snapping pictures of the diplomat and Janet without any clothes on. Wiedstein then threatened to send the pictures to the diplomat’s ambassador, who also happened to be a brother-in-law, unless the diplomat found out everything he could about the next heroin delivery planned by the colleague who supposedly was very big in the smuggling trade.
“Our diplomatic friend almost panicked,” Procane said tonelessly, “but he came up with the information.” He got it by mounting a twenty-four-hour bug on his colleague’s home phone. “The tape he furnished us was mostly in Spanish and mostly in coded references,” Procane went on, “and it took me nearly forty-eight hours to break it, but when I did I was sure that we had the information we needed.”
“He was nervous as hell,” Wiedstein said. “He kept calling me every thirty minutes or so from his hotel here wanting to know if the information was solid. After we decided that it was I went by and picked him up and drove him to LaGuardia where I handed him ten thousand dollars for his efforts and a set of the pictures to remember us by. He was so grateful I thought he’d bawl.”
Procane nodded approvingly at Wiedstein and then looked at me. “So, Mr. St. Ives, for an investment of approximately seventy-three thousand dollars—plus six months of our time—we have learned where and when we probably can steal a million dollars from certain persons engaged in the international narcotics traffic.” He paused. “A most unsavory crowd, I assure you.”
“You don’t have to assure me of anything. What I’d like to know is how you want me to earn that twenty-five thousand you mentioned earlier. You said something about needing a witness, but that sounds a little fancy. What do you really want, someone to applaud when it’s all over?”
Procane again clasped his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair, letting his eyes roam around the ceiling. It was a position he seemed to like. “I think this is going to be a little harder for you to believe, Mr. St. Ives.”
“That’ll make it just like everything else I’ve heard today.”
“I suppose every man who reaches my age suddenly realizes that he is not, after all, immortal. And it is around this time that many of us, I should think, look back and ask, is this all there is to it, or even, where did I go wrong?”
Procane paused for a moment, his eyes still on the ceiling. He looked reflective, Janet Whistler looked embarrassed. Wiedstein looked bored, as if he had heard it all before. Often.
“These middle-aged reflections sometimes lead to renewed bursts of vigor,” Procane said. “This may account for what I consider to be the rash of menopause babies. Have you noticed it?”
“I haven’t paid much attention,” I said.
“The statistics are interesting.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“These heretofore childless parents are actually having their last crack at immortality.”
“All right.”
“In effect, they’re saying, ‘remember me.’”
“You, too.”
“Yes, me, too, Mr. St. Ives.”
“The million-dollar score. It’ll be preserved in the World Almanac .”
“There and other places.”
“You can read about it in jail.”
“I’ll never read about it.”
“Why?”
“It won’t be reported until I’m dead.”
“Ah,” I said, probably because I felt that he wanted me to.
“You’re beginning to understand.”
“Sure. You want me to write it up.”
“That’s it.”
“Then what?”
“Give it to me.”
“And it’ll be found among your effects.”
Procane nodded. “In a leather binder, don’t you think?”
“That would be nice. What about your friends here?” I said, indicating Janet Whistler and Wiedstein.
“Just change our names,” Wiedstein said.
“Change us completely,” Janet said.
I began to get interested. “For twenty-five thousand?”
“That’s right,” Procane said.
“A complete story about the theft, using your
“Our diplomatic friend almost panicked,” Procane said tonelessly, “but he came up with the information.” He got it by mounting a twenty-four-hour bug on his colleague’s home phone. “The tape he furnished us was mostly in Spanish and mostly in coded references,” Procane went on, “and it took me nearly forty-eight hours to break it, but when I did I was sure that we had the information we needed.”
“He was nervous as hell,” Wiedstein said. “He kept calling me every thirty minutes or so from his hotel here wanting to know if the information was solid. After we decided that it was I went by and picked him up and drove him to LaGuardia where I handed him ten thousand dollars for his efforts and a set of the pictures to remember us by. He was so grateful I thought he’d bawl.”
Procane nodded approvingly at Wiedstein and then looked at me. “So, Mr. St. Ives, for an investment of approximately seventy-three thousand dollars—plus six months of our time—we have learned where and when we probably can steal a million dollars from certain persons engaged in the international narcotics traffic.” He paused. “A most unsavory crowd, I assure you.”
“You don’t have to assure me of anything. What I’d like to know is how you want me to earn that twenty-five thousand you mentioned earlier. You said something about needing a witness, but that sounds a little fancy. What do you really want, someone to applaud when it’s all over?”
Procane again clasped his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair, letting his eyes roam around the ceiling. It was a position he seemed to like. “I think this is going to be a little harder for you to believe, Mr. St. Ives.”
“That’ll make it just like everything else I’ve heard today.”
“I suppose every man who reaches my age suddenly realizes that he is not, after all, immortal. And it is around this time that many of us, I should think, look back and ask, is this all there is to it, or even, where did I go wrong?”
Procane paused for a moment, his eyes still on the ceiling. He looked reflective, Janet Whistler looked embarrassed. Wiedstein looked bored, as if he had heard it all before. Often.
“These middle-aged reflections sometimes lead to renewed bursts of vigor,” Procane said. “This may account for what I consider to be the rash of menopause babies. Have you noticed it?”
“I haven’t paid much attention,” I said.
“The statistics are interesting.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“These heretofore childless parents are actually having their last crack at immortality.”
“All right.”
“In effect, they’re saying, ‘remember me.’”
“You, too.”
“Yes, me, too, Mr. St. Ives.”
“The million-dollar score. It’ll be preserved in the World Almanac .”
“There and other places.”
“You can read about it in jail.”
“I’ll never read about it.”
“Why?”
“It won’t be reported until I’m dead.”
“Ah,” I said, probably because I felt that he wanted me to.
“You’re beginning to understand.”
“Sure. You want me to write it up.”
“That’s it.”
“Then what?”
“Give it to me.”
“And it’ll be found among your effects.”
Procane nodded. “In a leather binder, don’t you think?”
“That would be nice. What about your friends here?” I said, indicating Janet Whistler and Wiedstein.
“Just change our names,” Wiedstein said.
“Change us completely,” Janet said.
I began to get interested. “For twenty-five thousand?”
“That’s right,” Procane said.
“A complete story about the theft, using your
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