“You were probably supposed to tell them, huh?” said Hardin. “About Hernandez?”
“Yeah.”
“Any reason you didn’t?”
A pause. “Options, I guess. I always figured there might come a day where things could go one way or the other. And if they went a certain way, maybe it would be better for me if a review board wasn’t pawing through my baggage.”
“Pretty sure you’re supposed to tell them about me, too.”
“Pretty sure.”
He ran his hand across her face, brushing her hair aside. She kissed his palm.
“So where do we go from here?” she asked.
“South Pacific, Tahiti, in around there. Lots of places down there where my French papers will fit in good. Especially when I’ve got $15 million to go with them.”
She ran her hand over his chest, it resting right over his heart, her fingers curling an uncurling through the hairs on his chest. “Beach bums, huh? Not going to get boring? After the Legion and everything?”
“I’m willing to give it a try,” he said. “We can always look up the local DGSE guys; go sink a Greenpeace boat or something. If we get bored.”
She didn’t say anything for a moment.
“But after we kill Hernandez,” she said.
“Right,” said Hardin. “After that.”
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 32
In Starshak’s office the next morning, Lynch filled them in on Fenn, Ringwald, the scene at the hockey game.
“Puts Fenn back on the front burner,” said Starshak.
“Yeah,” said Lynch. “There’s more. Remember that gangster thing they filmed down on the south side maybe seven, eight years back? Cal Sag Channel?”
Bernstein nodded. “One of Fenn’s first big pictures.”
“Guess who’s listed as a script consultant,” Lynch said.
Starshak snorted. “You’re gonna tell me Corsco, right?”
Lynch nodded. “Word is Fenn and Corsco, they got pretty tight. With all the chicks hanging around Fenn, he’d get Corsco pussy, and Corsco would keep Fenn in coke.”
“Nice symbiotic relationship,” said Bernstein
“So maybe this Corsco thing with Hardin? Payback from Fenn out of that Africa bullshit?”
Starshak shook his head. “Big shot celebrity like Fenn taking out a mob hit over some bad PR? Guy’s got to have serious snakes in his head to take that kind of risk.”
Lynch shrugged. “Weird-ass shit for sure. You got something else that ties Corsco to Hardin, I’m all ears. But Hardin and Fenn, so far as we can tell, they’ve intersected exactly once and some famous crap happened. Now we got them in the same town at the same time again, and we’ve got crap happening again.”
“Occam’s razor,” Bernstein said.
Starshak gave him a blank look.
“Occam was a medieval philosopher. He posited that the simplest explanation for any given set of facts is usually the best explanation, even if it seems unlikely. Hardin and Fenn have a history. Fenn’s got a reputation as a hot head. Fenn knows Corsco. Corsco made a play for Hardin.”
“Just seems so fucking stupid,” Starshak said.
“Imagine that,” Lynch said. “Hollywood types acting stupid.”
Starshak grunted. “So check it out. Something else to rattle Corsco’s cage with anyway. Speaking of which, you talk to him on this South Shore business yet?”
Lynch shook his head. “He’s ducking us. Lawyer says he’s out of town.”
“OK, you brace Fenn,” said Starshak. “I’ll call Ringwald, put a boot up his ass, tell him he doesn’t get Corsco to show up soon, we’ll go for a subpoena.”
“Another thing we haven’t thought enough about,” said Bernstein. “This second guy, Mr .22.”
Starshak nodded again. “Ideas?”
“Refugee makes it Africa,” said Lynch, “and that makes it Hardin. Except this guy is shooting everybody but Hardin.”
“Which, if Hardin really has some diamonds, maybe makes it about the diamonds,” said Bernstein.
“What do we know about those?” Starshak asked.
“Checked on it a little,” said Bernstein. “The conflict diamond issue was way bigger ten, fifteen years back when the civil war in Liberia was still going good – how a lot of those guys got money for their weapons. Your mainstream diamond guys – De Beers, the Russians and whatnot – they put this certification system in place. Kimberley Certificates, to cut down on the black-market business. So if Hardin has uncertified diamonds, he’d have to work through an insider to get them into the system.”
“Was Stein an insider?” Starshak asked.
“His family started out in diamonds, back in New York. A lot of Jews in that business,” Bernstein said. “He’d know people.”
“But how did Hardin know Stein?” asked Lynch.
Bernstein shrugged. “Don’t know. Stein, he was real tight with Israel, traveled there a lot. Hardin, we know he was in the Middle East with the Marines. But we don’t know what he was up to for quite a while after that.”
“So one way or another, Hardin got some rocks off of somebody,” said Starshak. “And this .22 guy, maybe he’s trying to get them back?”
“Something’s still off,” said Lynch. “Hardin had just left Stein when Mr.22 showed up and popped him. And Hardin had just been down at South Shore when Mr .22 shows up there, pops another guy. He’s after Hardin, how come he’s following him around, shooting everybody else?”
“Don’t know,” said Bernstein. “One other thing? On the diamonds? You’ve had Lebanese merchants all over Northern Africa for centuries, and they’ve always been active in the diamond business. Hezbollah, guys like that – a lot of them are out of Lebanon.”
Starshak rubbed his face with both hands for a minute, blew out a long breath. “So we got Stein, who’s tight with Israel. We got maybe some terrorist types, who don’t like Israel. And got this Hardin guy with a big hole in his history.”
“Yep,” said Bernstein.
A little pause.
“That philosophy razor of yours, you got anyway to shave this down?”
Bernstein shook his head.
CHAPTER 33
It was Corsco’s lawyer’s office, but Tony Corsco sat behind the desk, leaving Ringwald, and this Munroe guy to take the guest chairs. Ringwald had called him at 7am, sounding a little panicked, insisting he take a meeting with this Munroe fuck. OK, so he was here. But Ringwald was a pussy. Good lawyer, but a pussy. No way was Corsco showing his ass for this Munroe, whoever he was.
“I’ll be blunt,” Corsco started, wanting to get the first word in, wanting this guy back on his heels. “I’m not used to being summoned to meetings, not on this short notice, and certainly not with your disrespectful attitude, but my lawyer strongly advised that we speak, so I’m here. However, I am a busy man. Whatever your business is, get to it directly.”
Munroe turned to talk to Ringwald. “I gave you a number to call. Did you check me out?”
“Yes,” Ringwald said.
“Then fill this asshole in. I don’t much care for his attitude, either. And I’m not the one with his dick in the wringer.”
Corsco’s face reddened and he started to rise from his chair, but Ringwald held up a hand.
“Tony, he’s from the government, well sort of the government.”
“The Feds?” said Corsco. “Is there a warrant?”
Ringwald shook his head. “Not the Feds. The intelligence side of things.”
Corsco looked puzzled. “What? CIA? NSA? What?”
“His role appears to be, eh, unofficial. But you need to listen to him. Please.”
Munroe finally turned to face Corsco, who was still half standing, his hands on the desk. “I solve problems. I’m not FBI, I’m not NSA, I’m not Agency. I’m not anybody. But I can have anybody I want – Justice, IRS, name it – so far up your ass so fast that you’ll think you’re back in the prison showers. Or I can make one phone call and you’ll be gone by morning. Not just dead. Gone. Jimmy Hoffa gone. I don’t send dumb-ass goombahs like you sent after Hardin, I send Navy SEALs. Now sit the fuck down and listen to me, because this is not a negotiation.”