The Clause by Brian Wiprud Page B

SOMEPLACE OVERNIGHT. A FRIEND, A MOTEL, SOMEPLACE. WE ARE WORKING THE HOTELS. WE ARE ALSO TRYING TO FIND HOW HE MOVES ABOUT. TAXIS, BUSES PERHAPS. HE LEFT HIS VEHICLE. AND WE HAD SOMEONE WATCHING HIS VAN, THE ONE HE USES FOR BUSINESS, IN A PARKING LOT BEHIND A GAS STATION ON RIVER ROAD. HE HAS NOT GONE TO IT. WE DISABLED THE VEHICLE SO HE CANNOT USE IT, THOUGH I DON’T THINK HE HAS ANY INTENTION OF COMING ANYWHERE NEAR THE VAN SO WE HAVE STOPPED WATCHING IT. IN HIS GARAGE THERE WAS EVIDENCE OF A MOTORCYCLE. WE THINK HE MAY BE RIDING ONE, THOUGH NONE IS REGISTERED TO HIS NAME AND WE HAVE NO IDEA WHAT KIND YET. THE FRUIT ON THIS TREE IS STILL RIPE. WE WILL SHAKE IT DOWN, SIR, FEAR NOT.
    SPIKIC: I ONLY FEAR FOR YOU, VUGO, IF WE DO NOT COLLECT THE HUNDRED AND FIFTY MILLION FOR THE GEMS.
    VUGOVIC: THERE IS A POSSIBILITY THAT WE CAN TAKE FROM THE CHINKS WHAT THEY ARE GOING TO PAY UNDERWOOD. ASSUMING THEY PLAN TO PAY HIM ANYTHING AND NOT JUST TAKE THE GEMS.
    SPIKIC: I LIKE THE WAY YOU THINK. STAY ON IT. CALL ME IN THE MORNING WITH GOOD NEWS. I AM FUCKING TITO’S WIFE AGAIN NOW, SO DON’T BOTHER ME UNTIL THEN.
    VUGOVIC: WE WILL BE VIGILANT.
    *END*

Twenty
    South on River Road, I drove through the intersection of Bulls Ferry Road. Had I made a right there, up the steep and curvy road to the top and made a left, I would have arrived where Doc was waiting at 77th and Boulevard East.
    Instead, I pulled over just south of Bulls Ferry Road next to a chainlink fence and gate. The bike’s kickstand down, I dismounted and shouldered the saddle bag. The gate was loosely chained, so there was room enough to slip into the construction yard. Ahead in the dark before me loomed a large notch cut into the Palisades cliff. Developers like Tito were expanding the notch south so they could squeeze a mall right up against the cliff face, a sheer drop from Boulevard East. When I looked up in the dark I could see where Boulevard East bridged the top of the notch—at 77th Street. The streetlight there shimmered brightly.
    I weaved between large CAT excavators lined up in the middle of the site and rang Doc.
    “Where are you? I’ve been waiting, Gill. It’s half past eleven.”
    “I was taking care of Trudy.”
    “How is she? Did the herbalist help?”
    “He did. She’s better, good enough to travel tomorrow.”
    “So where are you?”
    “I’m here.”
    “I don’t see you.”
    “Are you at the streetlight?”
    “Yes.”
    “Is the stuff in a volleyball?”
    “ Yes .”
    “Throw the ball over the fence.”
    “Over the fence? Down there?”
    “Don’t stall, Doc. Do it.”
    “Gill, stop playing games and let me hand you the stupid ball.”
    I stood at some brush at the base of the cliff. Looking up, I couldn’t see Doc, but there was a chute in the cliff face leading down to me from about where she stood at the streetlight.
    “Now who’s playing games, Doc? Your Hong Kong friends are probably right there in the shadows waiting to sandbag me. Am I right? I better see that ball coming my way in five seconds. And don’t even toss it if there’s nothing inside. Because any monkey business and I’m walking. I’ll take the sparks to the Italians, or the Corporation, any of a dozen others who …”
    Above I saw the white sphere rise up over the fence and pass into the shadow of the cliff. At a ledge, it bounced out and away from the rock face, glanced off some bushes, and came to a rest about ten feet up the chute in some vines. It was good that I’d insisted on a volleyball—the white made it easy to see in the gloom.
    I scrambled up the chute, knocked the volleyball down, and then stepped on it to burst the seal. Didn’t seem to be booby trapped. So I shook out the contents: sure enough, they came up with the paper and the tickets.
    “Got it, Doc.”
    “See? No double cross, Gill. This is on the up and up.”
    “We’ll see about that. I’ll call you tomorrow afternoon to arrange the exchange. My cut is ten million: two