Read Online Tumblin' Dice by John McFetridge - Free Book Online Page B

know why?”
    Loewen thought because he’s a bank president, he’s a control freak jerk like every high-ranking asshole, but he just said, no, why?
    â€œIt was a test. I bet every other person giving a presentation told him they’d like to go over it the way they prepped it and they’d get to that point in order. He was trying to see what we were like to deal with, if we really knew our stuff, if we were flexible, if we really thought he was the customer and we were there to serve him.” She waved her empty glass at the bartender and then looked back at Loewen. “So many of these guys, the big insurance companies, they think you work for them. They don’t treat you like customers; they treat you like an inconvenience.”
    Loewen said, “No shit, you got that right.”
    The bartender brought Miriam another vodka tonic, and Loewen said he’d have another Bud Light.
    She said, “So, needless to say, we waltzed right into Bay Street and took away the biggest account.”
    Loewen said, “You did,” and she looked at him serious and he knew he was in.
    A deep voice said, “Loewen,” and he turned around to see a tall Native guy, short black hair standing straight up, wearing an expensive blue suit custom tailored to fit his wide shoulders.
    â€œHey,” Loewen said, “you made it.”
    â€œYeah, I haven’t been out here since I worked that one — Eddie Nollo went crazy, killed that Colombian guy, remember? Cut him into pieces: they were finding them for days. Found his hands in the ice machine like a week later.”
    Loewen said, “Shit,” looking sideways at Miriam, and the big Native guy said, “You’re not with the cop thing here, are you?” and she said, no, “I’m with the insurance thing.”
    He said, “Sorry. I’m Detective Armstrong,” and he held out a hand.
    Loewen watched her shake, her tiny white hand in Armstrong’s big brown one, not too happy about it, thinking that wasn’t her big-time successful businesswoman grip, and he was glad about that. Usually a woman in a bar would be way more interested in Armstrong than in him, so this was good.
    Then Armstrong said, “What room are you in?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œJust wondering, you know. The Colombian was killed on the top floor, east side, I think. You could see the runways.”
    â€œOh well,” Miriam said, “I’m on six, not even halfway up.”
    Armstrong said that was good. “Didn’t find any pieces of the guy on six, that’s for sure.”
    Loewen saw the look on Miriam’s face, pissed off, grossed out by the cop talk, so he said, “Now you’re a big TV star,” and Armstrong said, what bullshit.
    â€œThat came from way up the chain of command, up in the stratosphere somewhere.”
    Loewen said, “Armstrong’s working a homicide, looks like a gang hit.”
    Miriam said, “Like a drive-by?” Not grossed out about this cop talk, it didn’t seem to Loewen. He was having some trouble figuring this Miriam.
    â€œSort of,” Armstrong said, “except they walked along the sidewalk.”
    She said, like they own the place, and Loewen said yeah.
    â€œThat’s why the big boys wanted it all on TV ,” Armstrong said. “Show the city what’s really happening here. Makes me feel like an asshole, you know.”
    Loewen could see Miriam agreed with that too much and he could feel he was losing her. He wanted to move this along, so he said to Armstrong, “So, there’s Jones over there.” He watched Armstrong look across the room and recognize Homeland Security Special Agent Jones sitting at a table with a few other American cops up for the conference and say, “Oh, yeah, Jones . You know what, Loewen, you’re busy here, I’ll just go over, see what this is about,” and he walked away.
    Miriam drank her