morning I’m waking up, just about to take a run on the beach, when I get a call from the special-agent-in-charge of the Trenton field office, then another one from the Atlantic City Police. I get in my car and spend three hours getting back to Atlantic City. Traffic like you wouldn’t even believe, understand? No coffee, no time for a shower. I just drive and hope the PD sorts it out before I get there, but I pull up at the scene and the police have nothing. Two guys at large and no leads on finding them. So I start making calls. And you know what I find out? That just hours after all hell broke loose here, the Seattle field office snapped some photos of a meeting between an unknown man and a notorious heist-maker. An hour after that, the heist-maker got a Cessna Sovereign fueled and sent it packing across the country right here. This isn’t a large airport, Jack. This town doesn’t get that sort of itinerary every day.”
“An unknown man?”
“One six-foot Caucasian male, mid-thirties, with light hair and brown eyes.”
“Then you know it wasn’t me,” I said.
“I asked you a question about Marcus Hayes.”
“It sounds like he loves to gamble.”
She shook her head. She had a sort of half smile on. She said, “What are you doing here, Mr. Morton?”
“I’m on vacation.”
“You’re here to clean things up for Marcus.”
“I’m not here for anyone,” I said.
“Listen, I get it,” she said. “A guy like that says jump, you jump. I read his file. Extortion, murder, drugs, bank jobs in half a dozen countries. If someone like that told me to do something, I might start thinking that I didn’t have a choice. Like it’s this or prison. But you know what? I’ve found I do my best work when I’m doing my own damn thing. And I’lltell you, this weekend I’m here by myself. If I were you, I’d try to stay out of this. I’m very good at what I do.”
She handed me a business card that had a couple of names on it before hers, but hers was right there at the bottom. “In case you want out,” she said, “give me a call.”
9
The man Marcus promised me was leaning against the wall under the arrivals gate holding up a piece of paper with Jack on it. A young black guy with slick hair and a very expensive suit. I might have mistaken him for just another limo driver if it weren’t for his gold-framed eyeglasses and the almost-nervous look on his face. He barely saw me coming until I was right on top of him.
“I’m the man you’re waiting for,” I said.
We shook hands and he fell in step with me without my having to ask. His voice was soft as silk. “Nice to meet you, sir,” he said.
“Who are you?”
“I’m here to help with whatever you require.”
“Okay.”
“Have you ever used our service before?”
“No.”
“Whatever you need, we provide. Your privacy is of the utmost importance to us. Nothing you ask us to do will ever be traced to you. All evidence of our relationship will be destroyed once you pay the balance of your bill. We do not keep records of our clients, nor do we ask any questions of you.”
“You running point for me?”
“Yes, sir. Your employer called this afternoon and told me you would prefer it if I didn’t ask your name.”
“Good. Do I get to know yours?”
“Alexander Lakes.”
“That’s not your real name, is it?”
“No, sir, it isn’t. What should I call you?”
“Sir is fine.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Ulysses is also good.”
“That’s a fake name if I ever heard one.”
“I have a soft spot for the character.”
“There’s a character?”
“Homer. Also James Joyce. Don’t you read?”
“Newspapers.”
I walked with him through the doors and out to where the rental-car agencies kept their desks. I knew Alexander was there to pick me up if I wanted, but I needed my own wheels. I rang the bell for service. When the lady came out with the papers, I gestured to Alexander. He looked at me, then showed her his driver’s
“An unknown man?”
“One six-foot Caucasian male, mid-thirties, with light hair and brown eyes.”
“Then you know it wasn’t me,” I said.
“I asked you a question about Marcus Hayes.”
“It sounds like he loves to gamble.”
She shook her head. She had a sort of half smile on. She said, “What are you doing here, Mr. Morton?”
“I’m on vacation.”
“You’re here to clean things up for Marcus.”
“I’m not here for anyone,” I said.
“Listen, I get it,” she said. “A guy like that says jump, you jump. I read his file. Extortion, murder, drugs, bank jobs in half a dozen countries. If someone like that told me to do something, I might start thinking that I didn’t have a choice. Like it’s this or prison. But you know what? I’ve found I do my best work when I’m doing my own damn thing. And I’lltell you, this weekend I’m here by myself. If I were you, I’d try to stay out of this. I’m very good at what I do.”
She handed me a business card that had a couple of names on it before hers, but hers was right there at the bottom. “In case you want out,” she said, “give me a call.”
9
The man Marcus promised me was leaning against the wall under the arrivals gate holding up a piece of paper with Jack on it. A young black guy with slick hair and a very expensive suit. I might have mistaken him for just another limo driver if it weren’t for his gold-framed eyeglasses and the almost-nervous look on his face. He barely saw me coming until I was right on top of him.
“I’m the man you’re waiting for,” I said.
We shook hands and he fell in step with me without my having to ask. His voice was soft as silk. “Nice to meet you, sir,” he said.
“Who are you?”
“I’m here to help with whatever you require.”
“Okay.”
“Have you ever used our service before?”
“No.”
“Whatever you need, we provide. Your privacy is of the utmost importance to us. Nothing you ask us to do will ever be traced to you. All evidence of our relationship will be destroyed once you pay the balance of your bill. We do not keep records of our clients, nor do we ask any questions of you.”
“You running point for me?”
“Yes, sir. Your employer called this afternoon and told me you would prefer it if I didn’t ask your name.”
“Good. Do I get to know yours?”
“Alexander Lakes.”
“That’s not your real name, is it?”
“No, sir, it isn’t. What should I call you?”
“Sir is fine.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Ulysses is also good.”
“That’s a fake name if I ever heard one.”
“I have a soft spot for the character.”
“There’s a character?”
“Homer. Also James Joyce. Don’t you read?”
“Newspapers.”
I walked with him through the doors and out to where the rental-car agencies kept their desks. I knew Alexander was there to pick me up if I wanted, but I needed my own wheels. I rang the bell for service. When the lady came out with the papers, I gestured to Alexander. He looked at me, then showed her his driver’s
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