Outsourced (21 page)

One of the wise guys returned with the espresso and biscotti. Petrenko sipped the espresso slowly, his eyes colder than any rattlesnake’s as he stared at Stellini.

“Now, as I was saying,” Stellini continued, his manner no different than if he had been talking to a long-time acquaintance. “Ray had nothin’ to do with that bank. Those pictures, they’re fake. This is nothin’ but a frame.”

“They look authentic,” Petrenko said.

“You gotta give the FBI credit. They’ve been trying to squeeze Ray for over a year now, trying to get him to turn rat. Ain’t gonna happen. So this bank job goes down and they must’ve got the brilliant idea to manufacture that videotape. They did a fuckin’ nice job with it too. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear that was Ray myself.”

“So would I.”

Stellini showed a hurt look on his expansive face. “You think I’m lying to you about this?”

Petrenko took a last sip of his espresso before placing the cup on the table. When he looked back up at Stellini there was nothing at all human left in his eyes. “I know the money stolen from me is lost,” he said. “But I need the other items returned.”

“The
coglionis
on this asshole,” one of the wise guys said. “He’s going to come here and call you a liar.”

Stellini raised a hand to shut the man up. “I don’t think he’s saying that. The guy’s upset, and you know, who can blame him?” Then to Petrenko, “I can’t promise anything, but if you want I can ask around, see if I find anything. How’s that sound?”

Stony-faced, Petrenko asked what this would cost him.

“Twenty grand,” Stellini said. “I’m gonna have to spread some money around, and I’ll be lucky to make a nickel out of this, if you understand what I’m saying. But I wanta do this ’cause I’m happy you came to me first, especially under the circumstances. As I said, I can’t make any promises. Right now I don’t got a fuckin’ clue who did this.”

Petrenko shrugged. “Twenty thousand, okay.”

“Now, as I’m saying, I can’t promise nothin’. But I’ll do the best I can.”

Petrenko leaned back in his chair, his eyes unblinking while he stared at Stellini. “I need those items,” he said.

“Yeah, I know. I heard you. Just don’t expect any miracles.”

“If I don’t get them this way, I will have to try another.”

“I hope that’s not a threat,” Stellini said. He frowned, popped a couple more chocolate malt balls into his mouth. “So far we’ve left you alone, and I gotta tell you, I got friends who ain’t too happy about that. We know you got a nice thing going, but as far as I’m concerned, the world’s big enough for all of us, right? So we’ve been nice and kept out of your business. And now I’m going out of my way to help you out. So a little respect,
capisce
?”

Petrenko told him curtly that he appreciated his help.

“That’s all I wanted to hear. I’ll try my best to find out who knocked over that bank. When I find out, you’ll find out. And forget about Ray. The FBI, they’re not as smart as they think. Their frame’s not going to hold. A few days, tops, Ray’s gonna be exonerated.”

Petrenko hoped he was right. At that moment he’d give anything to have Raymond Lombardo out of custody and in his hands.

Dan had to drive around the backwoods of New Hampshire for twenty minutes before he found a drug store. After buying aspirin, antiseptic, gauze and bandage tape, he returned to the car to find Shrini with his sneaker off and in the process of removing a blood-filled sock. His friend looked pale and was sweating badly. Resting for a moment, Shrini swallowed a handful of aspirin. Then, moving gingerly, he finished taking off the sock.

The good news: the bullet had gone through his foot and was found rolling around in his sneaker. The bad news: his foot was a mess.

“Ow, ow,” Shrini cried while Dan tried to clean the wound with antiseptic. The bullet had hit Shrini under his ankle and the wound was still bleeding. Since Dan didn’t know what else to do, he pushed some gauze against the wound and wrapped it tight with tape. As he applied pressure, Shrini clenched his teeth hard enough that Dan could hear them grind.

“I am going to kill your friend,” Shrini forced out, tears streaming down his face.

“Come on, don’t talk like that.”

“You are joking, right?”

“We’re not killers.”

“After what he did to me, I will gladly kill him.”

Shrini squeezed his eyes shut. “Ow, ow,” he cried. “I think that bullet broke bones in my foot.”

Dan stared at him, frozen, with no idea what to do. Finally, he started the car. “We’ve got to get out of here,” he said.

For the next half hour the only sound as they drove was Shrini moaning every few minutes.

“I can’t drive you to a hospital,” Dan said at last. “I’m already connected to the bank because of the security system. If I get connected to this, everything could blow up on us. Do you think you can wait until we get back and drive yourself?”

Shrini nodded, his teeth clenched tight.

“How are you going to explain this?”

Showing a bitter smile, he said, “I am going to tell the police that your friend shot me.”

“What?”

“I won’t give them his name. But I will describe him and give them his license plate number. I will tell them he shot me after a traffic dispute.”

“You can’t do that.”

“Why not? The police will arrest him. Then we can break into his house and take back our money.” Shrini stopped for a moment, his breathing labored. When he could, he added, “We will teach your peacock friend a lesson he’ll never forget.”

“Shrini, that paranoid son of a bitch probably has the money so well hidden we’d never find it.”

“I am willing to take that chance.”

Dan thought about the idea, shook his head. “He’d take us down with him.”

“You’re the one being paranoid now.”

“I don’t think so. I know Joel. He’d drag us all to death row just to make a point.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“You can’t send the police after him,” Dan said. As he thought about the consequences of Shrini doing that his lower back went into spasm, the pain sucking his breath away. For a long moment he couldn’t breathe in air. When the spasm subsided, he saw his knuckles were bone-white as he gripped the wheel.

“Dude,” Shrini said, laughing weakly, “you’re sweating worse than me.”

Dan pulled over. He took several aspirin and chewed them slowly. When he trusted himself to drive again, he pulled the car back on to the road.

“We never should have robbed that bank,” Dan said.

“Believe me, our mistake wasn’t robbing that bank. It was inviting Gordon and that peacock along.”

Dan was shaking his head. “We shouldn’t have done it, Shrini. We fucked up. The best thing we can do now is forget about the bank and move forward the best we can. I told you my business idea. Let’s just do it and make some money together.” Hesitating, he added, “I’ll give you half of the thirty-two grand I was paid.”

“No way, dude. We robbed that bank and I’m getting my share.” Shrini grimaced as a jolt of pain shot through him. His voice tight, he added, “I am not letting your peacock friend get away with this.”

“Jesus Christ, Shrini, can’t you see how fucking pointless this is? Two people are already dead—”

“Three people. You forgot he killed his pig-friend also.”

“Goddamn it, you were shot through the foot. Isn’t that enough? When’s this going to be over?”

“Ask your friend.”

“Come on, man, if we try my business idea, we might end up making more money than we took in the robbery.”

“That is not the money I want. Believe me, I am going to get my cut, with or without your help.”

Dan turned and saw the determination and anger set in Shrini’s face. There was no point trying to talk sense into him, at least not now.

When they were a few miles from Shrini’s apartment complex, Dan asked Shrini to give him a week. “Don’t send the cops after Joel, okay? Just give me that time to figure something out.”

Shrini was shaking his head.

“Please, just one week. That’s all I’m asking. Afterwards do whatever you want.”

Reluctantly, Shrini agreed. “One week,” he said. “After that I’m taking care of matters my own way.”

Dan swung into the apartment complex, pulled up alongside Shrini’s Civic and helped Shrini into it. After Shrini drove off, Dan noticed blood stains on the passenger floor mat and seat. The leather interior had been treated so he should be able to clean the blood off the seat, but he was going to have to buy a new floor mat and hope Carol wouldn’t notice. If she did, there would be the inevitable questions and yet more lies. That was the least of his problems though.

Even given a week, or a year for that matter, he couldn’t see how he was going to figure out anything as far as Joel and Shrini went.

Stopping at a strip mall, he bought some supplies and cleaned up as best he could. There were red smudges ingrained in the leather that he couldn’t get out. No amount of scrubbing seemed to help. After a while he gave up trying and tossed the floor mat and the leftover supplies into a dumpster. He’d wait until the next day to buy a new floor mat and to get the interior cleaned. He felt too tired at that moment to do much of anything but head home.

When Carol saw him, she asked what was wrong.

“Nothing. I’m just beat. Why?”

“You have blood on your shirt.”

He looked down and saw she was right. “I had a nosebleed. Nothing too serious.”

“I can’t remember you ever having one before.”

“What can I tell you. I had one. It happens, okay?”

“Okay,” she said, hurt. “You don’t have to bite my head off.”

“Sorry, I’m just tired. And having a nosebleed kind of threw me. I’m going upstairs to lie down for a few minutes.” As he walked past her, she told him Peyton called. “He’s going to pick us up tomorrow at twelve.”

Puzzled, Dan asked what for.

Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him. “Gordon’s funeral. He said he already talked to you about it. You were planning on us going, weren’t you?”

From the way she was studying him, he knew he had no choice in the matter. Not unless he wanted to bring back her suspicions from the other day. “I guess I’d forgotten about it,” he said.

25

“You sleeping in there? We’ve got laws in this city against public loitering.”

Maguire opened his eyes but didn’t bother looking out his driver’s-side window. It was one of those hot, muggy summer days. Not even ten o’clock yet and over ninety degrees. Maguire looked uncomfortable, his shirt collar soaked through, perspiration beading his neck and face. He said, “I saw you when you pulled up behind Petrenko.”

Resnick stood next to Maguire’s Ford Mustang, holding a cup of Dunkin’ Donuts coffee. “I take it Brown’s inside.”

Maguire nodded. “He’s been in there since the bank opened.” Rolling his eyes, he added, “I never got a chance to thank you for recommending me for this assignment. Nothing I enjoy more during the summer than sitting for hours in a hot, stuffy car. It’s been a thrill a minute.”

Resnick took a sip of his coffee and burned the inside of his mouth. “Not my fault. I recommended someone watch Brown. Putting you on him was Hadley’s idea. He’s trying to keep us busy until the FBI wraps up their deal with Lombardo.”

“He’s got you on Petrenko?”

“Yeah.” Resnick blew on the coffee before taking another sip.

“Viktor had some business in the North End yesterday, probably meeting with one of Lombardo’s bosses.”

“Probably?”

“I lost him for an hour.”

“Tough luck. It would’ve been nice to know who he met with.”

“How about you, anything going on with Brown?”

“Sort of.” Maguire wiped a hand across his forehead, the sweat spiking up his hair. “Thursday night a van slowed down in front of his house and then drove off. The windows were tinted, so I couldn’t see inside, but my gut was they drove off only because they spotted me.”

“Did you get a license plate?”

“Yep. Van’s owned by a dry-cleaner on Forrest Street. The Russian owner looked scared when I talked to him. He claimed the van was stolen.”

Resnick shook his head. “They were going to try to snatch Brown.”

“Probably, but nothing we can prove.” Maguire raised an eyebrow. “Petrenko’s been in there over ten minutes. Do you think one of us should go in and check up on him?”

“Petrenko’s not going to do anything. He knows we’re both out here.” Resnick gave a thoughtful look as he took another sip of his coffee. “Unless he loses his temper.”

Maguire started to look nervous. He wiped his hand across his forehead again and up over his scalp, the sweat now matting down his hair. “I’m going to take a lot of shit if something happens to Brown. I better go in there.”

“Relax. Petrenko’s a bank customer, he’s got every right to be in there. And who knows, maybe we’ll get lucky and be able to bring assault charges against him. Let’s give him another ten minutes.”

Maguire settled back in his seat. “Whatever you say. You’re the senior detective here.”

Resnick finished his coffee, crumpled the Styrofoam cup and slipped it into his pants pocket. “Any idea how long a drive it is to Greenwich, Connecticut?” he asked.

“Over three hours. Why?”

“I’m thinking of going to a funeral.”

Shrini’s foot hurt like hell. He took another codeine tablet – his fourth since he’d woken up, although with the drugs he’d been given he wasn’t so much sleeping as passing out.

As he had suspected, the bullet had broken his ankle and three bones in his foot. The story he gave at the emergency room was that he accidentally shot himself while hunting up in New Hampshire. The doctor seemed skeptical, but didn’t push him or get the police involved. Didn’t even question him as to why he drove back to Massachusetts before seeking medical attention. After cleaning out the wound and setting a cast from his shin to his toe, he was released. The doctor gave Shrini the name of a specialist for him to contact. If the bones weren’t setting right he would need surgery. Also, there was a chance he’d develop arthritis and end up with a limp.

He felt thirsty and wanted a Coke, but that meant he’d have to hobble over to the refrigerator. He had his leg propped up on the sofa, and while he sat staring at the fiberglass cast covering his foot, he thought up ways of getting even with that strutting peacock. One idea in particular struck him. As miserable as he felt, as much as the dull ache from his foot seemed to throb throughout his body, he couldn’t keep from smiling when he thought over that particular idea.

Craig Brown crossed one leg over the other, his face set in a smug frown as he talked in circles about why the bank wasn’t responsible for Petrenko’s losses. Petrenko had already heard one mealy-mouthed excuse after the next about why the security system had failed to work properly, and now this. When he first entered the bank manager’s office there was a small amount of fear in the man’s eyes. But as Brown mistook Petrenko’s seemingly patient, almost passive behavior for acquiescence, the fear dissolved, replaced by an air of superiority. The more he talked the more emboldened he became, thinking that Petrenko was here to play by the rules. This worm of a man actually believed he had the upper hand.

“It’s stated in the contract you signed that we can’t be held responsible for any items lost from a safety deposit box,” Brown explained. He stopped to search through a stack of papers before finding a copy of the contract. He held the paper out to Petrenko, who ignored it.

“The contract states clearly that it is your responsibility to insure the contents of your safety deposit box against theft,” he added.

“My boxes were the only ones broken into, correct?”

“I understand how that may seem—”

“How did they find out which boxes I owned?” Petrenko asked.

“I couldn’t say.”

Petrenko smiled thinly. “If I were you I would figure out a way that I could say.”

Brown frowned, clearing his throat. “I don’t appreciate threats—”

“No, please don’t mistake this for a threat. Somehow these criminals knew which boxes I owned. I would like to know how.”

“Maybe they received the information from you,” Brown answered stiffly.

“That is not possible. Who at this bank would have access to my box numbers?”

Brown’s color paled as he realized the information was stored in a database that almost any of the employees could access. “I don’t know,” he said.

Petrenko nodded to himself, understanding Brown’s reaction. In his pocket he had a hypodermic needle filled with enough digoxin to induce a fatal heart attack. When injected into a person’s gums, it is nearly impossible for a medical examiner to find the puncture mark and rule the death anything other than a heart attack. This was not new to him. He had used digoxin before in the Soviet Union on state prisoners, knew the effect it had on the victim, how much noise would be made and how long it would take before death. Of course, the two cops outside would find this man’s death suspicious, but let them prove otherwise. Petrenko stared at Brown and tried to decide whether to keep playing this game or use the necessary force to make this man talk. After he extracted the information he needed, the digoxin would be used.

“I don’t understand your complaint,” Brown added, his lips pulling his mouth into a haughty frown. “According to your statement to the police, your boxes were empty at the time of the robbery.”

Petrenko nodded visibly this time. His hand slid into his pocket, feeling the hypodermic needle. In a second he could be standing next to this bank manager, his hand against the man’s throat. He would let Brown know what would happen if he didn’t start telling the truth. Then, afterwards, he would apply just enough pressure to the man’s throat to make him start to scream. As soon as his mouth opened wide enough, the hypodermic needle would be used. Petrenko had little doubt that this man had worked with Raymond Lombardo, providing Lombardo with his box numbers and arranging for the security system to fail. While he knew that there was nothing Brown could tell him to help him get back his possessions, he needed to know if anyone else inside the bank was involved because one way or another they were all going to pay for it.

“This is a waste of my time,” Petrenko remarked. He stood up, started towards the door, stopped. “I want a copy of my contract.”

The time it took for Brown to turn towards the copy machine located behind him would be all Petrenko needed. He stood patiently, bracing himself, feeling the point of the hypodermic needle. Brown started to get out of his chair. There was a rap on the door, which simultaneously opened, and the
zhid
cop walked in.

“Craig, I’m sorry to interrupt you, but I have a few more questions,” Resnick said, all the while looking impassively at Petrenko.

“That’s quite all right, Detective. I believe you know Viktor

Petrenko. He will be leaving right after I make him a copy of some paperwork.”

While Brown made the copy, Resnick noticed Petrenko remove a hand from his pants pocket, his fist clenching and unclenching. Petrenko took the paper from the bank manager, and when he turned to leave, Resnick nodded to him.

“Be seeing you around, Viktor.”

Petrenko nodded back, his eyes as dull as stone.

Dan sat up front with Peyton, Carol in the back with Wendy. At one time they had been close friends, but after Peyton struck it rich they drifted apart. Dan knew it was mostly because of his own pettiness. He had worked as hard as Peyton over the years and it pissed him off that Peyton had made it and he hadn’t. The last year and a half being out of work, he had ignored the occasional phone calls from Peyton until they stopped entirely. This was the first time Dan had seen him in over two years, but they were quickly settling into their old friendship. There was none of the usual awkwardness that comes with someone you haven’t seen in years. While they drove to Connecticut in Peyton’s new Lexus SUV, Dan told him about the book and articles he was intending to write and then his plan to start a business examining outsourced software for potential backdoors.

“That’s a fucking great idea,” Peyton said.

“What I like about it is it can be started with very little capital,” Dan said. “A hundred thousand, and I think I could get this going.”

“Maybe I can help you out. Let’s talk later, okay, man? Call me next week.”

“Sure.” Dan paused, added, “As long as you don’t string me along like you did with Gordon and his Texas open-pit barbecue.”

Dan had meant the comment as a joke, but as soon as it came out he knew it was more pettiness rearing its ugly head. He wanted to kick himself. Peyton gave a pained, almost apologetic smile.

“Yeah, well, I guess I deserved that.” Lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper he added, “I’ll explain about that later, okay, man?”

“Forget it. You don’t have to. Me, I don’t think I would’ve wanted to go into business with Gordon either.”

“It’s not that.” Peyton checked the rearview mirror, saw that Carol and Wendy were engaged in a heated conversation. Keeping his voice low, he said, “I would’ve given Gordon the money as a gift, but Wendy didn’t want me to. She was afraid Gordon would be over to the house all the time if we started a business together. As it was, she wanted me to wean him away from us. Shit, man, I wanted to help him out, but there was nothing I could do without pissing off the wife.”

“I was joking more than anything else.”

Peyton didn’t bother saying
bullshit
, but the look he gave Dan indicated as much. “Do you have any idea what Gordon was doing in Lynn?” he asked.

“No idea. All I can think of is he knew I had finished a contract with that bank. He must’ve gotten it in his head that if they hired me there was a chance they’d hire him.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Yeah, I know, but we’re talking about Gordon.”

As they drove, Peyton remarked how weird life was going to be without Gordon around. After all, he had known Gordon almost half his life. There was a note of remorse in Peyton’s voice. At one point he seemed to choke up. Dan felt nothing, but he played along and pretended to be equally affected by Gordon’s passing.

How in the world could he be expected to feel anything?

After what Gordon did to those two women?

The way Gordon screwed him?

And he did screw him. All he asked of the guy was to keep his mouth shut for ten minutes. Don’t do anything crazy for ten lousy minutes. He couldn’t do it, though. He had to turn the robbery into shit.

As much as he’d like to, Dan couldn’t blame Joel for the way he was acting. He couldn’t blame Shrini either. He knew trying to get Shrini’s cut from Joel was pointless, and he knew trying to talk Shrini out of it was just as pointless. The damn thing was going to end up with one or the other of them dead. All he could hope for was when the dust settled he’d somehow be left out of it. Thinking about that exhausted him. He closed his eyes, sat back and listened to Peyton reminisce about all the good times with Gordon.

The funeral service was scheduled to take place at the grave site. When they arrived at the grave, there were only a handful of people standing around. Aside from the minister and the cemetery workers, there were six mourners, all elderly. Although Dan had never met Gordon’s parents he had heard enough stories about them to be able to pick them out. Gordon’s father was a tall man in his eighties, his mother short, plump, exuding both a cheeriness and sadness at the same time. Even though Gordon was their only child, his father had written him out of his will years ago simply because he didn’t feel his son measured up. Gordon had told Dan that if his old man died first, he was sure his mom would write him back into the will, but he thought there was little chance of that happening. In fact, Gordon was convinced his old man would outlive him. Although Gordon never talked about it, Dan knew the reason he signed up for the Vietnam War was to try to win his father’s approval, since the senior Carmichael had been a decorated war hero during World War II. Likewise the reason he later went to Yale. Neither of them helped. According to his father, Yale wasn’t the same as Harvard and the Vietnam War was a national disgrace.