NativeTongue

"As a matter of fact, yeah."

"You're missing some files."

The naked Mrs. Kingsbury said, "Frankie, you didn't tell me." Her arms were impressively steady with the gun.

Kingsbury took his hands out of his underwear and folded them in a superior way across his breasts, which were larger than those of a few women whom Da

"Not exactly the Brink's job," Kingsbury remarked.

"Well, we got your damn files," said Bud Schwartz.

"That was you? Bullshit."

"Maybe you need some proof. Maybe you need to see some credit-card slips."

Kingsbury hesitated. "Selling them back, is that the idea?"

Some genius businessman, thought Bud Schwartz. The guy was a bum, a con. You could tell right away.

"Tell your wife to drop the piece."

"Pe

"And tell her to go lock herself in the John."

"What?"

The wife said, "Frankie, I don't like this." Carefully she placed the gun on the nightstand next to a bottle of Lavoris mouthwash. A tremor of relief passed through Da

"It's better if she's in the john," Bud Schwartz said to Francis X. Kingsbury. "Or maybe you don't care."

Kingsbury gnawed his upper lip. He was thinking about the files, and what was in them.

His wife wrapped herself in a sheet. "Frank?"

"Do what he said," Kingsbury told her. "Take a magazine, something. A book if you can find one."

"Fuck you," said Pe

"At Doral is where I met her. Selling golf shoes."

"How nice," said Bud Schwartz.

"Fuzzy Zoeller, Tom Kite, I'm not kidding. Pe

Kingsbury said, "The painting in the big room – you guys get a look at it?"

"Yeah, boy," answered Da

"We did that up on the Biltmore. Number seven or ten, I can't remember. Some par three. Anyway, I had to lease the whole fucking course for a day, that's how long it took. Must've been two hundred guys standing around, staring at her boobs. Pe

"And who wouldn't be," said Bud Schwartz, tight as a knot. "Can we get to it, please? We got plenty to talk about."

Francis X. Kingsbury said, Tm trying to remember. You got the Ramex Global file. Jersey Premium. What else?"

"You know what else."

Kingsbury nodded. "Start with the American Express. Give me a number."

Bud Schwartz sat down in a high-backed colonial chair. From memory he gave Kingsbury an inventory: "We got a diamond te

Dispiritedly, Kingsbury said, "Forget it, you won't find it there."

"So who got it all?"

"Friends. It's not important."

"Not to us, maybe." Bud Schwartz nodded toward the bathroom. "I got a feeling your old lady might be interested."

Kingsbury lowered his voice. "The reason I use the credit card, hell, who carries that much cash?"

"Plus the insurance," said Da

Great, Bud Schwartz thought; now he's doing commercials.

"There's some excellent shit here. Very nice." Da

"Try one-point-five," said Kingsbury.

"There were some di

Kingsbury asked him how much.

"Five grand," Bud Schwartz said, "and we won't say a word to the wife."

"The file, Jesus, I need it back."

"No problem. Now let's talk about serious money."

Kingsbury frowned. He pulled on the tip of his nose with a thumb and forefinger, as if he were straightening it.

Bud Schwartz said, "The Gotti file, Mr. King."

"Mother of Christ."

" 'Frankie, The Ferret, King.' That's what the indictment said."

"You got me by surprise," Kingsbury said.

Da

"How much?" said Kingsbury. He leaned forward and put his hands on his bare knees. "Don't make it, like...a game."

Bud Schwartz detected visceral fear in the man's voice; it gave him an unfamiliar feeling of power. On the other side of the bathroom door, Francis Kingsbury's wife shouted something about wanting to get out. Kingsbury ignored her.

"The banks that made the loans on Falcon Trace, do they know who you are?" Bud Schwartz affected a curious tone. "Do they know you're a government witness? A mob guy?"

Kingsbury didn't bother to reply.

"I imagine they gave you shitloads a money, Bud Schwartz went on, "and I imagine they could call it back."

Francis Kingsbury went to the bathroom door and told Pe

Da

"I'm trying to think what's fair."

"Give me a fucking number," said Kingsbury, "and I'll goddamn tell you if it's fair."

What the hell, thought Bud Schwartz. "Fifty grand," he said calmly. "And we toss in Ramex and the rest for free."

Excitedly Da

Kingsbury eyed the men suspiciously. "Fifty, you said? As in five-oh?"

"Right." Bud Schwartz gave half a grin. "That's fifty to give back the Gotti file..."

"And?"

"Two hundred more to forget what was in it."

Kingsbury chuckled bitterly. "So I was wrong," he said. "You're not such a putz."

Da

"It went good," Bud Schwartz agreed. Better than he had ever imagined. As he drove, he did the arithmetic in his head. Five thousand for the American Express file, fifty for the Gotti stuff, another two hundred in hush money...rich was the word for it. "Early retirement," he said to Da

"You don't think he'll call the cops?"

"That's the last place he'd call. Guy's a scammer, Da

They stopped at a U-Tote-Em and bought two six-packs of Coors and a box of jelly doughnuts. In the parking lot they rolled down the windows and turned up the radio and stuffed themselves in jubilation. It was an hour until curfew; if they weren't back by midnight, Molly had said, she would call the FBI and say her memory had returned.

"I bet she'll cut us some slack," said Da

"Maybe." Bud Schwartz opened the door and rolled an empty beer can under the car. He said, "I'm sure getting' tired of being her pet burglar."

"Well, then, let's go to a tittie bar and celebrate." Da