The Target

in preparation for a nice long vacation?"

    "Oh no, sir. I was just cleaning house. Nothing more."

    "I'll see that you get any assistance you require," Mason said.

    "No, sir, I'm just fine, really."

    Mason Lord barely raised his voice. "Gunther."

    The huge man was there in the doorway, looking dead on at Warren O'Dell. As if O'Dell were a bug, Ramsey thought.

    "Yes, Mr. Lord?"

    "We need to assist Mr. O'Dell. See those boxes shoved behind that impressive mahogany desk of his? We'll take those and have a look at them. Ramsey, maybe you would be so kind as to look through Mr. O'Dell's file cabinets."

    "I have some questions first," Ramsey said.

    "Please, Mr. Lord, there's really nothing-"

    Mason Lord raised his hand. O'Dell was instantly silent. "Judge Hunt wants to ask you some questions, Warren. You will answer them completely and honestly."

    Warren O'Dell's bald head glistened with perspiration. He watched Gunther carrying out the boxes. He licked his lips. "Yes, sir."

    Ramsey felt exceedingly strange. Here he was with a powerful criminal boss who had a potential witness nearly pissing in his pants, and he, Ramsey, a federal judge, was a co-conspirator in what was probably extortion, at least duress. Who cared? "Mr. O'Dell, tell me about Mr. Santera's finances."

    Warren O'Dell swallowed. He looked again toward Gunther, who was coming back into the office, his gun in its shoulder holster clearly visible because his coat was open.

    "Louey was broke," he said at last. "Dead broke. He was doing this tour to try to pay off his debts. There's nothing now that he broke his contract, not even loose change."

    "Louey was broke?" Ramsey repeated. "Did he owe a lot of money?"

    "Louey wasn't ever big on denying himself. Then he got butt-deep in debt. There's this small consortium in Las Vegas. I think they arranged for Louey to lose heavily at the craps table, which he did. He was a lousy gambler, but he wouldn't admit it. He thought he was the greatest in just about everything. No, in everything. He was into them for nearly a million dollars. They kept him gambling and he couldn't begin to pay them off. They just kept adding on interest. They made threats. On him, on your daughter, sir, and on your granddaughter."

    "Names, please, O'Dell," Ramsey said. "Give me names and then give me records."

    Mason rose and walked to the small bar, a chrome-and-glass affair on wheels with three gold leaf-framed glass levels. He picked up the brandy decanter and poured an inch into a snifter. He never turned, just stood there, looking out the wide windows, sipping on the brandy. He said quietly, "I know who it is."

    "Who, sir?" Ramsey asked.

    "Rule Shaker. Am I right, Warren?"

    "Mr. Rule Shaker's the main player, yes sir. Louey had turned him down on a long engagement to play in Las Vegas. Mr. Shaker insisted, Louey kept saying no, even after he was in for all that money. That's when he decided to go on tour in Europe. He thought he could make back all the money. He's very popular in Europe, much more so than here in the U.S. He would have been able to repay Mr. Shaker if he'd stayed on his tour."

    Ramsey said quietly, "You must have heard that Emma and Molly were the targets of that bomb, not Louey."

    "Yeah, I heard. That's why I was heading out of town, until things settled down, just as Mr. Lord said. Mr. Shaker told Louey that no one he knew was safe. He was the one behind the car blowing up, there's no doubt in my mind about that. But he didn't want to kill Louey. He was after Louey's kid. He wanted to use the kid to show Louey he was serious."

    "You think then Mr. Shaker also ordered Emma taken?"

    Warren O'Dell said, "Louey was sure it was him. Didn't surprise me either. Louey called me from Germany. He didn't know what to do. I didn't either."

    "Yes," Mason said. "Rule Shaker had Emma kidnapped. Rule killed Louey by mistake. I wonder why?"

    Mason had spoken very quietly, but Ramsey had heard him. He said to Warren O'Dell, "How much money did Louey make before he died?"

    "About three hundred thousand. There would have been taxes, of course, and some extra overhead we hadn't figured in, but he was getting there. If he'd been able to finish his tour, he might have been able to pay back every cent."

    "Where's the money?"

    "I don't know."

    "You're his accountant," Mason said, his voice soft and clear as he turned from the huge glass window. "His accountant. Louey was particularly feckless, couldn't even seem to