It turned ugly there at the end,” Roland Malone said into his phone. He’d been relating to the man on the other end of the call what he’d been told by his plant in the Auclair police department about the drama that had played out there that morning.
While giving the account, Roland turned the signet ring on his right pinkie ’round and ’round his finger, as was his habit. Since he was never without the heavy gold ring with the ruby stone, one would assume it was a family heirloom with sentimental significance. In a way, it was.
Roland had taken it as a trophy off the first man he had killed: his father. He’d been fifteen. He’d fled the Bronx that day, wound up in New Orleans, and had never looked back. He considered the ring his good luck charm.
He continued his account of the standoff between John Bowie and Mitch Haskell. “My mole said their body language toward each other spoke louder than words. They looked closeto coming to blows. Shocked the hell out of everybody within earshot. Nobody in the room said anything or barely breathed for a full five minutes after Haskell left, like he’d sucked all the oxygen from the place, created a vacuum.”
“And Bowie?”
“Went into his office and closed the door. He made a couple of phone calls, then left, looking like a thundercloud.”
“Hmm.”
Roland knew that sound. It was his cue to stop talking. The man he did special jobs for often lapsed into contemplative silences. He never missed anything, not a beat, not a single minute detail, but he liked to mull over new information before proceeding with either further discussion or swift and decisive action.
On the street, Roland’s partner in crime was called Oz. Like in the story, nobody knew the god-figure’s identity, but he seemed omnipotent. His nickname, even spoken in a whisper, evoked terror.
Roland, who didn’t suffer fools, held Oz in high regard. He was damn smart and ten times as careful. He had to be in order to maintain such a high public profile while simultaneously running the largest illegal drug trafficking operation in the southeastern United States. It was a dicey juggling act, but not only did Oz manage to pull it off, he’d mastered the art of deception.
While waiting out Oz’s ruminating, Roland patiently played with his signet ring. Oz finally broke his silence. “New topic. What about the skimmer?”
“Adler? Still skimming. You told me to hold off till I had indisputable proof.”
“Well?”
“Now I do. I had a nanny cam installed in his base ofoperation, a ratty apartment out near the airport. This past week alone, he dealt himself ten K off the bottom of the deck. Camera shows him stowing the cash in a hole in the floor covered up by a leopard print rug.”
“Indicating that he’s too stupid to work for me,” Oz said. “Stupid people are high risk.”
“I agree.”
“What kind of ripple effect would it have to take this Adler out?”
“None to the business,” Roland assured him, and went on to recommend a young man from El Paso who was eager to relocate out of a zone that had become hot for him.
“He’s been in the business since he could wipe his own butt. Knows it inside and out. Tough, savvy, has an attitude, and is as mean as hell.”
“Then why is he eager to relocate?”
“Outrunning a girl he knocked up. Plus her brothers. Anyhow, he’s qualified. He can slip right in and take over for Adler, who won’t be missed except maybe by his current squeeze, who’s also his best customer. Cokehead.”
“Dispense with her, too. Make their departure from this life one for the record books. Grisly enough to change the mind of anyone with an idea to cheat me.”
“Consider it done. Anything else?”
“Mitch Haskell.”
Roland made a sound of dismissal. “Not a worry. He’s history.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure. He’s like a lit fuse. You know, like in the movies. It burns slow, then kaboom.”
“He’s a drunk. No kaboom left in him.”
“I don’t know.”
“He’s hit rock bottom and proved it last night. Even his bosom buddy John Bowie has written him off. Good as, anyway.”
After a moment of thought, Oz said, “Well, I’m not ready to write him off. Bowie issued an edict. Haskell may cave to it.”
