Jesus Christ! I thought. My only salvation in this thing was a whacked-out FBI agent with an itchy trigger finger?
Bo plowed on: “So it ain’t all bad, Bo. This guy Coleman isn’t the sort of guy who’s gonna fabricate evidence against you and go around threatening your Strattonites with life sentences, and he’s not the sort of guy who’s gonna terrorize your wife. But—”
I cut Bo off with great concern in my voice. “What do you mean, terrorize my wife? How can he drag Nadine into this? She hasn’t done anything, except spend a lot of money.” The mere thought of Nadine getting caught up in this sent my spirits plunging to unprecedented levels.
Bo’s voice took on the tone of a psychiatrist talking a patient off the ledge of a ten-story building. “Now, calm down, Bo. Coleman’s not a harassing sort of guy. All I was trying to say is that it’s not unheard of for an agent to put pressure on a husband by going after his wife. But that doesn’t apply in your situation, because Nadine’s not involved in any of your business dealings, right?”
“Of course not!” I replied with great certainty, and then I quickly rifled through my business dealings to see if what I’d just said was true. I came to the sad conclusion that it wasn’t. “The truth is I’ve done a couple a trades in her name, but nothing so bad. I’d say her liability is pretty much zero. But I’d never let it come to that, Bo. I’d sooner plead guilty and let them put me away for twenty years than let them indict my wife.”
Bo nodded slowly and replied, “As would any real man. But my point is that they know that too, and they might view that as a point of weakness. Again, we’re getting way ahead of ourselves here. The investigation is in its very early stages, more a fishing expedition than anything else right now. If you’re lucky, Coleman will stumble onto something else…an unrelated case…and he’ll lose interest in you. Just be careful, Bo, and you’ll be fine.”
I nodded. “You can count on it.”
“Good. Well, Barsini should be here in a second, so let’s go over a few ground rules. First, don’t bring up your case. It’s not that kinda meeting. It’s just a bunch of friends shooting the shit. No talk of investigations or anything like that. You start by developing a casual friendship with him. Remember, we’re not trying to get this guy to give you info he’s not supposed to give you.” He shook his head for emphasis. “The truth is that if Coleman reallyhas a bug up his ass for you, there’s nothing Barsini can do. It’s only if Coleman doesn’t have anything on you and he’s just being a prick—then Barsini could say, ‘Hey, I know the guy and he’s not so bad, so why don’t you cut him a break?’ Remember, Bo, the last thing you want to be accused of is trying to corrupt an FBI agent. They’ll throw you in jail for a long time for that.”
Then Bo raised his eyebrows, and added, “But, on the flip side, there’s some information that we canget from Barsini. See, the truth is that there are some things that Coleman might wantyou to know, and he can use Barsini as a conduit for that. Who knows? You might actually strike up a friendship with Barsini. He’s a pretty good guy, actually. He’s a crazy bastard but, then again, which of us isn’t, right?”
I nodded in agreement. “Well, I’m not the judgmental type, Bo. I hate judgmental people. I think they’re the worst sort, don’t you?”
Bo smirked. “Right. I figured you’d feel that way. Trust me when I tell you that Barsini is not your typical FBI type. He’s a former SEAL—or maybe Marine Force Recon—I’m not sure which. But one thing you should know about Barsini is that he’s an avid scuba diver, so you two have that in common. Maybe you could invite him on your yacht or something, especially if this whole Coleman thing turns out to be no big deal. Having a friend in the FBI is never a bad thing.”
I smiled at Bo and resisted the urge to jump across the table and plant a wet kiss on his lips. Bo was a true warrior, an asset so valuable that it couldn’t be calculated. How much was I paying him, between Stratton and personal? Over half a million a year, maybe more. And he was worth every penny. I asked, “What’s this guy know about me? Does he know I’m under investigation?”
Bo shook his head. “Absolutely not. I told him very little about you. Just that you were a good client of mine as well as a good friend. And both of those statements are true—which is why I’m doing this, Bo, out of friendship.”
In lockstep, I replied, “And don’t think I don’t appreciate it, Bo. I won’t forget—”
Bo cut me off. “Here he is now.” He gestured toward the window, to a fortyish man entering the restaurant. He was about six-two, two-twenty, and was sporting an extreme crew cut. He had gruff, handsome features, piercing brown eyes, and an incredibly square jaw. In fact, he looked like he belonged on a recruiting poster for a right-wing paramilitary group.
“Big Bo!” exclaimed the world’s least likely FBI agent. “ Myyyyyyman! What the fuck are you up to, and where the fuck did you find this restaurant? I mean—Jesus Christ, Bo—I could get some target practice in this neck of the woods!” He cocked his head to the side and raised his eyebrows, as if to imply the very logic of his observation. Then he added, “But, hey, that’s not my concern. I only shoot bank robbers, right?” That last insane comment was directed at me, accompanied by a warm smile, to which Special Agent Barsini then added, “And you must be Jordan. Well it’s nice to meet you, bud! Bo told me you got a kick-ass boat—or ship, actually—and he said you like to scuba dive. Let me shake your hand.” He extended his hand to me. I quickly reached for it and was surprised to find that his hand was nearly twice the size of my own. After nearly pulling my arm out of my shoulder socket, he finally released me from his clutches and we all sat down.
I was about to continue the subject of scuba diving, but I never got the chance. Special Agent Madman was immediately off on a rant. “I’ll tell you,” he said with piss and vinegar, “this neighborhood’s a real fucking cesspool.” He shook his head in disgust and leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs, which had the effect of exposing the enormous revolver on his waist.
“Well, Bo,” said Bo to Barsini, “you got no argument from me in that department. Know how many people I locked up when I worked this neighborhood? You wouldn’t believe it if I told you. Half of them were the same fucking people over again! I remember this one guy, he was the size of a fucking gorilla. He snuck up behind me with a garbage-can lid and smashed me over the top of the head, nearly turning my lights out. Then he went after my partner, and he knocked him out cold.”
I raised my eyebrows and said, “So what happened to the guy? Did you catch him?”
“Yeah, of course I did,” replied Bo, almost insulted. “He didn’t knock me out cold; he only fazed me. I came to while he was still whaling on my partner, and I took the lid from him and pounded him over the head for a few minutes. But he had one of those extra-thick skulls, like a fucking coconut.” Bo shrugged, then finished his story with: “He lived.”
“Well that’s a damn fucking shame,” replied the federal agent. “You’re too soft, Bo. I woulda ripped out the guy’s trachea and fed it to him. You know, there’s a way to do that without even getting a drop a blood on your hands. It’s all in the snap of the wrist. It makes a sort of popping sound, like”—the federal agent pressed the tip of his tongue to the roof of his mouth and compressed his cheeks and then released— “POP!”
Just then the restaurant’s owner, Frank Pellegrino—also known as Frankie No, because he was always saying no to people who asked him for a table—came over to introduce himself to Agent Barsini. Frank was dressed so smartly, and matched so perfectly, and was so freshly pressed, that I would’ve sworn he’d just emerged from a dry cleaner. He wore a dark-blue three-piece suit with thick chalk-gray pinstripes. From out of his left breast pocket a white hanky debouched perfectly, flawlessly, brilliantly, in the sort of way only a man like Frankie could pull off. He looked rich and sixtyish, trim and handsome, and he had a unique gift of being able to make every last person at Rao’s feel like they were a guest in his own home.