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Joellen sputtered, sprayed gin all over the table. “How much?”
“It doesn’t matter. I only need the folder.”
“The card’s not worth that much.”
“Mr. Kurisaka wants it,” Moto said. Also, Kurisaka wanted to preempt any other offers and figured a million dollars would do it. Moto’s boss had also sent word to the most prestigious collectibles dealers in America. Kurisaka wanted them to contact him instead of Hyatta if the card should happen to come into their possession.
“A million?” Joellen frowned. “Is he retarded or something?”
Moto pushed his drink away, threw his napkin on the table. “This is pointless. You are a bizarre, a
“Jesus, Moto,” Joellen said. “Sit down, will you? Let me make my pitch. You can leave then if you don’t like it.”
“Please be brief.” He sat.
“I already know where Folger is.”
Moto’s eyes widened. Perhaps this whole baseball card business could be concluded quickly, and he could get back to Japan. “Is he still in Pensacola?”
“What if I had the card? Instead of Folger?”
“If you can put us in contact with Folger, I’m sure a finder’s fee-”
She shook her head. “No, you’re not hearing what I’m saying. What if I had the card instead of Folger?”
Ah. “Then… I suppose we would pay you the million dollars.”
“And how would that work exactly?” asked Joellen.
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“There’s insurance fraud involved.”
“No questions asked,” Moto said.
“I’ve heard that in the movies,” Joellen said. “No questions asked. What exactly does that mean?”
“It means do whatever is necessary. Beg, borrow, or steal. This is a private transaction, and legal technicalities concern my employer not at all.”
Joellen smiled, nodded. “Beats the shit out of working for the insurance company.” She ordered another martini.
4
The next morning at dawn, Co
He didn’t really know what he was doing.
By noon, he’d worked all of Pensacola Beach and half the places around Mobile, starting at Old Navy Cove and making his way west through marinas small enough for private craft but still big enough for a guy with a boat on the lam to take on fuel and provisions. He sca
Co
So far, he had.
Co
He drove to an IHOP, ordered a cup of coffee, and opened the manila file folder James had given him.
On Rockford Files reruns, Rockford often got his police buddy to show him the file on a suspect. Rockford would dig through the file and uncover some kind of clue that jump-started the case or nudged him in the right direction. Where the hell’s Rockford when I need him?
But the package on Teddy Folger failed to produce anything like, say, a map with a big red X labeled secret boat slip here. The file was mostly financial information. Naturally, James had wanted to make sure Folger could afford the boat. Co
He blinked, rubbed his eyes. He was drifting.
The file listed properties Folger owned and how much he paid on them each month. Another wad of papers looked like a stock portfolio. A statement from a Pensacola law firm detailed the monthly alimony payments Folger was supposed to make to his ex-wife and which of his assets she did or didn’t have a claim on.
Je
The boat was one of the disputed items.
Co
The file seemed pretty useless. Copies of the boat’s insurance policy, copies of the contract, copies of copies. A paper clip.
Co
He sat in the Plymouth and opened Folger’s file again, looked at the insurance agreement. The company was called Allied Nautical and specialized in maritime policies. Co
The paperwork from Allied Nautical had scribbling in the margins, little loops and a crude drawing of a frowny face with the tongue sticking out. Co
No epiphany manifested itself. But it did remind him the insurance on the Plymouth was a week late. He hated paying bills. He was bad at it. It seemed to take some kind of Herculean effort to write the check, get a stamp, write his return address on the envelope…
Co
“Allied Nautical, this is Maureen.”
“Hi, Maureen.” All cheerful. “This is Denver Colgate from Southbank Mortgage and Trust. I need to consult you about one of your clients.” Fake name number thirty-two from the sneaky dude’s handbook.
“How can I help you, Mr. Colgate?” Maureen asked.
“Southbank is purchasing the mortgage on a boat belonging to a Mr. Teddy Folger. Derrick James said you guys wrote the policy on that one, and we just need to make sure it’s current before we finalize the transaction.”
“Hold just a moment, Mr. Colgate. I’ll pull it up on the computer. Do you happen to know the policy number?”
Co
She said, “The policy is still up-to-date, although he is overdue for this month’s payment.”
Damn.
“Oh, wait. Here we go.”
Co
“His most recent payment arrived in the mail this morning. It just hasn’t been logged yet.”
“Everything seems to be in order then,” Co
“The postmark?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Routine.”
“I’ve thrown it away,” Maureen said.
“Uh-huh. What I’m going to need you to do, Maureen, is poke around in the garbage until you find that envelope. Hopefully it’s not out back in the Dumpster yet.”
Her end of the phone got real quiet.