Strip by Thomas Perry Page B

It was not lost on Rogoso that there were now three men from each side in this one relatively small room, all of them armed.
    Rogoso spoke to Guzman and Corona in Spanish. “I remember you two. If you want to make some real money you can come work for me.”
    Guzman said, “No, thanks. I don’t want to be a drug dealer.”
    “Oh, I wasn’t offering anything like that. You’d need some balls to deal. I just figured two matching Honduran boys could shine both my shoes alike.”
    Alvin and Chuy and Rogoso laughed, but Guzman and Corona stared at them, their faces unreadable. Gaffney said, “What’s that all about?”
    “Nothing,” said Corona. “He’s just telling jokes.”
    Rogoso seemed frustrated. “How long is this going to take?”
    “I don’t know,” said Gaffney. “Mr. Kapak said he would be around twenty minutes.”
    Rogoso took off his raincoat and set it on the table along the wall. He unzipped the lining and revealed a row of pockets full of money, and began taking the stacks of cash out of it and tossing them on the table with an audible flap. When he was finished, he said, “This is eighteen thousand five hundred dollars. I don’t have time for him to drive over here at ten miles an hour like an old lady.”
    Gaffney took the money and began counting rapidly, laying each thousand to the side as he finished counting. Alvin and Chuy, Guzman and Corona stared into each other’s eyes and occasionally touched the pocket of a coat or behind their backs, the places where they had hidden their weapons.
    There was a knock on the door, and Guzman backed to the door and opened it. The waitress tried to come in, but Corona stood and said, “I’ll take the tray.”
    She looked unwilling, because she could probably see at least some of the money, and she wanted her tip. She caught sight of Rogoso and his men, and seemed to reconsider. “All right.”
    “Bring her in,” Rogoso said.
    “No, that’s okay,” she said, and started down the hall.
    Alvin and Chuy brushed past Guzman, ran three steps, and caught up with her. They seemed to lift her by her elbows, then turned around, walked back with her, and shut the door.
    Rogoso came close, smiling. “Are the zombies any good?”
    “Sure. But I just deliver them. I don’t make them.”
    He took one from the tray and held it up to her lips. “Taste it for me.”
    “I’m not supposed to drink when I’m working.”
    “Sip it or I’ll think you put something in it.” He pushed it against her mouth and began to pour.
    The waitress looked at Gaffney for help, but he was still counting rapidly, unaware of her, so she took some in and gulped. She started to cough, and Rogoso put his hand on her back and patted it, hard. “Here. You’d better finish it and bring me another one.”
    Gaffney said, “You made a mistake. It’s not eighteen five. It’s only seventeen thousand.”
    Rogoso put the glass down and glared at Gaffney. “I think you’re wrong.”
    “No, I’m not. I put each thousand in a stack on the table as I went along. You can count it for yourself. Did you forget some, leave it in the car by mistake?”
    Rogoso looked at Alvin and Chuy, then saw they were staring at Guzman and Corona. While he was teasing the waitress, Guzman and Corona’s guns had somehow found their way into their hands. The two men still sat where they’d been, but each of them had a gun resting on his lap.
    The stillness lasted for a few seconds without anyone lowering his eyes or moving. Then Rogoso said, “I’ll take a look.” He released the waitress, who hurried out the door to return to the club.
    He went to the table, picked up a thousand-dollar stack, riffled through it, and set it aside, then another. Next he counted the stacks. “I guess you were right. I counted wrong. Only seventeen thousand here.” He shrugged. “I probably left the rest on my desk.” He glanced at his watch. “Now we’ve got to move on. Tell Kapak I’m sorry I missed