Free JM01 - Black Maps by Peter Spiegelman Page A

shareholder lawsuits. Even with all the cops and feds jumping ship, I’ve still got more gigs than I’ve got people to fill ’em. But the money’s good—we must be the only growth industry left these days. That’s the upside,” Neary said.
    “And the downside?” I asked. He thought about it for a while.
    “The gray areas are bigger, I guess, and there are more of them. The bureau was a political swamp, no question, and it had more than its share of professional assholes. But you always knew that you were one of the good guys, or that you were supposed to be. In the private sector, what you know mainly is who’s paying the bill. For some people, that’s enough. Me, I worry a little more. Must be the Jesuit schooling.” He took a bite of potato-stuffed puri.
    “You keeping busy?” he asked. I nodded, and we were quiet for a bit. Time to get to the point.
    “I can count the number of times I’ve called you when I wasn’t looking for a favor,” I said.
    “So can I. My tally is zero. Don’t tell me you’re going to screw up your stats now,” Neary said, deadpan.
    “No, I wouldn’t disappoint you. I’m looking for a favor. But maybe I can do something for you, too.” He raised his eyebrows, waiting.
    Without using any names besides MWB’s and Nassouli’s, and staying vague about the dates, I laid out the bare bones of the case. It was blackmail, I explained, on account of some dealings my client had had almost twenty years ago, with Nassouli and another firm, an MWB client. I told him that my guy had gotten some documents, which might have come from MWB’s files.
    “If they did come from MWB, it could mean that the investigation is compromised, or that your liquidation work is. It could mean that somebody is doing a little freelancing.” Neary stopped eating and stared at me as I spoke, his face empty. When I finished talking, he stared at me some more. Then he shook his head slowly.
    “I must not be following,” he said. “Your guy gets faxed a bunch of documents from a deal he did with MWB, twenty years back. Somebody wants to squeeze him. Now, you’re trying to backtrack the documents. Okay, I’m with you up to there. It’s after that I’m missing something— like the part where this has anything to do with me.” Neary paused to tear off a mouthful of naan, and continued.
    “These documents are twenty years old. You have no idea how many copies of these things were around back then, or who had them. And you have no clue where those copies could’ve got to in twenty years’ time. But somehow you decide—I don’t know why—that maybe they came out of my shop, or from the feds.” He shook his head more vigorously. “I’ve got to tell you, this is the thinnest damn thing I’ve heard in a long time.”
    “It’s pretty thin,” I agreed. “But pretty thin is all I’ve got.” Neary stared at me and shook his head some more. I continued. “I can’t give you the details, but believe me, of the possible sources for these documents, MWB looks the best. Plus, I have reason to believe that a cop or an ex-cop might be involved.” I figured it couldn’t go much worse, so I told him about my chat in the park with Faith Herman, and how she pegged the guy who paid her as a cop. Some amusement mixed with his incredulity.
    “This just gets better and better. Your solid lead is a bag lady who’s probably off her meds and thinks everybody’s a cop or a werewolf or a space alien. And based on this you figure it’s got to be one of my guys, right?”
    We paused as the waiter laid bowls of steaming soup before us. Neary regarded his with some reverence and tucked his tie inside his shirt. He had a few peppery spoonfuls and sighed heavily before he continued.
    “Your star witness give you a description?” I gave him what I had. “Could be anybody,” he said after a while. He had some more soup. “So, assuming I gave this an ounce of credence, which I don’t, what’s this favor you