secretary, “I need ten minutes alone,” stepped back inside and locked the door.
“All right . . .” she began, but Rinker cut her off.
“Is your phone safe?”
“Yes. It’s registered under my mother’s name—she’s remarried, and has a different last name. Like the Volvo. It’s good for . . . special contacts.”
“You have a lot of those in your job?”
“Enough,” Carmel said. “Anyway, I’m calling about Rolando D’Aquila, who is the guy who put me in touch with you.”
“What happened?” Rinker asked.
Carmel explained, quickly, then said, “I would have thought the people on your side would have been warned against this. You push somebody into a corner . . .”
“What? What would you do?” Carmel could feel the warning edge on the other woman’s voice.
“I’m sure as hell not going to turn you in, or talk to the police, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Carmel said, defensively. “But there has to be some kind of resolution. Rolo’s a junkie. If I give him every dime I’ve got, he’ll put it up his nose. When he’s got every dime, he’ll still have the tape, and he’ll start looking around for somebody to sell it to. Like TV. Then I’m gone—and you, too. The cops will put Rolo through the wringer before they give him any kind of immunity, and you can’t tell what’ll come from that.”
“Maybe nothing,” Rinker said. “He’s off there on the edge of things.”
“Bullshit. Sooner or later, he’ll give them the guy he called about you,” Carmel argued. “Then they’ll squeeze that guy. You know how it works. This is murder we’re talking about; this is thirty years in the state penitentiary for everybody involved. That’s a lot of squeeze. And believe me, I’m well enough known in the Cities that there’d be a hurricane of shit if this got out. This is not something the cops would let go.”
“When are you paying him off? This Rolo guy?” Rinker asked.
“I’m supposed to meet him in the Crystal Court tomorrow at five o’clock. I put him off as long as I could, told him it’ll take time to get the money together. The Crystal Court is this big interior court . . .”
“I was there,” Rinker said.
“Okay. Anyway, I give him the money, and he gives me the tape. I insisted that he show up, personally. But the best he’ll do is give me a copy of the tape. He says there’s only one, but he’s lying. He’ll want to come back for more money.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“He’s a fuckin’ dope dealer, for Christ’s sake.”
After a couple of seconds’ silence, Rinker said, “There’s a flight into Minneapolis tomorrow morning. I can be there at eleven fifty-five.”
“I don’t know . . .” Carmel started. Then, in a rush, “I don’t know if I want to see your face. I’m afraid you’ll have to kill me.”
“Honey, there’re a couple of dozen people who know my face,” Rinker said. “One more won’t make any difference, especially when I know she paid me for a hit. I’d rather you not see me, but we’ve got to fix this thing. You’re gonna have to help.”
Carmel didn’t hesitate: “I know that.”
“The thing is, we’re gonna have to talk to him about where the tape is,” Rinker said.
“Yes. Talk to him privately,” Carmel said. “I’d figured that out.”
“That’s right . . . Why’d you insist that he meet you in person?”
“Because I thought you might want in . . . at that point,” Carmel said.
Rinker chuckled: “All right. You ever kill anybody?”
“No.”
“You might be good at it. With a little training.”
“Probably,” Carmel said. “But it doesn’t pay enough.”
Rinker chuckled again and said, “See you at eleven fiftyfive. Bring the Jag. And wear jeans and walking shoes.”
• • •
C ARMEL HADN’T KNOWN what to expect. A tough-looking, square-faced hillbilly with bony wrists and shoulders, maybe—or somebody beefy, who might have been a prison guard at
“All right . . .” she began, but Rinker cut her off.
“Is your phone safe?”
“Yes. It’s registered under my mother’s name—she’s remarried, and has a different last name. Like the Volvo. It’s good for . . . special contacts.”
“You have a lot of those in your job?”
“Enough,” Carmel said. “Anyway, I’m calling about Rolando D’Aquila, who is the guy who put me in touch with you.”
“What happened?” Rinker asked.
Carmel explained, quickly, then said, “I would have thought the people on your side would have been warned against this. You push somebody into a corner . . .”
“What? What would you do?” Carmel could feel the warning edge on the other woman’s voice.
“I’m sure as hell not going to turn you in, or talk to the police, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Carmel said, defensively. “But there has to be some kind of resolution. Rolo’s a junkie. If I give him every dime I’ve got, he’ll put it up his nose. When he’s got every dime, he’ll still have the tape, and he’ll start looking around for somebody to sell it to. Like TV. Then I’m gone—and you, too. The cops will put Rolo through the wringer before they give him any kind of immunity, and you can’t tell what’ll come from that.”
“Maybe nothing,” Rinker said. “He’s off there on the edge of things.”
“Bullshit. Sooner or later, he’ll give them the guy he called about you,” Carmel argued. “Then they’ll squeeze that guy. You know how it works. This is murder we’re talking about; this is thirty years in the state penitentiary for everybody involved. That’s a lot of squeeze. And believe me, I’m well enough known in the Cities that there’d be a hurricane of shit if this got out. This is not something the cops would let go.”
“When are you paying him off? This Rolo guy?” Rinker asked.
“I’m supposed to meet him in the Crystal Court tomorrow at five o’clock. I put him off as long as I could, told him it’ll take time to get the money together. The Crystal Court is this big interior court . . .”
“I was there,” Rinker said.
“Okay. Anyway, I give him the money, and he gives me the tape. I insisted that he show up, personally. But the best he’ll do is give me a copy of the tape. He says there’s only one, but he’s lying. He’ll want to come back for more money.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“He’s a fuckin’ dope dealer, for Christ’s sake.”
After a couple of seconds’ silence, Rinker said, “There’s a flight into Minneapolis tomorrow morning. I can be there at eleven fifty-five.”
“I don’t know . . .” Carmel started. Then, in a rush, “I don’t know if I want to see your face. I’m afraid you’ll have to kill me.”
“Honey, there’re a couple of dozen people who know my face,” Rinker said. “One more won’t make any difference, especially when I know she paid me for a hit. I’d rather you not see me, but we’ve got to fix this thing. You’re gonna have to help.”
Carmel didn’t hesitate: “I know that.”
“The thing is, we’re gonna have to talk to him about where the tape is,” Rinker said.
“Yes. Talk to him privately,” Carmel said. “I’d figured that out.”
“That’s right . . . Why’d you insist that he meet you in person?”
“Because I thought you might want in . . . at that point,” Carmel said.
Rinker chuckled: “All right. You ever kill anybody?”
“No.”
“You might be good at it. With a little training.”
“Probably,” Carmel said. “But it doesn’t pay enough.”
Rinker chuckled again and said, “See you at eleven fiftyfive. Bring the Jag. And wear jeans and walking shoes.”
• • •
C ARMEL HADN’T KNOWN what to expect. A tough-looking, square-faced hillbilly with bony wrists and shoulders, maybe—or somebody beefy, who might have been a prison guard at
Similar Books
