Put a Lid on It (5 page)
Jeffords shook his head. “I never expected anything like this for a second,” he said. He gazed at Meehan more in sorrow than in anger, a man whose pet dog won't do his great trick in front of company.
Benjamin, frowning deeply, said, “They didn't give you dinner?”
“There was fruit and stuff in the room,” Meehan assured him, because he didn't want to make a huge complaint about it. He wanted either for these people to come clean, or to take him back to the MCC, and probably both. Whatever they had in mind, it seemed to Meehan much better than even money that they'd get caught doing it. What good was freedom, if it came attached to disaster?
“The interesting thing,” Benjamin said to Jeffords, breaking a silence with which Meehan had been very comfortable, “is that we now have what I would call a very clear demonstration that we were right in the first place.”
“I suppose so,” Jeffords said, though he sounded gloomy about it.
“Pat,” Benjamin said, “look on the bright side. You
did
pick the right man, and he has already proved that we do need such a person.”
“Well,” Jeffords said, with a sigh, “I do look pretty clumsy there, don't I, seen in the clear light of day.”
“Because
that's
not what you're good at, Pat,” Benjamin told him, back to being avuncular. “What
you're
good at is logistics, moving people and funds and transport in an open, clearcut, aboveboard manner.”
“Filling out reports,” Jeffords added, a bit resentfully, “every bloody step of the way.”
“Precisely. You are not a thief,” Benjamin went on, “and nor am I. And nor is anyone else in the committee, nor anyone we are likely to know. We were right to outsource, and now we must follow through.”
Jeffords sighed. “Not what I expected,” he said, “but I must agree. You know best.”
“Thank you, Pat.” Benjamin turned his benevolent gaze on Meehan. “In truth, we wish to put you in the position of our vendor in this matter, and we now realize, which I'm sorry we didn't realize before, that as our vendor, it is necessary that you be put in the picture.”
“Hit me,” Meehan said.
F
IRST THEY ALL
had to fortify themselves with provisions: sausages and toast for Benjamin, two kinds of melon for Jeffords, and more black coffee for Meehan, who wanted his wits somewhere he could find them without trouble.
At last, they were ready. “As you know,” Benjamin began, “here we are, coming down to the wire in the election campaign, and—” He broke off, frowned at the expression on Meehan's face, and said, “The election campaign. The reelection of the president.”
“
You
know,” Jeffords encouraged.
“I've been kinda busy,” Meehan reminded them. “Though, yeah, I guess I did see some headlines.”
Benjamin was having trouble believing this. “Man, are you telling me you didn't
know
the president of the United States is running for reelection?”
“I don't usually pay that much attention to politics,” Meehan admitted.
Benjamin gave Jeffords a helpless look. “You try and you try,” he said, “to get your story out there.”
“I know,” Jeffords said, sounding sympathetic. “And every time, it's eighty-five percent didn't know a thing about it.”
“I must admit, there are moments,” Benjamin said, “I have my doubts about democracy. But you know what Churchill said.”
“Of course,” Jeffords said.
Meehan didn't know what Churchill said, but he was afraid, if he asked, Benjamin might start to cry, so he kept his mouth shut.
Benjamin took a deep breath and a forkful of scrambled egg, and then apparently felt better, because he said, “Well, let me be the first to tell you, Francis, there
is
a presidential election campaign under way even as we speak, and it's moving into an extremely critical phase—”
“Last minute,” Jeffords said.
“That, too,” Benjamin said. “And you, Francis, if you so choose, can be a significant factor in how this election works itself out.”
They didn't bring me all this way to ask me to register to vote, Meehan told himself. “I wouldn't mind being a good citizen,” he allowed.
“I was sure that's how you'd feel,” Benjamin told him. “Now, Mr. Jeffords and I are, apart from other things, members of the CC, and we—”
Jeffords said, “Wait, Bruce,” and to Meehan, “the Campaign Committee. We're part of the team to help reelect the president.”
“Got it,” Meehan said.
“Good,” Benjamin said. “Now we have learned, fortuitously and fortunately, that there is a piece of very bad evidence in existence—”
“Videotaped confession,” Jeffords put in, “supporting documents.”
“Exactly,” Benjamin said. “Extremely dangerous material in re POTUS. We have to—”
“Whoa,” Meehan said. “Could you back to the last traffic light?”
Jeffords said, “POTUS is president of the United States.”
“Yeah? Sounds more stupid that way.”
Reproving, Benjamin said, “We think it lends a homey touch.”
Meehan shrugged. “Okay.”
Jeffords said, “The point is, the Other Side has this material, and we very much need to get it away from them.”
Meehan said, “But they've already got it? For how long?”
“Two months,” Benjamin said, “possibly a bit more.”
“We just learned about it,” Jeffords added, “this week.”
Meehan said, “And they're just sitting on it? What are they gonna do, blackmail?”
Benjamin said, “No, no, that's not the way it works. They're waiting for an October Surprise.”
Meehan shook his head. “I don't know what that is.”
Jeffords explained, “Elections are held early in November. You hit the other side late in October with some really bad press, they don't have time to counteract it.”
Meehan said, “Counteract? If this is such hot stuff, how do you counteract?”
“Given time, Francis,” Benjamin said, “and the spin doctors at our command, we could counteract the crucifixion of Jesus Christ and you'd
vote
for Pontius Pilate.”
Jeffords said, “That's why they save the Surprises for October. No time to massage the news.”
“This is October,” Meehan pointed out.
Benjamin said, “And now we come to you.”
“
Y
OU WANT ME
to get it,” Meehan said.
“As I said,” Benjamin agreed.
“With our assistance,” Jeffords pointed out.
“There, you see,” Meehan said, “there's our problem.”
Benjamin said, “
Our
problem?”
“You don't trust me,” Meehan told him, “and you're right. You give me a doorway and a running start and I'm outa here.”
Drily, “We know that,” Jeffords said.
“We all know that, or I wouldn't mention it. On the other hand,” Meehan said, “I don't do my best work with amateurs in the room.”
Jeffords, again on the edge of being miffed, said, “Meaning?”
“It's the old carpenter-to-homeowner wage scale,” Meehan explained. “Twenty-five dollars an hour to do the job, thirty-five if you watch, forty-five if you help. I don't want you to watch, and I
sure
don't want you to help. So you'll have to leave me alone to do it my own way, and as soon as you do, I'm outa here.” Meehan spread his hands. “I'm sorry, but there it is. I'd lie to you if I could, but we all know the situation.”
Tentatively, Benjamin said, “A mere observer could—”
Meehan shook his head.
Benjamin and Jeffords frowned at one another, baffled. Jeffords said, “He refuses to do it if we observe, but he says himself if we let him out of our sight, he'll disappear, so he
still
won't do it.”
Meehan wished he could help here, because he really
didn't
want life in a federal pen, but what was the alternative? In truth, Francis Xavier Meehan, though very bright, did not know how to think ahead. Witness his ruined marriage, his not very stellar criminal career, his very presence in the MCC. If he'd had a motto, other than the ten thousand rules, which was more mantra than motto, it would have been “one problem at a time.”
Most of the guys he knew were the same. The people who thought ahead were the ones with the jobs and the mortgages and the car payments and the Tuesday night bowling leagues—how could Meehan
ever
know for sure where he'd be on a given Tuesday night?—whereas the guys like Meehan got whatever was going by.
He said, “Maybe…”
They both looked alert. Everybody in the room, including Meehan, waited to hear what he was going to say next.
“Maybe I could give you advice,” he said.
Jeffords, looking insulted again, said, “Advice? About what?”
“About the heist. You keep me here, tell me the setup, I'll give you the best advice I got, very professional, you go collect your Surprise, and then we shake hands and I walk away.”
Jeffords and Benjamin exchanged a look. “Not exactly what we had in mind,” Benjamin said.
“But the only possibility, apparently,” Jeffords said. “And if we put this one back, look for another one, that's
more
time gone, and maybe second-best. And we do have people willing to go in and do it.”
“Willing, yes,” Benjamin said, and shrugged. “All right, we'll try it.” Turning to Meehan, he said, “The gentleman who now has the package is a supporter of the president's challenger, the candidate on the Other Side. In fact, a very large contributor to his campaign.”
“A contributor's plane,” Meehan said, dawn breaking. “Now I get it.”
“Yes, of course,” Benjamin agreed. “
This
contributor, however, is one of theirs, from a fine old Revolutionary-era family—”
“Many of them on the wrong side even then,” Jeffords added snidely, “though they don't talk about that much any more.”
“Nevertheless,” Benjamin said, “he is noted for his collection of antique firearms, exclusively from the periods of our Revolution, the War of 1812, and the Civil War. A well-known collection, occasionally on tour to American Legion posts, private schools, that sort of thing.”
“And when it's at home,” Meehan said, “I bet they keep it locked up, being guns and all. And your package is in there with it.”
“Exactly.”
“So is it in the guy's house, or a separate building, or what does he—Wait a minute.”
They looked at him. Benjamin said, “Yes?”
“Just a minute,” Meehan said. “I think maybe I can do it for you.”
Jeffords said, “Do it?”
“Get you your package.” Meehan grinned at them. “Yeah, I think maybe so, maybe after all I can help you guys out.”
“
I
'
M GONNA NEED
two things,” Meehan told them. “A pay phone, and my lawyer.”
Jeffords said, “A pay phone? What do you mean, a pay phone?”
“A phone you put money in,” Meehan explained.
“I know
that
,” Jeffords said. “But if you want a phone—”
“Security,” Benjamin gently told Jeffords. “He wants to make a secure call.”
“Well, there is no such thing,” Jeffords said.
“Some are more secure than others,” Meehan told him.
Benjamin said, “If you don't mind the question, who is it you wish to call?”
“The guy who takes stuff off my hands.”
Benjamin nodded. “A fence, you mean.”
“I know he can take computer chips,” Meehan said, “and I know he can take furs, and I know he can take oriental rugs. Muskets and blunderbusses, I dunno. I gotta ask him.”
“My God,” Benjamin said, getting it, “you mean to steal the man's guns!”
“Well, sure,” Meehan agreed. “That's what makes me stick around. I go in, even without you people watching me, I go in and I get your package, and while I'm there I pick up some stuff for myself.”
Benjamin said, “You're telling us you mean to commit a burglary! And you're
telling
us!”
“Mr. Benjamin,” Meehan said, “it was always gonna be a burglary. Didn't you know that? Somebody breaks in and takes away something doesn't belong to them, that's a burglary.”
“But not for
profit
,” Benjamin insisted. “What we're talking about is politics.”
“Dirty tricks,” Jeffords added.
“Exactly,” Benjamin said.
“Well, I only work for profit,” Meehan told him. “So I'll give you your choice. I'll stay here if you want, give you advice, you go in and do your best, maybe it'll work out, or maybe the papers get full of the president's campaign committee arrested for housebreaking.”
“Oh, God,” Benjamin said.
“Or,” Meehan went on, “you give me the layout, I go in, I get you your package, I pick up my profit at the same time.”
Benjamin said, “Pat? What do you think?”
“I think,” Jeffords said, “the man is asking us to be accessories to a felony.”
Meehan said, “It always was a felony. Breaking and entering.”
“Well, it didn't
feel
like a felony,” Jeffords said.
“In my experience,” Meehan told him, “cops don't go by feelings.”
“Well, Pat,” Benjamin said, “we wanted a professional, and I'd say we got one.”
Jeffords looked bleak. “You want to go along with him.”
“We told each other, Pat,” Benjamin said, “that what went wrong with the Watergate burglary years ago was that it was performed by amateurs. Ideologues, spies, political henchmen. Not a professional thief in the crowd. We told each other we should learn from that experience. Thus Francis Meehan. And thus, our burglary turns, I'm afraid, into an actual burglary.”
Jeffords sighed. “Agreed,” he said, though without joy.
Benjamin turned to Meehan. “What was the other? A lawyer? Francis, what do you want with a lawyer?”
“I wouldn't negotiate with you people without one,” Meehan said. “If we're gonna get serious here.”
“Very well,” Benjamin said. “Who is this lawyer?” And he made himself ready to take a note.
“Goldfarb,” Meehan told him. “Wait a minute, Eileen? No. Elaine! Elaine Goldfarb.”
Sounding outraged, as though someone were pulling his leg, Jeffords said, “Elaine Goldfarb? She's your court-appointed attorney at the MCC!”
Meehan shrugged. “What other lawyer am I gonna have?”