“I’m sure we can,” said Spurlock. “Yes, yes, I am sure.”
“Whom in the public sector should we talk to?” asked Quick.
“Do you know K. Lawrence Slocum in the D.A.’s office?”
“Larry? Sure. Head of homicide now, isn’t he?”
“That he is. He’s handling it for the D.A. On the federal side, there’s a prosecutor named Jenna Hathaway who has taken charge of the case.”
“Hathaway, you say?” said Quick.
“That’s right. Apparently she’s looking for a glory ride. You want to apply pressure, you apply it to her.”
“Good. So now, Victor,” said Quick, “for us to do what we need to do, you have to tell us: Who is your client?”
“His name is Kalakos. Charles Kalakos. Slocum will know him as Charlie the Greek.”
There was something in Stanford Quick’s eyes just then, a slightflinch that indicated he had heard the name before. Interesting. Maybe Quick had done his homework, too.
“But I have to emphasize,” I said, “that this all must be done with the utmost of discretion. There are dangerous people who will be very unhappy if Charlie comes home. Any leak of what we are trying to do here will destroy the possibility of a deal, put my client’s life at risk, and end your chance at recovering the painting.”
“We understand,” said Spurlock.
“If it goes public, the deal is off.”
“You can rest assured, Mr. Carl,” said Jabari Spurlock, his hands clasped before him and his head nodding sagely, “that we will be the very souls of discretion.”
Discretion lasted about twenty-four hours, and then all hell broke loose.
8
It had seemed a simple enough plan. I had one agenda for my client and Assistant U.S. Attorney Jenna Hathaway had another. The easiest way to get us all on the same page was to have someone else involved, hence my visit to the Randolph Trust. A few discreet phone calls from the powerful members of the board about a missing Rembrandt would have the FBI eating out of my hand.
I was so sure it would all work as planned, I hadn’t even thought much about the strange questions raised by the visit, like why had Mrs. LeComte been so concerned about my meeting with Spurlock? Or why did Stanford Quick seem to recognize Charlie’s name? Or even the strangest of all: How had a loser like Charles Kalakos and his ragtag neighborhood gang been able to pull an impeccably planned, brilliantly executed professional heist? Still, why should I care about any of that? I was a man out to make a deal, and it looked like a deal was at hand.
Until somebody let loose our laundry and hung my client’s life on the line. And not just my client’s life.
“I know you,” said a man with a harsh strain of Philly in his accent. “You’re that Victor Carl.”
He had stopped me right after I left my office. I had been working
“Go ahead, Mr. Carl,” said Spurlock. “Explain what we can do?”
“My client is currently under indictment for crimes he committed long ago. He is actively being sought by both the district attorney’s office and the FBI, as well as by his former gang, who would like to silence him. What he wants is a deal with the government that will give him protection and allow him to avoid any jail time. It all seems fair enough to me. But the feds have let it be known that the deal is not acceptable to them. I was hoping someone with influence would ask them nicely to change their minds. Isn’t there a congressman on your board? Isn’t one of your benefactors also a large contributor to the Republican Party?”
“You’ve done your homework, Mr. Carl. And you are telling me there is to be no money involved?”
“This is America,” I said. “There’s always money involved. My client would like to start a new life with a nice stake, but his needs aren’t excessive and the amount won’t be anything you’ll have trouble meeting, even with your financial troubles. I’m sure we can work that out later.”
“I’m sure we can,” said Spurlock. “Yes, yes, I am sure.”
“Whom in the public sector should we talk to?” asked Quick.
“Do you know K. Lawrence Slocum in the D.A.’s office?”
“Larry? Sure. Head of homicide now, isn’t he?”
“That he is. He’s handling it for the D.A. On the federal side, there’s a prosecutor named Jenna Hathaway who has taken charge of the case.”
“Hathaway, you say?” said Quick.
“That’s right. Apparently she’s looking for a glory ride. You want to apply pressure, you apply it to her.”
“Good. So now, Victor,” said Quick, “for us to do what we need to do, you have to tell us: Who is your client?”
“His name is Kalakos. Charles Kalakos. Slocum will know him as Charlie the Greek.”
There was something in Stanford Quick’s eyes just then, a slightflinch that indicated he had heard the name before. Interesting. Maybe Quick had done his homework, too.
“But I have to emphasize,” I said, “that this all must be done with the utmost of discretion. There are dangerous people who will be very unhappy if Charlie comes home. Any leak of what we are trying to do here will destroy the possibility of a deal, put my client’s life at risk, and end your chance at recovering the painting.”
“We understand,” said Spurlock.
“If it goes public, the deal is off.”
“You can rest assured, Mr. Carl,” said Jabari Spurlock, his hands clasped before him and his head nodding sagely, “that we will be the very souls of discretion.”
Discretion lasted about twenty-four hours, and then all hell broke loose.
8
It had seemed a simple enough plan. I had one agenda for my client and Assistant U.S. Attorney Jenna Hathaway had another. The easiest way to get us all on the same page was to have someone else involved, hence my visit to the Randolph Trust. A few discreet phone calls from the powerful members of the board about a missing Rembrandt would have the FBI eating out of my hand.
I was so sure it would all work as planned, I hadn’t even thought much about the strange questions raised by the visit, like why had Mrs. LeComte been so concerned about my meeting with Spurlock? Or why did Stanford Quick seem to recognize Charlie’s name? Or even the strangest of all: How had a loser like Charles Kalakos and his ragtag neighborhood gang been able to pull an impeccably planned, brilliantly executed professional heist? Still, why should I care about any of that? I was a man out to make a deal, and it looked like a deal was at hand.
Until somebody let loose our laundry and hung my client’s life on the line. And not just my client’s life.
“I know you,” said a man with a harsh strain of Philly in his accent. “You’re that Victor Carl.”
He had stopped me right after I left my office. I had been working
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