With great confidence, Magnum said, “I can assure all those present that Jordan did not sink his yacht for the insurance money. Right, Jordan?”
“Absolutely,” I replied. “But I won't deny that I hated the thing. It was a hundred and seventy feet of floating heartache. It was constantly breaking down, and it burned through money faster than Haiti.” I shrugged innocently. “Anyway, I was glad it sank.” Would they really make me tell them the story of the yacht sinking? It really had beenan accident. The only thing I'd been guilty of was poor judgment, which at the time had been slightly impaired. I was under the influence of enough drugs to sedate Guatemala, so I pressured the captain to take out the boat into the middle of a Force 8 gale, to quell my drug-induced boredom.
“Anyway,” said Magnum, “you have your answer, Michele. It was an accident.” I nodded in agreement, feeling confident in our first exchange. It had been entirely innocuous, and Magnum and I had handled ourselves beautifully, neutralizing the Witch's spell. Or so I'd thought, until the Bastard said, “And when the boat was sinking, isn't it true that you called Danny Porush and told him that you had ten million dollars in cash buried in your backyard, and that if you and your wife died he should dig it up and make sure it went to your children?”
I looked around the debriefing room and all eyes were on me, including Magnum's. OCD had a wry smile on his face that so much as said, “You see, Jordan, I know things about you that you had no idea I knew!” The Mormon, however, had a rather mischievous smile on his face that so much as said, “I'd be willing to split the ten million with you if you hand me a treasure map and keep the others out of it!” But the Witch and the Bastard both bore grim expressions that so much as said, “Just go ahead and lie to us and see what happens!”
Ironically, I had no idea what they were talking about. In fact, I was now astonished for three reasons: first, because I hadn't buried even ten dollars in my backyard, much less ten million; second, because there was no way of proving it, short of taking OCD into my backyard with a pick and a shovel and digging up six acres of some very expensive Bermuda grass; and, third, because the way the Bastard had phrased his question, he'd insinuated that the information had come from Danny Porush himself, which meant he was cooperating too.
And that was both good and bad. On the bright side, it meant that I wouldn't have to cooperate against him, which was something Magnum had predicted. But on the not-so-bright side, Danny had been my right-hand man, which meant everything I said would be cross-checked for accuracy. I would have to be extremely careful with that; outright lies would have to be avoided. It would simply be too easy to get caught. Omissions of fact were my only hope. After all, withholding information could just as easily be a lapse of memory.
With a hint of disdain, I replied, “That's the most ridiculous thing I ever heard, Joel.” I shook my head and let out a cynical chuckle. “You know, I don't know where you're getting your information from, but I promise you that it's completely bogus.” I looked at OCD. His expression was neutral, his hawk eyes slightly narrowed, as if he was sizing me up. I looked him right in the eyes and said, “Trust me, Greg; whoever told you that is yanking your chain. Think about it for a second: Who in their right mind would bury ten million dollars in their backyard? I would've had to dig the hole in the middle of the night and then resod my lawn before sunup. And I'm not exactly the manual-labor type. In fact, the last time one of my lamps blew a bulb, I threw out the lamp.” I stared right into the bastard's eyes.
“You have a very competent lawyer,” Joel sputtered, “so I'm sure he's explained to you that if you get caught lying, or try to deceive us in any way whatsoever, we have the right to rip up your cooperation agreement and throw it in the garbage can.” He flashed me a dead smile. “That means you'd be sentenced without the benefit of a 5K letter, which translates into about thirty years in a—”
Magnum cut the Bastard off with, “Whoa, whoa, whoa, Joel! Settle down! Jordan is fully aware of his obligations, and he has every intention of living up to them.”
The Bastard shrugged. “And I'm not saying he won't,” he shot back. “But it's my legal obligation to inform him of the terrible fatethat would befall him”— and how happy it would make me,his tone implied—”if he were sentenced without the benefit of a 5K letter.” The Bastard looked me right in the eye and added, “And remember that all the information you provide us with can be used against you if you should change your mind and decide to go to trial.”
“I'm fully aware of that,” I said calmly. “Greg explained all this to me yesterday. But you don't have to worry: I won't put you in a position where you'd have to ruin my life, Joel.” Try as I might, the last few words slipped out with a healthy dose of irony.
“You know, I think this might be a good time to confer with my client,” said Magnum. “Would you give us a few moments?”
“No problem,” said the Bastard, rising from his armchair. He smiled at the Wicked Witch of the East, who rose from her seat too, followed by OCD and the Mormon. Then, in single file, they exited the room and closed the door behind them. The moment they were gone, I popped out of my chair and snarled, “This is total horseshit, Greg, total fucking horseshit! You were right about him; he's a real fuckhead!And the other one, Michele Adelman— Jesus! What a cunt sheis! Someone oughtta give her a fucking broomstick and tell her to fly herself back to Oz!”
Magnum nodded in agreement, slowly rising from his chair until he was a good two heads above me. With a friendly smile, he said, “First of all, I want you to calm down. Take a deep breath and count to ten; then, when you're done, we can talk about the ten million buried in your backyard.”
I looked up at Magnum, whose head now seemed to be scraping the fluorescent bulbs. “Will you please sit down!” I demanded. “You're too fucking tall. I lose my perspective when we're both standing.” I motioned for him to take a seat.
“You're not that short,” he replied, staring down at the top of my head, as if I were a midget. “I think you have a complex.” He reached down and placed his large hand on my shoulder. “In fact, when all this is over, I think you should seek help.”
I expelled a gust of air. “Yeah, well, I'll take it up with the prison shrink when I'm not busy getting butt-fucked by Bubba the Bull-queer.” I shook my head in frustration. “Anyway, I didn't bury any money in my backyard, Greg, or anywhere else, for that matter.”
“That's fine,” said Magnum, taking his seat. “You have nothing to worry about, then. Joel has to write you the 5K letter, even if he doesn't believe you. He can only withhold the letter if he catches you in an outright lie. But you aregoing to have to give him a financial statement.” He paused for a brief instant. “And it's going to have to include any cash you might have. If something should surfacedown the road”—he rolled his eyes—”it would be very bad for you; very, very bad. How much cash are you sitting on right now?”
“Not much,” I replied. “Maybe a million, slightly less.”
“That's it?”
“Yeah, that's it. Maybe you're forgetting about all the cash I smuggled overseas. Why the fuck do you think I'm sitting here, for a traffic violation?”
“I understand you smuggled money overseas, but that doesn't account for all of it.” He paused and rolled his long, rangy neck, eliciting half a dozen dull vertebral cracks. Then he said, “Listen, I'm just playing devil's advocate here, trying to anticipate what Joel might think, and I think he might be skeptical.”
I shook my head in consternation. “Let me explain something, Greg: For the last four years I didn't actually own a brokerage firm. I was just controlling them from behind the scenes, right?”