Page 75 of The Picasso Heist
“Yes, Joyce can be quite the challenge. Good for you. Well done,” he says. “So what’s next on your reading list?”
“Next?Ulyssesis over two hundred and fifty thousand words. Yes, I googled that, thank you very much. I need a break from reading. I’m going to binge-watchThe Wire,” I say. “Have you heard of that show?”
“Yes, absolutely.”
“But I’m guessing you haven’t seen it.”
“Apparently the prison library doesn’t have it,” says my father. “Something about the way it portrays the police.”
“Ha. As if anyone in here could have a lower opinion of law enforcement,” I say.
“It’s a good show, though, huh?”
“I’ll tell you what—next week, I’ll give you a full recap. How does that sound?”
My father looks at the small window again, at the light filtering through the glass brick. He smiles ever so slightly. “It sounds like a plan, sweetheart.”
CHAPTER65
THE STREAM OFcalls from Bergamo begins that evening. They’re not from his number and he doesn’t leave a message, but I know it’s him. He’s using a burner phone. It’s the right move but he’s watched one too many spy movies. People are most vulnerable when they convince themselves they’re being clever.
The calls continue into the next day. Instead of every few hours, he’s ringing me every hour, like a bell tower. When I call in sick at Echelon, the messages from Smarmy start pouring in as well. First there’s a voicemail, then a slew of texts. I can all but hear the conversation Smarmy had with Bergamo, pumping him for information under the guise of doing him a favor.Just a heads-up, Enzio, that you’re the target of a criminal investigation. Now tell me why.
Smarmy probably thought he’d have the chance to ask me directly what those two feds at the restaurant wanted to know about Bergamo and to what extent the two of us were connected. For sure he didn’t learn much from Bergamo. Enzio and his freshnew burner phone aren’t about to share anything with Smarmy or anyone else.
I make both men wait. Men absolutely hate waiting.
For the second day I call in sick to Echelon. I don’t respond to Smarmy’s continued barrage of messages but the time comes for me to rendezvous with Bergamo. I text him. Burner or no burner, I have no intention of relaying anything over the phone. This makes Bergamo even more anxious to find out what’s happening. He texts me back in all caps that he needs to see meIMMEDIATELY.
We take the same precautions, cloak-and-daggering around the city for a while on our own before Bergamo picks me up at noon along the east-west transverse through Central Park at Sixty-Fifth Street. He’s in his company limousine with the same driver, Nico, behind the wheel. A stretch limo isn’t exactly subtle but the tinted windows provide all the privacy we need.
“Hang here for a bit,” he tells Nico and raises the partition. It’s now just me, Bergamo, and an air of desperation.
“What is it?What do they have on us? For Christ’s sake, what are they able to prove?” he asks like an impatient child, albeit one wearing a suit, shoes, and watch that easily total fifty grand.
“Relax,” I tell him. “It was a ruse.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re not the target of an FBI investigation. Smarmy is.”
“Smarmy?”
I laugh. “Sorry. That’s my nickname for him. It’s Charles Waxman they’re investigating.”
Oh, the relief on Bergamo’s face. But, still, he’s confused. Of course he is. How could he not be? The FBI’s targeting the head of Echelon and yet they’re telling him they’re going after someone else?
“Wait,” says Bergamo. “At the restaurant, why did the agents—”
“Say it was you? Because they’re trying to give Waxman a false sense of security while getting closer to him,” I say.
“But why?”
“Do you remember that woman at the auction? The one who was trying to outbid you?”
“She almost did,” he says.
“Almostis the operative word.”
