Niceville

funds.”
    “And it is?”
    “If I tell you, could you trace it?”
    Dak nodded.
    “Of course. But this will not be done. I ask merely to determine how reliable the network of transfer would be. If the destination is in Zurich or the Isle of Man, we may be content. If it is in Dubai or Macao, less so. May I know the numbers?”
    Deitz had them on a slip of paper.
    He handed it down to Mr. Dak.
    Andy Chu, fifty feet away in a heroically dull beige Toyota, had been following Deitz’s bright yellow Hummer around for the better part of an hour now, and he happily snapped a very fine telephoto shot of this exchange, which, from a graphic point of view, literally oozed furtive and sneaky and coconspiratorial.
    Dak read the note, handed it back to Deitz.
    “This is a Mondex cash card account.”
    “Yeah? What’s that?”
    “The deposit will go into, basically, a private ATM card. It’s a cyber-transaction that can’t be traced. It hides inside all the other ATM transactions that occur around the world, millions every second. It’s not traceable in any way. I congratulate you. You’re in business with a professional. How much do you have to send them?”
    “Well, that’s the thing. They’re asking three-quarter mill. I only have two-fifty available.”
    Dak got colder, and seemed to recede.
    “When we acquire the object, you will receive the payment we agreed upon, and in the manner we have agreed upon. This will not be altered.”
    “Yeah, I get that. It’s just that I can’t come up with the other fivelarge. I can go two point five large, maybe even three. I was hoping you could come up with the difference, because I just can’t make the vig on this. I mean, I can’t get my hands on the thing without you kicking in, sir, and that’s a fact.”
    “So you are asking us to ‘kick in’ five large, as you put it, on top of what we are already paying you, so that you can then pay these people seven point five large, which you contend is the only way to acquire the object for us. Is this correct?”
    “Yeah, see, plus, since this is an unforeseen eventuality, maybe you could cover some of my additional expenses that would need to be, like, addressed, you know, for the extra services I’m performing? It’s just that I—”
    Dak lifted a languid hand, showing a length of his pale gray shirt under the charcoal suit. He had cuff links made of some small lavender stone that perfectly matched his lavender tie and his lavender socks. The stones were set into solid gold. His nails were buffed, glossy and perfect.
    Deitz hated the man’s guts, for reasons he could not have adequately explained, even to himself. Basically, Deitz was just a really good hater, the way other people are good at basketball or dancing the tango.
    “Mr. Deitz, have you seen the movie
The Godfather
?”
    Deitz knew where this was going.
    It wasn’t good.
    He didn’t really need any help with the five large the pukes were
actually
asking for—he had it ready to go—but he
hated
getting fucked all by himself. He wanted to share the experience.
    The pukes were asking five, not seven point five, so if Dak kicks in with the five and Deitz pretends to cover the other two point five that nobody was asking for, then he actually fucks Dak for the five large the pukes were asking and he still picks up the one mill Dak has to pay him on delivery, so Dak gets fucked and it’s a wash for him, he’d skim off the cream, and his life would just be that much … creamier.
    None of which it looked like Dak was going to go along with.
    “Yeah. I did.”
    “You’ll remember the line ‘Either your signature or your brains will be on that contract’?”
    “Yeah. Great fucking scene. Doesn’t change—”
    Dak did more of that hands-up palm-out stuff.
    Talk to the hand
.
    “Mr. Deitz, I believe we understand each other. We regret that we cannot accommodate your request. It is not a businesslike proposal. You bear the burden of executing your end of the bargain. Unforeseen eventualities should have been foreseen by you, not by us, who are merely your grateful customers. As I say, deepest regrets, but when can we expect receipt of the object?”
    Deitz looked up at the Goth girl’s window.
    The blinds were shut.
    Then he looked at the Colt Python on his dashboard, had a brief and bloodred urge to just fucking shoot the living shit out of everybody in range, gave that up as counterproductive, had a second fantasy about having been old enough