Hedging (A Smith and Wetzon Mystery)

broker’s new firm a percentage of the broker’s trailing twelve months with his former firm, the firms were counting on the broker continuing doing business at the same rate. And it didn’t look good for the headhunter if the broker didn’t hold up his end of the deal.
    “No, really,” Cheryl told someone on the phone. “I can’t disturb her. She’s in a meeting. I’ll have her call you back the minute she’s available.” Listening, she looked over at Wetzon. “Hold on.” She pressed the hold button.
    “What’s the matter?” Wetzon asked.
    “He says he’s on the lam so you can’t call him back.” She gave Wetzon an uncertain smile.
    “On the lam? Good God, what’s his name?”
    “Bobby Baglia.”
    “Wouldn’t you know,” Wetzon said, holding out her hand for the phone. “Bobby? What’s this business about being on the lam?”
    “Wetzon, I swear to God I didn’t do any of the crap they say I did. They had no reason to fire me.”
    “Give me a hint, Bobby.”
    “I didn’t come in on Sunday and break into their goddam desks.”
    “Okay. If you didn’t, you didn’t.”
    “But I needed the evidence, and how the fuck else was I going to get it?”
    “So you did break into their desks?” Both Cheryl and Sean were rapt on her one sided conversation.
    “It’s no reason to throw me out of the office.”
    “What do you want to do, Bobby?”
    “I’m tired of all these shit firms, like First Franchise. I want you to get me into Goldman.”
    “Goldman, huh,” Wetzon repeated, sucking in her cheeks to keep from laughing. “We’ll have to think about that. Where can I reach you?”
    “You can’t. I’ll call you tomorrow morning. In the meantime. start putting feelers out for me at Goldman.”
    Wetzon clicked off and groaned. “Unbelievable.”
    “Goldman?” Sean said, “And he’s on the lam?”
    “He wants me to put out feelers,” Wetzon said, laughing. “I’d love to know the back story here. Know anyone at First Franchise?”
    “Matter of fact, I do,” Sean said.
    The phone rang and Wetzon handed it back to Cheryl, who said, “Smith and Wetzon, good morning,” listened, said, “Hold on, please.”
    “Not Bobby again,” Wetzon said.
    “No,” Cheryl said. “A Clotilde Hightower. She says she’s returning your call.”
    “I want to talk to her. Put it through upstairs. Later, Sean.”
    Smith’s head was bent over her Tarot cards, spread out on her desk. She gave Wetzon a brief, troubled glance and returned to the cards.
    Pushing away the intimation of apprehension Smith’s reading of the Tarot always brought on, Wetzon picked up her phone, released the hold button. “Leslie Wetzon.” She walked out on the deck.
    “This is Clo Hightower.” Her voice was husky, with a slight hoarse quality and traces of an English accent. “I spoke with Rita this morning.”
    “Did she tell you what this is about?”
    “The barest essentials. Just from that, the sooner we get together, the better.”
    “What’s your schedule like today?”
    “Hellish, what’s yours?”
    “Not easy. It’s my first day back.”
    “How about the evening? Eight-thirty. My office is near Lincoln Center.”
    “That would be good, I think.” Silvestri ought to be with me, she thought. “I may have Rita’s son with me. He can fill in blanks I can’t.”
    Pause. “Okay. I’m in the Reebok Sports Club building.”
    Wetzon clicked off, but again the line stayed open for a fraction of a second longer. Stepping inside, she caught Smith setting the phone down.
    “You were listening. Goddammit, Smith, don’t I have any privacy?”
    Smith didn’t even look guilty. “Sweetie pie, we’re only trying to protect you.”
    “We? Who’s we?”
    “All of your friends,” she said, at her smarmiest. “We love you and don’t want anything more to happen to you. Who is Clo Hightower? And why are you going to see her tonight?”
    Wetzon sighed. “She’s a lawyer. Rita Silvestri thinks I need a litigator with experience in federal law.”
    “Humpf. I never heard of her. But the cards already told me the Queen of Wands is entering your life.” Smith studied the cards again. “Who is the blind man?” she asked.

42
    W ETZON WAS stunned. “How on earth—”
    “Wetzon!” Max’s sudden appearance distracted Wetzon from Smith’s uncanny question about “the blind man.”
    Smiling her Cheshire Cat smile, Smith murmured, “The Tarot never lies.” She tilted her head to the side