A String of Beads (Jane Whitefield, #8)(37)

Salamone pursed his lips and gave a silent whistle to show he was impressed. “How much is that?”

“Six thousand, seven hundred forty-five. Ten percent.”

Salamone nodded, then held it up to hand it to Cantorese, who made the money disappear under his voluminous shirt. Salamone said, “I’ve got something for you, too. It’s the money for the last load of stuff we sold. Pistore, give him his money.”

Pistore stepped up to the unoccupied desk where Harriman had sat, spread his windbreaker on the surface, and unzipped the pockets. Out of each pocket he took a stack of bills with a rubber band around it. When the stacks were all on the desk, he stepped back and put on his windbreaker.

Salamone said, “It’s twenty-two thousand. Are you pleased?”

“It’s hard not to be,” said Crane.

“How are we doing so far this month?”

“It looks good again. We got another load in this morning, just like the last few. Summer has always been good for us. Vacations, like I said. And people open a lot of windows and forget to close one when they go somewhere. It’s also when there’s a lot of remodeling and construction and stuff, so nobody notices one more truck parked by a house.”

Salamone smiled and nodded, then reverted to his serious expression. “Danny, you kind of skipped over something that I’ve been wondering about. You told me how good last month was, but you lost a guy last month, that guy Nick.”

“Well, yeah,” said Crane. “I didn’t think you’d be interested in that.”

“He got shot to death. Sure I’m interested. Who killed him?”

“Nick said he got drunk in a bar, and got into a fight with some Indian. The guy knocked him cold. The cops were pressing charges for assault.”

“So who killed him?”

“The Indian, I guess.”

“No, he didn’t. Guys kill people for reasons. They kill for money, or over a girl, or something like that. Nobody beats some stranger up in a bar and then comes back and kills him too. Winning a fight is kind of a one-act deal.” He paused. “So I’m asking you, Danny. Who killed him?”

“The police think—”

“I’ll ask one more time. Who killed him?”

“I did.”

Salamone grinned and looked at Cantorese and Pistore. “See?” He tapped his index finger on his temple.

The others said nothing, and showed neither surprise nor disapproval.

Salamone turned to Crane again. “You did the right thing by being honest with me. I want to make that clear to you. Pistore, give him the rest of his money.”

Pistore reached into another pocket in his jacket and put another stack of bills on the desk.

Salamone said, “You’re honest with us, so we’re honest with you. Tell me why you killed him.”

Crane’s mind raced. He wanted to tell Salamone that Nick had diverted some money from a robbery, or a piece of jewelry, but he knew Salamone would want to know which piece, and he couldn’t remember the pieces he had given Salamone to sell last month. He could see Salamone’s face darkening. Time was going by, and then gone. “I wanted his girlfriend.”

Salamone kept his eyes on Crane as he said, “You can go back to the car and wait for me.” Pistore and Cantorese went down the stairs. It seemed to take a long time. When he heard the door downstairs close, Salamone said, “So where is the girlfriend? Did you get her?”

“Not exactly. Not yet.”

“Why not? Did she get you to kill him and then change her mind about you?”

“No,” said Crane. “It’s not like that. She didn’t know about it. I never told her I was going to do it. I never even told her I wanted her.”

Salamone rested his elbow on Crane’s desk and leaned his chin on the palm of his hand. “So how is she supposed to know?”

“I plan to tell her,” he said. “I just think I need to give her some time.”

“For what?”

“To get used to the fact that Nick is dead.”

“Is she a little slow or something? I read in the paper that she was right there when the bullet went through the bastard’s head. The blood must have sprayed the walls.”

“She just thinks of me as a friend—somebody she knew through Nick, who has been nice to her since he died. She isn’t ready to start dating again.”

Salamone rolled his eyes. “If people waited until they were ready for things, not a goddamn thing would ever happen. Things get sprung on them, and they either keep up or get trampled. You’d better move quick, or somebody else is going to get in there ahead of you. Right now she’s alone and she’s going to be receptive. Make sure it’s to you.”

“You think so?”

“Show me a guy who waits around until she’s all ready, and I’ll show you a guy who’s going to be on the guest list for her wedding—way at the back with the groom’s third cousins.”

“I’m going to have to think about it.”

“Here’s a start. She’s probably short on money. Nick won’t be bringing any pay home this month. Even if you didn’t give a shit about her you should be generous to her just because he worked for you. That will keep the other guys on your crew thinking you take care of your people. If you don’t care about them, they won’t care about you. And women can’t help loving money, just the way men do. Giving her money when she’s broke is an easy way to show her you’re desirable. That’s better than being hung like a horse, and even if you are, the money is a lot easier to show without risking embarrassment.”