Dreams of Jeannie and Other Stories Part 5

"Whereas?"

"There are no tank cars." Billy cringed as he said it, waiting to be hit.

I shrugged. "You didn't create the scam. You didn't even write the prospectus. Turn the certain party in to the SEC. There might even be a reward."

"That seems like good advice." Billy was twitching again. He must twitch off about eight hundred calories a day. "But the certain party wouldn't like that at all. I need to keep a low profile. Getting in touch with the SEC would mean drawing a little too much attention. I'm not sure who I can trust-except you."

"Why me? You haven't seen me in twenty-five years."

"Hey, Freddie, you're my cousin. Who can you trust if you can't trust your cousin?"

Somebody who doesn't twitch, was what I thought.

"There's something you haven't told me," I said. "Like who this certain party is, the one behind the scam."

"I don't like the word 'scam.' I'd rather call it a misunderstanding." He looked around, making certain no one was within earshot, then lowered his voice anyway. "And I can't tell you the name of the party who put it together. You don't need to know. That isn't the problem here."

"If you say so. But then the problem has to be one of the guys who bought a tank car on your say-so."

"Right." Billy's eyes were starting to water. He reached up and rubbed them. "For whatever it's worth, there is only one. He's threatening to go to the SEC. And since I can't hand over the party behind the misunderstanding, a complaint means that I lose my license to sell securities, my livelihood."

"Are you the only broker selling these cars?"

"Not quite. Almost. There are three of us."

"But there's a prospectus. The other party's name has to be on it."

"I'm afraid it isn't."

"Oh, Billy." I shook my head. "You're not telling me your name is on the prospectus."

"And the other two brokers," he said. "It's not just me. It's like a limited partnership with a silent partner."

"That has to be illegal."

Billy didn't answer. He shifted in his chair and rubbed his eyes again.

The waiter brought my beer, Billy's martini, and a basket of rolls.

"Dinner will be right up," he said cheerfully.

"Looking forward to it," Billy said, with what he surely hoped was a believable smile.

"How did the silent partner talk you three supposedly astute financial types into risking your licenses and livelihoods like this?"

The rolls were sourdough, and warm. I tore one apart and b.u.t.tered it while Billy decided what he was going to tell me.

"By explaining why it was better that the SEC think it was a deal put together by three Southern California stockbrokers and by pointing out how much more lucrative it was for us. We'd be getting not just the sales commissions, but a cut of the partnership profits as well."

"Greed. The silent partner appealed to your greed."

"In a word." Billy nodded, doing his best to hold on to the smile. "And what's wrong with greed? Every man pursuing his own self-interest is what makes the invisible hand of the marketplace work."

"Or not. If every man pursues his own self-interest at the expense of every other man, and woman, the marketplace is a jungle, and no invisible hand can turn it into a civilization. That takes effort and goodwill."

"Have it your way. I didn't come here to argue with you."

"That's right. You came to ask me a favor."

"Jesus. You're not making this easy."

"What do you want me to do, Billy?"

"I just want you to talk to the guy. He's staying at the hotel, with the orthopedic surgeons' group. Ask him to forget about the SEC. Tell him I'll give him back the money. Out of my own pocket. Please."

"You also want me to tell him you're sorry? And you'll never do it again?"

"Whatever it takes to get him off my back."

"Why can't you take the elevator to his room and tell him yourself?"

"I tried to tell him myself. He said he'd hurt me if he saw me again. And the other party might hurt me, too."

Billy shrank in his chair as he said it. I wondered how big this surgeon was. And how big the silent partner was.

"I'll have to think about it."

"Sure. We'll eat first." He took a deep breath. "And talk about something else. How's your mother?"

"Fine. You ought to go up to the lake and see her while you're in the area. Do you have a car?"

"Yeah. A blue Acura. And the rental agency gave me a map to go with it. Maybe I'll drive up there tomorrow."

"I'm sure she'd like that."

"How are you? You ever get married?"

"No. You?"

"Yeah, twice. One kid from the first. I guess I should have sent you an announcement or something."

Billy shifted in his chair again.

It turned out to be a long dinner. The more we tried to talk, the less we had to say.

In the back of my mind, I was working out how to tell him I wouldn't do it. I didn't want to be anywhere near his scam, even to help him out from under a federal investigation.

But things about him-the shape and color of his eyes, the small hands with the long, narrow fingers, the way he separated his salmon steak from the tiny center bones-kept reminding me of Ramona. Saying no to him would be like saying no to her, only worse. I'd have to tell her about it afterward. And even though she wasn't close to her sister, she felt some kind of an undefined obligation, one she would expect me to honor.

All conversation had stopped by the time the waiter brought coffee.

Billy looked at me with desperate hope in his eyes, eyes that needed only mascara, liner, and three shades of eyeshadow to match Ramona's.

"How did you find out the tank cars weren't there?" I asked, still not ready to commit.

"The guy-the orthopedic surgeon-found out. The base of operations was supposed to be the railroad yard in Sparks. Since he was coming to Reno for the convention, he thought he'd drive three miles east to check out his investment. But n.o.body in Sparks had ever heard of the deal, so he called me. I made a few phone calls and discovered he was right. I flew up here yesterday, just to make sure there was no mistake."

"What did the silent partner have to say?"

"Oh, h.e.l.l, the usual. That I jumped the gun. That the cars weren't supposed to start rolling until September first, and everything would be worked out by then."

"But?"

Billy shook his head. He took a sip of coffee before he answered. "But this is almost June, and we've started selling cars, and the prospectus-with my name on it-says they're already sitting in the yard. And even if there's some way everything will be different in September, I don't think the surgeon would be willing to wait. And I can't blame him. So I want to give him the money back."

"You have the check?"

"I wish I did." He reached into his jacket.

"Sorry for the delay, sir." The waiter slipped a black leather folder onto the table.

Billy froze, hand in his pocket.

"No problem," he whispered.

The waiter disappeared into the shadows.

"I have a down payment," Billy finished, his voice barely audible. He pulled out his wallet. "Ten now, the other ninety when I can get it together."

His hand was shaking as he held out a sealed envelope.

"Please."

I took the envelope. There was no name or any other mark on it.

"Where do I deliver it?"

"Upstairs. Room 1103. Theo Georgopoulos. And I owe you one, Freddie, I swear, if you ever need anything I can give."

I hoped it wouldn't come to that.

"Are you certain he's in his room?"

"No. But you might as well give it a shot while you're here."

"Okay. Where will you be?"

His eyebrows shot up, and his mouth formed a circle of speechless wonder.

"I have to report back to you," I said. "Let you know what happens. Where will you be?"

"How about the lounge? There's some kind of musical entertainment going on. I'll try for a table at the back."

"Okay. And thanks for dinner."

I left him there. I figured he could settle the bill without me.

Outside the black door, back in the light and noise, I had to reorient myself to find the elevators.

One stopped for me almost immediately. I rode alone to the eleventh floor.

Room 1103 was the second door on the right. Whoever had last gone in or out hadn't bothered to pull it quite shut. I knocked, and it moved.

"Dr. Georgopoulos?"

No answer.

I pushed with my elbow, and the door swung open.

A closet and bathroom blocked the sightline to the bed, beyond them on the left. A solid wall stopped the door on the right.

"Dr. Georgopoulos?"

I stepped cautiously over the threshold and moved just far enough forward to see the rest of the room.

A man was lying on the bed, legs partially hanging over the end.

He was wearing a dark suit, white shirt, and striped tie, almost an echo of Billy's outfit, both of them too formal for Reno. And he was here for a convention. Maybe he had decided to come back to his room and take a nap after some kind of formal presentation. He had unfastened his belt buckle and his pants, getting comfortable. Certainly he was big enough to intimidate someone as small as Billy. Probably six-foot-four, if he had been standing.

But he wasn't going to do that again.

His hair had receded to a fringe of black around a high, white dome. A bullet hole sat like a third eye in the center of his forehead.

The wall behind the bed was spattered with blood, as if the guy had been upright, and the shot had knocked him more or less onto the bed. The blood still looked runny, as if it might be fairly fresh.

I thought I heard a noise from the bathroom. A surge of adrenaline almost sent me flying back out of the room and into the hall, but I took a couple of deep breaths to get the fear and the anger under control, and realized the noise came from the room next door.

I had two choices. I could call hotel security and be stuck for an hour, or I could find Billy and make sure I hadn't been set up. If the guy hadn't been so obviously dead, or if I thought the perp had been hiding in the closet, I would have called security. As it was, I wanted to find Billy.

I slipped back to the door.

A man and woman were walking toward the elevator bank, arguing.

I listened for the elevator doors to open and close, the silence to return.

When I was certain the hall was clear, I left the room and turned away from the elevators. I found the stairs, walked down two flights, and decided I could ride the rest of the way.

I hoped Billy would be in the lounge. I really wanted Billy to be in the lounge.