R Is for Ricochet

Besides, he was taking all the risks. If somebody had to pay, better me than him."
    "So you came up with the idea," I said, trying to keep the skepticism out of my voice.
    "Sure. I mean, I can't exactly remember who mentioned it first, but I was the one who insisted."
    "Reba- – I don't mean to sound critical so don't blow your stack-but it looks like he set you up. Doesn't it look like that to you?"
    That was a stumper. "You think he'd
do
that?"
    "He did this," I said, pointing to the photographs. "You're the one who toughed it out down there, day after day for the past twenty-two months. Meanwhile, Beck's up here screwing around. Doesn't that bug you? It bugs me."
    "Of course it bugs me, but it's not exactly news. He's a womanizer. I've always known that about him. It doesn't mean anything. That's just the way he is. The reason I'm mad at her is she should've had more loyalty or integrity or
something."
    "You don't even know when it started. He could have been involved with her when the alleged embezzlement first came to light."
    "Thank you. That's nice. Once I get done choking her to death, I'll have her verify dates and times."
    "I hope that's hyperbole."
    "Whatever that is," she said. "The thing I can't figure out is what this has to do with the FBI? Why's this guy chasing around town snapping pictures of Beck? And why bring 'em to me? If he wanted to make trouble, why not show Tracy?"
    "I can help with that," I said, mentally cursing the bumblefuck FBI agent who jumped the gun on us. I stopped, poised on the brink. There was still time to back up. This was like standing on a ten-meter platform, looking at the drop to the water below. If you're going to jump, get it over with. It doesn't get easier the longer you wait. I felt a thin mist of anxiety settle on my skin. "The feds are interested in Beck's relationship with Salustio Castillo."
    She studied me. "Where'd you get that?"
    "Reba, you worked for the guy. You have to be clued in."
    She veered off that topic. "Did Pop put you up to this?"
    "Don't be ridiculous. I haven't spoken to him since he hired me. Besides, he's an honorable man. He'd never stoop to sleazy photos. He's got way too much class."
    She took another deep drag and blew the smoke straight up. "What's your source then?"
    "I have pals in law enforcement. It was one of them."
    "And the FBI's involved?"
    "The IRS is interested as well. Plus Customs, plus the DOJ, plus the ATF for all I know. Lieutenant Phillips is the local liaison if you want to talk to him."
    "I don't get it. Why me? What do they want?"
    "They need help. They're putting a case together and need the inside dope. I guess the pictures were intended to get you in the mood."
    "He screws me over so I turn around and screw him?"
    "Why not?"
    "What else have you heard?"
    "About Beck? Nothing you don't already know. He takes the illegal profits and he runs the funds through his company to make them look legitimate. He takes a percentage off the top and then he returns clean money to the thugs he works for. Right?"
    She was silent. Her gaze shifted an inch.
    I said, "You had to have been in on it all along. You did the books for him, bank deposits, stuff like that, right?"
    "The company comptroller handled most of it, but okay, maybe some."
    "The FBI can use information if you're willing to play."
    She was silent, her gaze tracking the dust motes settling through the air like fairy dust. "I'll think about it."
    I said, "While you're at it, think about this. Onni has your old job, which means she knows as much about his business as you do, except her information's current. If he's planning to disappear, who's he going to take with him? More to the point, who's he leaving behind? Onni? Don't think so. Not if she's in a position to blow the whistle on him."
    "I'm in that position, too," she said, as though feeling competitive about her ability to squeal. She held up the last inch of her cigarette. "I have to put this out."
    "Give it to me."
    I reached over and took the butt end, holding it with about as much enthusiasm as I'd feel for a freshly salted slug. I left the office and carried it down the hall to my tatty toilet with the permanent rust stains. I dropped it in the John and flushed. I could feel the tension between my shoulder blades. This was
work
and I had no way to tell if the pitch would be effective. If nothing else, I hoped she'd give up her fantasy of what Beck was.
    When I returned to the office, she was standing by the