Free Peril by Thomas H. Cook Page B

fucking head.”
    â€œIf I have to come up with the money, I’ll come up with the money.” Mortimer tried to sound confident but failed.
    â€œBut you don’t have that money, Morty,” Caruso said cannily. “If you had it, or knew where you could get it, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, right? Which means if this deal don’t go through, you’re fucked.”
    â€œWhich is why I’m ready to meet with Labriola,” Mortimer said. “Jesus, Vinnie, I know I’m in a fix. But the guy I work for, he’s got nothing to do with that. He don’t even know about it. And there’s no way I can tell him, because it wouldn’t do no good, because he don’t show . . . never.”
    Caruso considered this briefly. “Okay, suppose Mr. L. is willing to meet with you, when could you get together with him?”
    â€œWhenever he says.”
    â€œToday?”
    â€œToday. Tonight. Any fucking time.”
    â€œOkay, how about we make it Columbus Circle. This afternoon. Two-thirty. If I can get the Old Man to go for it, I mean.”
    â€œFine,” Mortimer said.
    Caruso smiled. “And feel free to bring Batman if you can get him out of his fucking cave.”
    Mortimer drew in a tense breath. “There’s something else. You got to supply a few details, Vinnie. Stuff about the woman. Something to go on.”
    â€œLike what?”
    â€œLike who she is. Background. Where she might go. What she might do. My guy’s got to have something to work on.”
    Caruso smiled. “If your guy needs that, then he should meet with Mr. Labriola.”
    Mortimer shook his head. “If he knew it was Labriola, he wouldn’t do the job at all.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œ ’Cause he don’t work for . . . guys like that.”
    â€œGuys like what?”
    â€œGuys that ain’t . . . legit.”
    Caruso looked at him quizzically.
    â€œIt’s something that happened,” Mortimer said. “Long time ago. It don’t matter what it was, but the bottom line, he don’t work for . . . you know, a certain kind of guy.”
    â€œSo, who does Batman think he’s working for in this deal?”
    â€œA friend of mine, that’s what I told him. He ever finds out otherwise, he’ll ditch the whole thing.”
    â€œAnd you along with it, right, Morty?” Caruso asked with a cagey grin. He sat back, took another sip of coffee, his eyes poised like small brown marbles over the white rim of the cup. “The thing is, I don’t think Mr. Labriola knows much about that fucking broad.”
    â€œThen maybe her husband’s got some idea about—”
    â€œLabriola’s kid don’t know nothing about this deal,” Caruso interrupted. “And that’s the way it stays, ’cause Mr. Labriola ain’t told the kid nothing.”
    â€œThe kid don’t know Labriola’s looking for his wife?”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œWhy ain’t he told him?”
    Caruso’s face stiffened. “You ask a lot of questions, Morty. First it’s how come Mr. Labriola’s paying so much to find this broad. Now this thing about why he ain’t telling the kid nothing about it. A lot of fucking questions, Morty.”
    Morty lifted his hands defensively. “I’m asking, that’s all. Calm down, for Christ’s sake. You don’t got to answer.”
    â€œAll I know is, Labriola wants this broad found . . . and quick. He’s got a bug up his ass about it, that’s what I’m telling you. He wants it done fast.”
    â€œSo get me the information I need,” Mortimer said. “Something for my guy to go on. He can’t do a fucking thing till he gets something to go on.”
    â€œOkay, I’ll tell the Old Man, but between you and me, ain’t it Batman’s job to come up with this shit?”
    â€œYeah it is,” Morty