Black Friday (or Black Market) - James Patterson [44]
Caitlin flipped open a leatherbound notebook on the dining table.
“Let me see if I can jog your memory. Mm, oh yes … on February nineteenth of last year, you visited Michel Chevron’s Beverly Hills office. You stayed for approximately two hours. On March third, you visited the LA. offices again. Also on July ninth, July eleventh, July twelfth. In October, you visited Chevron’s Paris Office. You had dinner with Chevron that night at Lasserre. Remember? Can you place him yet?”
Freddie Hotchkiss had begun slowly clasping and unclasping his plump, hairless hands.
“We’ve known for over two years that Chevron is the largest stolen securities and bond dealer in Europe and the Middle East. We also know he has a personal relationship with Francois Monserrat,” Caitlin continued.
“We know a great deal about your own security trading abilities, as well. Right now, we need to know exactly who else Chevron deals with, and we need a rough idea of the nature of these deals, a general feel for the Euro-Asian black market. That’s why I thought we all should have lunch.” She smiled.
Right men Freddie Hotchkiss found the strength inside himself to frown derisively. He began to snap back, to rally.
“Really. You don’t expect me to talk about private and absolutely legal business dealings here in this restaurant? You had better have all your subpoenas and your Justice Department lawyers ready, if you believe that will happen. I can assure you, it won’t be done over lunch…. Good afternoon, Caitlin, Mr., uh, Carroll.”
Carroll suddenly sat up very straight at the dining table. He leaned all the way forward and did the oddest, most unexpected thing.
Carroll placed his forefinger behind his thumb and then flicked it three times very hard against Freddie Hotchkiss’s starched white shirt collar.
Thwack.
Thwack.
Thwack.
“Just sit tight now. Just put your nice soft ass back down on the chair. Try to relax. Okay?”
Hotchkiss was so astonished, he obeyed.
In a soft voice, which to Carroll’s ears sounded mildly seductive, Caitlin said, “February twenty-first—you deposited one hundred and twenty-six thousand dollars in Geneva, Switzerland. February twenty-sixth—you deposited another one hundred and fourteen thousand. April seventeenth—you deposited… is this a typo? … four hundred and sixty-two thousand? April twenty-fourth—another thirty-one thousand…. Small potatoes, that one…”
“What Caitlin has been politely trying to point out to you, Freddie, is that you are a second-rate thief!” Carroll leaned back and smiled at Hotchkiss, who now sat as expressionless as a ventriloquist’s dummy.
Carroll raised his voice above the restaurant’s usual buzz. “Poor Kim, the kiddos wintering down in Boca Raton. They have no idea, I’ll bet. Tennis pals at the club. The boys at the yacht club. They don’t know either…. You ought to be in jail You shouldn’t be allowed to eat here, you’re such a sad piece of shit.”
Other diners in the expensive Midtown restaurant were beginning to place their knives and forks on their plates. In a state that resembled a communal hypnotic trance, they stared across the upstairs room.
Carroll finally lowered his voice. He pointed toward a corner table where two men in dull gray suits were seated.
‘Those two guys? See them? They can’t even afford to eat the nibbles here. See, they’re sharing a three-dollar ginger ale. That’s the FBI for you…. Anyway, they’re either going to arrest you, right here and now … or, Fred, you’re going to tell us a long, very convincing story about Michel Chevron. It’s absolutely your move. And yes, it’s going to happen right here in the restaurant.
“Then, in that second case I mentioned, you get to go home absolutely scot free to the pied-À-terre on Park Avenue. No problems, ‘cause then you’re my main man, see.”
Arch Carroll dramatically crossed his two fingers. “We’re tight, like that. Except, of course, you’re the finger on the bottom.”
Freddie Hotchkiss