in sheer white panties, her knees on the rug in front of one brown comfy chair, as she leaned prayerfully over the glass table, snorting a line of coke. And I don’t mean Diet.
“Chrissy!” Cornell snapped. “Go wait in the other room.”
Still on her knees, she looked up, powder on her nostrils; she was cute as cotton candy, if you injected cotton candy. No more than twenty, I’d guess, skinny enough for her ribs to show but with pert little puffynippled handful titties.
“Sure, Dickie,” she said.
But she finished snorting before jumping up to pad into the bedroom, displaying a cute dimpled ass and not one iota of cellulite (or for that matter shame), shutting the door tight behind her.
“Sorry,” he said.
I shrugged. “Kids.”
There was a wet bar against the back wall, next to where we’d come in.
“Drinky?” he asked.
“I’m fine.”
He got himself a few inches of Dewar’s on the rocks, then gestured to the chair Chrissy had been kneeling before. I took it. It was warm. From here I could see on the glass the ghosts of two more lines of consumed coke. People and their vices.
He seated himself on the brown comfy chair opposite, rested an ankle on a knee—he was wearing Italian loafers and, like me, no socks. It was like we were long-lost brothers—this was just like my place at Paradise Lake, except for the dope, the near-naked doper girl, the projection TV and the leather furniture.
His eyes at half-mast but his smile full-bore, he asked, “So who the fuck are you, love?”
“I’m using Jack Gibson. When I worked for a guy called the Broker, I used Quarry.”
His eyes tightened. “I, uh…know that name.”
“Quarry?”
“No. The Broker. Quad Cities, isn’t it?”
“Right. You ever have occasion to use his services?”
“No. Indeed not. But I was… aware of those services.”
“Yeah, well. I used to perform that kind of service. I perform another one now.”
He took in some Dewar’s, swirled it around, sent it down. “And what service would that be?”
“I have a method, which is my own concern, of following assassins to their intended targets. The assassins usually work in pairs of two—back-up slash recon, and the actual trigger puller.”
He pretended to smile on half his face; the rest of his sour puss told the truth. “You sound like Mario Puzo suffering from the D.T.’s. What kind of fantasy is this?”
“Not the good kind. Somebody wants you dead, Dickie. I don’t know who that somebody is, although I might be able to find out. That would be extra, of course.”
“Extra. Extra to what?”
“To the price of saving your ass.”
He thought about that. “How would you go about saving my…ass?”
“I’d stop the hit from going down.”
“Non-violently?”
“Of course not. I’ll have to kill the bastards. What do you think?”
His eyes widened and his smile widened and he played at thinking this was funny. “You are a card, Mr. Quarry.”
“Let’s stick with Gibson. There’s no extra charge for the amusement factor.”
He grunted a laugh. “This may be the most outrageous shakedown I’ve ever heard of. You come in to my place of business and make a few references to low people in high places, to convince me of your authenticity…and then you presume to have me pay you off, to protect me from what? From whom ?”
“I’ll want twenty thousand dollars,” I said, ignoringmost of that. “ After I’ve delivered. I don’t expect you to pay in cash, though with the casino you probably could. But I understand the accounting problems that might ensue.”
“Oh you do. Accounting problems.”
“I’ll give you the banking information—I’m using the Cayman Islands now—and you can have the twenty K transferred to an account there.”
“I see. I agree to pay you, and nothing happens to me.” He laughed loud enough now for it to ping off the brick wall opposite. “This has to be the most audacious extortion scheme I’ve ever heard
“Chrissy!” Cornell snapped. “Go wait in the other room.”
Still on her knees, she looked up, powder on her nostrils; she was cute as cotton candy, if you injected cotton candy. No more than twenty, I’d guess, skinny enough for her ribs to show but with pert little puffynippled handful titties.
“Sure, Dickie,” she said.
But she finished snorting before jumping up to pad into the bedroom, displaying a cute dimpled ass and not one iota of cellulite (or for that matter shame), shutting the door tight behind her.
“Sorry,” he said.
I shrugged. “Kids.”
There was a wet bar against the back wall, next to where we’d come in.
“Drinky?” he asked.
“I’m fine.”
He got himself a few inches of Dewar’s on the rocks, then gestured to the chair Chrissy had been kneeling before. I took it. It was warm. From here I could see on the glass the ghosts of two more lines of consumed coke. People and their vices.
He seated himself on the brown comfy chair opposite, rested an ankle on a knee—he was wearing Italian loafers and, like me, no socks. It was like we were long-lost brothers—this was just like my place at Paradise Lake, except for the dope, the near-naked doper girl, the projection TV and the leather furniture.
His eyes at half-mast but his smile full-bore, he asked, “So who the fuck are you, love?”
“I’m using Jack Gibson. When I worked for a guy called the Broker, I used Quarry.”
His eyes tightened. “I, uh…know that name.”
“Quarry?”
“No. The Broker. Quad Cities, isn’t it?”
“Right. You ever have occasion to use his services?”
“No. Indeed not. But I was… aware of those services.”
“Yeah, well. I used to perform that kind of service. I perform another one now.”
He took in some Dewar’s, swirled it around, sent it down. “And what service would that be?”
“I have a method, which is my own concern, of following assassins to their intended targets. The assassins usually work in pairs of two—back-up slash recon, and the actual trigger puller.”
He pretended to smile on half his face; the rest of his sour puss told the truth. “You sound like Mario Puzo suffering from the D.T.’s. What kind of fantasy is this?”
“Not the good kind. Somebody wants you dead, Dickie. I don’t know who that somebody is, although I might be able to find out. That would be extra, of course.”
“Extra. Extra to what?”
“To the price of saving your ass.”
He thought about that. “How would you go about saving my…ass?”
“I’d stop the hit from going down.”
“Non-violently?”
“Of course not. I’ll have to kill the bastards. What do you think?”
His eyes widened and his smile widened and he played at thinking this was funny. “You are a card, Mr. Quarry.”
“Let’s stick with Gibson. There’s no extra charge for the amusement factor.”
He grunted a laugh. “This may be the most outrageous shakedown I’ve ever heard of. You come in to my place of business and make a few references to low people in high places, to convince me of your authenticity…and then you presume to have me pay you off, to protect me from what? From whom ?”
“I’ll want twenty thousand dollars,” I said, ignoringmost of that. “ After I’ve delivered. I don’t expect you to pay in cash, though with the casino you probably could. But I understand the accounting problems that might ensue.”
“Oh you do. Accounting problems.”
“I’ll give you the banking information—I’m using the Cayman Islands now—and you can have the twenty K transferred to an account there.”
“I see. I agree to pay you, and nothing happens to me.” He laughed loud enough now for it to ping off the brick wall opposite. “This has to be the most audacious extortion scheme I’ve ever heard
Similar Books
