Free Peril by Thomas H. Cook Page A

Batman?”
    â€œHe won’t show,” Mortimer repeated.
    â€œYou won’t even talk to him?”
    â€œThere wouldn’t be no point in talking to him, Vinnie,” Mortimer said emphatically. “The deal don’t include no meeting. He don’t meet with nobody. My guy ain’t never done that, and he ain’t gonna start now.”
    Caruso leaned forward. “I just give you fifteen grand, remember?”
    Mortimer remembered all too well. He could feel the envelope in his jacket pocket. The only thing, it didn’t feel like bills, all silent and crinkly. It felt like thirty pieces of silver, loud and jangling, rattling through his soul.
    â€œYou gonna give a dime of that money to Batman?” Caruso asked him.
    Mortimer shrugged.
    â€œThat’s what I figured,” Caruso said. “You’re shorting him. Batman, I mean. What if he found out you was doing that, Morty?”
    â€œHe ain’t gonna find out.”
    â€œWhat I’m saying is we got to have some trust here. Between us, I mean. I know you’re shorting your guy and—” Caruso stopped, looking somewhat baffled, like a man who’d started following a thought, then lost it on the way. “Trust, that’s what I’m saying. You can trust me. So your guy should show if I tell you he should show.”
    Mortimer took a sip of coffee, tried to act firm, businesslike, beyond intimidation. “Look, Vinnie, if Labriola wants to have a look at me, fine. But that’s where it stops.”
    Caruso regarded Mortimer warily. “You know, I’ve been thinking maybe it stops with you, period. I’ve been thinking maybe Batman is you, Morty. That maybe you’re going to grab the whole thirty grand.” He took another sip of coffee. “So is there another guy or not?”
    â€œThere is,” Mortimer said. “But what his cut is, that’s between me and him.”
    Caruso shrugged. “Look, if you want to cheat your guy, so what? It’s no skin off my nose who gets what in this deal, long as you come up with this fucking broad Mr. Labriola is all lathered up about. But remember this: Labriola don’t like getting fucked.” He waited for that to sink in, then added, “The Old Man gets real pissed a guy tries to screw him. And on this deal, he’s really steaming to get the job done. Otherwise why would he be paying thirty grand?”
    â€œWhy
is
he paying that?” Mortimer asked. “It ain’t his wife skipped town.”
    â€œClose enough,” Caruso said. “He don’t like his kid getting screwed by this broad and her getting away with it, and all that. So he’s willing to pay to get her back. But believe me, he don’t like paying that much, Morty. He don’t like it he’s got to go that deep into his pocket to get this thing done. Put all that together, it adds up to a bad mood. He’s not to be fucked with is what I’m telling you.”
    Mortimer glanced about anxiously. Why couldn’t he have just worked in a goddamn factory like his father, or sold shoes, anything but this. And now cheating Stark? How fucking crazy could things get?
    â€œAnd what steams the Old Man more than anything is being played for a chump,” Caruso added.
    â€œYeah, I understand,” Mortimer said. “But it don’t change the way it is. What I’m telling you is that if Labriola wants to meet with me, I’m willing to do it. Anytime. Anyplace. But it’s got to be with me ’cause nobody else is gonna show.”
    â€œI don’t know if he’ll go for it, Morty.”
    â€œIt’s the best I can do.”
    â€œWhich leaves you where, exactly? If the Old Man calls off the deal.”
    Mortimer felt his tough-guy act crumble beneath Caruso’s knowing gaze.
    â€œIt means you’re back to where you was, right?” Caruso asked. “With a fifteen-thousand-dollar price on your