Suicide Squeeze

“Cash?”

“Of course,” Becker said. “As soon as I deliver the card to my employer, he’ll give me the money, and I’ll give it to you.”

“When?”

“A few days.”

She watched Samson turn the offer over in his head. He knew where the boat was, she was sure of it. What he was doing here in Folger’s bungalow wasn’t much of a mystery either. She’d told him Folger had something worth money.

“What card is it?” he asked.

“I told you, a baseball card.”

“I mean, who’s on it? The player.”

“Joe DiMaggio.”

Samson bit his lower lip, shook his head. “What’s it worth?”

She thought about telling him the truth, but only for a split second. He’d needle her for more money if he knew its real value. Samson wouldn’t settle for the two thousand. But he knew the card must be worth something. Why else go to all this trouble? “It’s autographed, and that makes it worth a lot. Twenty thousand.”

“For a baseball card? Now I know you’re shitting me.”

She drew the automatic from her shoulder holster, pointed it at Co

Co

“Listen, I don’t know why a kid’s baseball card should be worth that kind of money, and I don’t care.” She put the gun down on the coffee table, shook another Virginia Slim out of the pack, and lit it. “These hard-core collectors are crazy. They can get obsessed. But if some rich nerd wants to fork out for a slice of cardboard, it’s fine with me. You want a 10 percent finder’s fee or not? Two thousand bucks.”

Co

Becker blew out a long stream of smoke, shook her head, and rubbed her temples like she was weary. Let Samson think he was playing hardball, wearing her down. Finally, she nodded. “Okay, Samson, you win. Fifty-fifty. But only if we find the card. Otherwise, no deal. You go your way, and I’ll go mine.”

“I still have your phone number,” he said. “Let me poke around. I’ll call you.”

“When?”

“Soon.”

“How soon?”

“Very soon,” Co

“Don’t fuck with me on this, Samson. I’ll make you hurt.”

“I’ll bet you say that to all the boys.”

Becker said, “If I don’t get a call from you tomorrow, I’ll stomp you so hard, you’ll think that kick in the chops I gave you yesterday was foreplay.”

Co

She sat, waited, finished her cigarette, and listened for Co

Or maybe she’d save ten grand and put a bullet into Co

23

Co

With eager, shaking hands he flipped open the binder, looked for the DiMaggio card. Ten thousand dollars. Ten thousand dollars. Ten thousand dollars. A mantra of desperate hope. Fleetingly, he entertained the thought of going around Becker, collecting the whole twenty thousand for himself, but he wouldn’t know how to go about it, and frankly Becker scared him stiff. No, Co

He flipped every page, slowly reading the name of the ballplayer at the top or bottom of each card. Mickey Mantle, Joe Morgan, Catfish Hunter, Steve Garvey, Stan Musial, and on and on.

No DiMaggio.

He started over at the begi

Then he hurled the binder across the cabin. “Goddammit!”

Co

It would have been nice.

He stripped off his tuxedo, put out the lights, opened the portholes in the master sleeping cabin, and flopped into bed. He lay awake a few minutes thinking about the baseball card. He wanted to find it, wanted the money. Even with the gentle breeze off the water it was hot as hell, but sleep came quickly enough, the waves rocking the boat.

Co

The wind scooped up Co

He awoke early the next morning, threw on the tuxedo again, and motored the dinghy to his illegally parked Plymouth along the river. He had the binder of baseball cards with him. A couple of little ideas rolled around in his head, trying to become bigger. He jumped into the Plymouth and drove to his apartment.

After a shower and a shave, Co

Then he packed.

Co

He stood in the middle of the apartment, spun a slow, full circle, taking in everything, the shabby furniture, dull walls, light fixtures filled with dead mosquitoes. How alarmingly easy to abandon this old life, leave everything in dust and ruin and the lingering stink of vomit. It was so easy, Co

He picked the tuxedo off the floor, went through the pockets. He found Randy Frankowski’s Planet X business card, put it in his pocket, and dropped the tux back onto the floor. He went into the kitchen and fetched Joellen Becker’s business card from the kitchen table.

Then he turned on the cell phone Rocky Big had given him, dialed the number. “Hello, Rocky? I’m coming to see you. I’m ready to settle up.”