Unidentified Woman #15 (21 page)

“I don’t know,” Herzog said. “Is this the dumbest move I’ve ever seen or the smartest?”

“Dumbest. Have you eaten here?”

“What are you talkin’ about? This place has great food. You just a spoiled rich boy.”

Herzog might have been on to something. Eating regularly from Monica Meyer’s menu at Rickie’s had ruined chain restaurants for me. ’Course, I would never tell her that.

“Once the boys know that you’re with me, I want you to find a place at the bar where they’ll have no problem seeing you,” I said. “Look menacing.”

Herzog opened the door, then hesitated.

“You buyin’, right?”

“Of course.”

It took us less than a minute to reach the lobby. A huge door opened onto the restaurant area. A smaller door opened onto the bar. I assumed the bar was primarily for customers waiting for a table during peak hours. I mean, who drinks at the Red Lobster?

Herzog and I went into the bar. It was nearly empty. We went up to the booth where Craig and Mitch sat across from each other.

“I’m Dyson,” I said. “Say hello to my little friend.”

The eyes of the two young men grew wide with alarm at meeting Herzog for the first time. I might have laughed except I had seen the reaction before and I was prepared for it. Without speaking a word, Herzog retreated to the bar. He sat at the corner where Mitch and Craig could watch him watching them without turning their heads. I pulled a chair from an empty table and sat facing the booth.

“Gentlemen,” I said. “You’re probably wondering why I called this meeting.”

Before they could reply, a waitress appeared with a pretty smile and two tap beers. She set the beers in front of the boys and pivoted toward me.

“May I get you something?” she asked.

I pointed at the tap beers.

“I’ll have one of those.”

“Back in a jif,” she said.

The moment after she left, Mitch spoke.

“I’ve seen you before,” he said. “Where was it?”

“I’m not here to reminisce.”

“What, then?”

“I have a business proposition.”

“That’s what you said over the phone. How did you get our number, anyway?”

The question surprised me.

“Your contact,” I said.

“What contact?” Craig asked.

I didn’t know if he was playing cute or if he was genuinely mystified by my remark. Mitch reached across the table and set a hand on Craig’s arm to keep him from saying more.

“What do you want, Dyson?” Mitch asked.

Before I could elaborate, the waitress reappeared carrying a tap beer that she set in front of me.

“Can I get you anything else?” she asked. “Would you like to see a menu?”

“No, we’re good for now,” I answered.

She left. I took a sip of the beer.

“Jeezuz, what is this?” I asked.

“It’s a light beer,” Craig said.

They seemed offended when I pushed the glass away.

“Where was I?” I asked.

“You said you had a business proposition,” Mitch said. “Get to it.”

“You’re starting to annoy us,” Craig said.

I turned in my seat and looked toward Herzog. The waitress was placing a platter of food in front of him.

“Hey, Herzy,” I said. “They’re annoyed.”

“Happens all the time,” he said.

I turned back.

“Contain yourselves,” I said.

“What do you want?” Mitch asked.

“I have been aware for some time that you and your partners are using a floating garage sale to dispose of … new and used property, shall we call it that? It’s also come to my attention that you’re running low on inventory and have no way to replenish it. I, as luck would have it, have plenty of merchandise on hand. Unfortunately, due to circumstances beyond my control, I no longer have the means to market it.”

“We don’t know what you’re talking about,” Craig said.

“’Course you do.”

“I remember now,” Mitch said. “I saw you in Arden Hills. You bought a juicer.”

“Think of it as a fact-finding mission.”

“How do you know about the garage sales?”

“The same way I know you.”

“How’s that?”

I didn’t answer. A wise man once said that knowledge is power. I wanted Craig and Mitch to think that I possessed more than I actually did.

“What kind of merchandise?” Craig’s voice was assertive. “Be specific.”

I gave him a list of products available in high-end stores.

“I don’t bother with electric toothbrushes, baby formula, disposable razors—the stuff any amateur might boost,” I said. “I deal only in merchandise that appeals to a discerning customer base. Like the kind you had in Woodbury, yesterday. Oh, and gentlemen—I can provide this merchandise on a regular basis.”

A glance passed between the young men; they were trying hard not to smile. I was offering them exactly what they needed. They could see the future and it was bright and shiny.

“Perhaps we can do business on a trial basis,” Mitch said. “If everything works out…”

“We need to make sure you can deliver what you promise,” Craig added.

“Fair enough,” I said. “I need to make sure you can deliver what I need as well.”

“Apparently you’re already familiar with our operation,” Mitch said.

“Familiar enough to know that you lost your crew. Why was that?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“There’s the drive-by shooting yesterday in Woodbury. You did a good job containing that, by the way.”

“That’s none of your business either. Once we take possession of the goods, you’re out of the loop. You will not be involved in distribution.”

“I’m looking for a long-term relationship. I don’t want to have to find a new customer tomorrow because you don’t have your shit together. More important, I don’t want any of your shit blowing back on me.”

“If you’re afraid of doing business with us—”

This time it was Craig who reached across the table to touch his friend’s arm.

“If things work out, once we know you’re dependable, we can talk more,” Craig said.

I knew exactly what he was thinking; I replayed the conversation he had with Mitch the day before in the back of my mind.

Maybe we should get out—like the kids.

Do you think the Boss will let us?

If we found someone to take our place …

I spread my hands wide as if I didn’t care one way or the other.

“We would like to inspect the merchandise before we buy,” Mitch said.

“Of course,” I said. “I believe your next sale is Saturday in Apple Valley.”

“You know a lot about our business,” Craig said.

“
Our
business,” I said.

“Not yet,” Mitch said.

“Does Friday work?”

“Wednesday would be better.”

“I’ll call with a time and place. Oh, and let’s keep it to ourselves. I deal with you two. I see friends or friends of friends, the deal is off.”

The expression on their faces suggested that they wouldn’t have it any other way.

A few moments later, they were gone. I picked up the tab for the beers and drifted to the bar and Herzog. He was eating from a platter heaped with a variety of deep-fried fish. I snatched a scallop and popped it into my mouth.

“Git your own,” he said.

“That went well. See, I told you no one would get hurt.”

“Where are you going to steal all that stuff you promised?”

“I’m not going to steal it. I’m going to buy it. I’m going to Mall of America for a shopping spree. After that, I’m going to Easy Cash and buy some of Lantry’s merchandise, too. Want to come with? It’ll be fun.”

“Nah.”

“You’re afraid I’m going to put you to work carrying stuff.”

“I’ll just get in your way if I go to the mall. Security types gonna be watching me every minute I’m there, follow every step I take. Happens all the time.”

“Really?”

“You okay, McKenzie, but you know nuthin’ ’bout being a brother. Walk with me down the street someday and you’ll hear the sound of locks clicking shut in every car I pass. People say Minnesota loaded with liberals; ain’t no racism up here. C’mon. High school graduation rates for blacks is the lowest in the country. Cities got the highest economic gap between blacks and whites of all the big towns. Only six percent of the population in Minnesota is African American, except in Minnesota’s prisons it’s like thirty-seven percent. Think it’s all a coincidence? Minnesota Nice—fuck that.”

“I’m sorry, I really am,” I said to be saying something and not just sitting there looking dumb. “I didn’t realize.”

Herzog patted my shoulder like he felt sorry for me.

“Could be worse,” he said.

*   *   *

For two consecutive days it had been warm in Minnesota; it felt almost unnatural. Herzog and I were able to stand comfortably outside at night and lean against the hood of my rental van in the parking lot of a mini storage facility, one of those places that lease what amounts to an extra garage. My feet were warm even though the snow packed on the asphalt had turned to a thin layer of slush, and so were my ears in spite of the fact that I wasn’t wearing a hat. When I took a deep breath and let it go, there wasn’t even a hint of mist rising up from my mouth. I glanced at Herzog to see if he had noticed. He was busy studying his watch.

“They’re late,” he said.

“Actually, they’re early,” I said. “They drove by twice already to make sure we weren’t setting an ambush.”

The mini storage units were located alongside 280, the highway that more or less separated the northern reaches of St. Paul and Minneapolis. We were on the Minneapolis side, and from where we stood, we could observe the service road that provided access to the businesses located along the highway, the hill that rose up behind it, and the highway on top. Drivers pushing their vehicles along the highway could easily look down and see the storage garage as well. Which was precisely why I chose it.

I watched Mitch’s car move along the service road for the third time. It slowed as if a decision had been made and pulled into the lot. Mitch maneuvered so that the vehicle was between the road and us with the nose of the car facing out. He and Craig left the car, separated, and walked toward us at angles, their hands visible and empty.

“Trusting, ain’t they,” Herzog said.

“Must be my frank and forthright personality.”

“That’s what I was thinking.”

Mitch and Craig came close enough to speak without shouting and stopped. Herzog stretched, causing them both to flinch, which the big man seemed to enjoy. He folded his arms across his chest and half-closed his eyes as if he were bored. Mitch watched him intently even as he spoke to me.

“You have something for us?”

“This way,” I told him.

I led Mitch and Craig to a large maroon garage door that I unlocked with a key. I rolled the door up and switched on an overhead light. Some of the merchandise was stacked on shelves provided by the storage company; the rest was displayed neatly on the floor.

“Oh my,” Craig said.

Mitch gave him a sharp elbow in the ribs; I presume he was afraid that Craig’s exclamation would raise my price.

Shopping had been much harder than I expected. Nina and I hit the Mall of America at nine thirty in the morning when most of its stores opened and had kept at it until I reached my twenty-thousand-dollar limit at about eight that evening. ’Course, we had to pause for lunch. And dinner. And then there was all that time we spent hauling merchandise to the van I had rented and parked in the north garage—the mall’s five hundred and twenty stores were scattered over ninety-six acres, and moving between them wasn’t exactly a walk in the park. Well, actually, it was more like a walk in several parks.

Between the two of us we covered most of the upscale stores from Abercrombie & Fitch to Zales, with visits in between at Aveda, the Gap, Macy’s, Old Navy, A
é
ropostale, Ann Taylor, Best Buy, Helzberg Diamonds, Kay Jewelers, Rogers & Hollands, Swarovski, Williams-Sonoma, and the Apple Store. Suspicious store managers asked us what we were doing. We told them we were shopping for a charity auction. They thought that was generous of us, yet kept checking our identities against our credit cards just the same. Twice I had to talk to my bank, carefully answering its security questions to prove I wasn’t ripping myself off (which I appreciated very much, although it was a pain in the ass). Even without Herzog present, security guards swarmed us. I anticipated their interest and brought my passport along. Nina thought I was being silly. “Who brings their passport to the Mall of America?” she asked. Turned out, lots of people. Most from outside the country, but still …

That was Tuesday. On Wednesday, I brought the van to Easy Cash and bought a couple thousand dollars’ worth of Marshall Lantry’s better merchandise. Now it was all carefully arranged in the garage, which was rented, by the way, under Nick Dyson’s name.

Mitch and Craig perused each product carefully—HDTVs, laptops, designer clothes, gourmet cookware, high-end cosmetics, and just about everything else that Nina and I thought was worth stealing. I had left the price tags whenever possible, yet had been keen on removing any and all receipts.

“I have to admit,” Mitch said, “I’m impressed.”

“We aim to please,” I said. “Oh, one more thing.”

I directed their attention to a box on the shelf near the light switch. Craig opened the box and discovered an eighteen-inch Japanese Akoya pearl necklace with an eighteen-karat white gold clasp. He showed it to his partner. Mitch’s eyes lit up like he was gazing at the Holy Grail.

“How much?” he asked.

“Eighteen,” I replied. “For the lot.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Five.”

“Now who’s being ridiculous? Sixteen.”

“This is a business. We’re trying to make a profit. Eight and a half.”

“Fourteen. And I’ll throw the pearls in for free.”

“Who are you kidding? Ten.”

“Twelve—but only because we’re doing business for the first time. Don’t expect me to be this generous in the future.”

“Done.”

“I presume you have the cash on you?”

“C’mon, Dyson,” Craig said. “Who carries that kind of money?”

“You had better be.”