Cockeyed - Stevenson Richard - Страница 18

$61,000 from Crafts-a-Palooza, and her restitution included interest payments and assorted fees and add-ons. The additional amounts were to be determined by a complex formula that was impossible for any of us to decipher. It looked like a contract for one of the adjustable-rate mortgages cooked up by the type of shyster lenders who had sent millions of people plunging into bankruptcy over the past year.

I said, “So you have never seen this agreement before?”

“No, but Miriam has a copy,” Hunny said. “Lewis said it looked real, but they didn’t want to show it to anybody to have it checked out. Miriam said it would be too embarrassing.”

Antoine said, “To me, it looks like a pile of shit.”

“I think it could be exactly that,” I said. “Or semi-shit at best.

I know a lawyer who can look it over and give us an opinion and keep his mouth shut. May I take this along? I’ll have it copied.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t make any more copies,” Hunny said.

“What if it fell into the hands of fPAAC? Or Bill O’Malley?”

The phone rang again and Hunny sighed. “If this is another reporter, I’m turning them over to Marylou. She is my press representative, and she has been doing an excellent job.”

Hunny picked up the phone and identified himself. And then almost immediately he went white.

“Yes, yes. Oh. Oh no! Yes? Oh. How much? Oh, all right, all right! Six thirty. Yes. I’ll wait for you to call.”

He hung up and said in a quavering voice, “They’ve got Mom.

They want twenty thousand dollars for her. Oh God, oh God!”

Art said, “Twenty thousand dollars? Not twenty million?”

We all looked at Hunny. “That’s what the man said.”

ChAPteR eLeven

“They’re calling back at six thirty,” Hunny said, his voice thin and wobbly. “When they call, they’ll give us instructions on where to leave the money. The guy said don’t go to the police or they will torture Mom and kill her.” Hunny buried his head in his hands and wept. “My God, my gawwdd!”

I tried to retrieve the caller’s number but it was blocked. I said,

“We don’t know who this person is, so we can’t deal with this on our own. Six thirty is under two hours. That’s enough time to get the police to monitor and trace the next call. I think you should do that, Hunny. The alternative is to make your own arrangements for a swap — the money for your mom — and hope that these people can be trusted to keep their word, and then track them down after your mother’s been returned. But that’s risky, since we have no idea what kind of people the kidnappers are.”

Art muttered, “Those bastards.”

“Your mom is an old lady who had a good life,” Antoine said.

“But her time hasn’t come yet. I just know it. I would just pay the twenty K. Girl, that’s pocket change for you.”

I said, “The caller was a man?”

“Yes. Or a serious dyke-a-rooney. But I think a man, yes.”

“But it was not a voice you recognized?”

“No, I’d have recognized a voice I recognized. Oh, Lord, what am I saying? I think I need a drink. Artie, dear, can you fetch me the Jack Daniels?”

“Of course, luv.”

Art retrieved a bottle from under the sink and said to Hunny,

“Anyway, you don’t have twenty thousand dollars in cash. How much do you think you have on hand?”

“Seventy or eighty dollars.”

“I might have a hundred.”

80 Richard Stevenson

“I could come up with forty,” Antoine said.

“I have the billion dollars in my checking account,” Hunny said. “But my ATM limit is five hundred a day.”

“Even if you went to forty different AtMs,” Antoine said, “I don’t think it works that way. I’ve tried it.”

The phone rang again and Hunny grabbed the receiver.

“Huntington Van Horn speaking. No, no, I have not. Now, I am quite busy. Please speak to my press representative, Mrs.

Whitney. I’ll send her out in a few minutes, but right now she is helping the boys with their homework.”

Hunny hung up and said, “It’s that obnoxious woman from Focks News. She says Bill O’Malley wants to interview me tonight at the Focks studios in Albany, and do I have a lawyer yet, and when can I do a pre-interview? I told her to talk to Marylou.

In fact, I think Bill O’Malley should interview Marylou instead.

I’ve had my fifteen minutes of fame, and do you know what? I am sick of it. If I hadn’t won the lottery, none of this with the Brienings and the blackmailers and the kidnappers would ever have happened! Oh, God, God, what should I do about Mom?

Oh, poor, poor Mom. Donald, do you really think they would hurt an old lady like that? Oh, she must be so frightened.”

“I don’t know if they would actually harm your mother, Hunny. But because we know nothing really about who we’re dealing with here, it’s probably best to notify the police. The Albany cops have some competent people working for them these days, and they and the state police have the resources to put an operation together fast. They could trace the call when it comes in at six thirty, and they could monitor the cash pickup

— and maybe even arrange for you to borrow the cash — and then track the kidnappers to wherever you mom is being held.

The twenty thousand figure suggests to me that these people are small-bore amateurs who aren’t likely to grasp what they’re really into. This doesn’t sound like the mob or some Mexican drug cartel or a major psychopath. What it sounds like is some opportunistic hapless dorks. These are the kinds of people cops run into all the time, and dealing with them is generally a piece CoCkeyed 81

of cake.”

Hunny slugged back some of his whiskey and thought this over. “I guess you’re right, Donald. Let the pros take over. I just have such bad memories of the Albany cops. In the seventies and eighties I had some unfortunate run-ins. For girls like us, they were the Gestapo.”

“I remember. But nearly all of those goons are gone. I know somebody in the department I can call and get the ball rolling if you decide that’s the way you want to go, and it’s what I suggest.

But you really have to decide now.”

Hunny lit a fresh Marlboro from one that was half smoked.

He seemed about to speak when the phone rang again.

“Hunny speaking.” Now he looked irked. “Stu, I told you I would help you out, but I am too busy to take care of you just now. Yes, you will receive one thousand dollars, and yes it will be in cash. Detective Strachey will get the money to you this week.

But I can’t deal with that matter at this particular moment. Don’t you know that my mother is missing from Golden Gardens?”

Hunny listened and shook his head. “Are you calling from the Watering Hole? No wonder you’re out of the loop. Now, call me early in the week and we’ll make some arrangements. No, girl, I haven’t forgotten all the nice times we had, but right now I have more pressing matters to worry about, and I am going to hang up. Good-bye, Stu.”

“Stu Hood?” Art asked.

Hunny nodded.

Antoine said, “I have enjoyed Stu’s company on a few occasions. Stu can be fun. Just so he doesn’t ask you for a match.”

I had my cell phone out and was poised to dial the number of a young Albany police detective I knew who was smart and competent and would not likely be freaked out by Hunny’s entourage or his personal style.

But now Hunny’s phone rang yet again.

“Hunny speaking.” He stared hard at the receiver. “What?” He 82 Richard Stevenson

listened with big eyes. “Are you serious?” Now he was slumping over the table and shaking his head. “Did you call before? About ten minutes ago?” He looked exhausted, on the verge of collapse.

“Well, someone else claims to have my mom also. Why should I believe you? What is going on?”