The Passenger (The Passenger, #1)(81)

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He looked toward the bench across the walk. The girl was gone. It was noon. In a minute he would hear the bells from the church. Shortly after her birthday that year she had signed herself out and gone to her grandmother’s and stopped all medication and in a week’s time they were all back. The Thalidomide Kid and the old lady with the roadkill stole and Bathless Grogan and the dwarves and the Minstrel Show. All of them gathered at the foot of her bed. When she turned on the tablelamp it set them to blinking.

The bells tolled. He rose and walked up St Peter Street to the cafe and put a quarter in the payphone and dialed Kline’s number.

It’s Bobby Western.

Where are you?

I’m at a payphone in the Quarter.

Let’s not talk on the phone. Do you want to meet me?

Have you got some time?

Yes. Where are you? Are you near the Seven Seas?

I can be.

Why dont I swing by and pick you up in about thirty minutes.

All right. Thanks.

He hung up the phone and walked back up Decatur to St Philip and up St Philip to the bar.

Kline pulled up at the curb facing the wrong way and leaning to see in the door. Western walked out and got in the car and they pulled away.

Do you like Italian?

I like Italian.

Do you know Mosca’s?

Sure. I have to tell you that I’m broke.

Dont sweat it. I’ll put you on the cuff.

All right.

He started to say something else but Kline raised one hand and smiled. They drove in silence out Airline Highway and pulled into the parkinglot behind the restaurant and got out. Kline shut the door and looked at Western over the top of the car. I sweep this thing from time to time. For whatever it’s worth. It’s a pain in the ass but there you are.

Do you ever find anything?

Oh yes.

And your office?

Same thing. Most of it is just industrial surveillance. The tech gets better every year. It’s amazing what you can pick up. It’s really pretty much a game. Except of course that sometimes people get hurt.

They walked across the parkinglot. What about in here?

Not a problem. Mosca’s is a haven. They have to be.

The maitre’d nodded to Kline. The place was full. They sat at a small table near the door and Kline flipped open the wine menu and began to look through it. Do you know this place?

I think not as well as you.

Everything’s good.

What are you having?

Probably the fettuccine with clams.

Is that what you usually have?

No.

Kline studied the winelist. Still, I do tend to be a creature of habit. And in my business that’s probably not a good idea.

Western smiled. Are they after you?

Mostly they’re after my data. As I am after theirs. How about a St Emilion?

Sounds good.

He folded the wine menu shut. He folded and put away his glasses.

I’ll tell you how good it gets. A few years ago the CIA was bugging the typewriters at the Soviet Embassy and running the tapes through a computer. The program decoded the clicks. Length of travel of the key. Frequency, the small changes in the timbre of the strike dictated by the angle of the keyhead. Anything that could be parsed out and computed and assigned a probability. The space bar of course gave you the word break. The program came up with a rough approximation of the written Russian. Their Russian-speaking crypto people would go through it and then they’d send it down to a translator and get a clean copy back in English.

How did you hear about it?

A brother in the trade. What are you having?

Western folded the menu. I’ll have the same as you.

Good choice.

I was serious about not having any money.

I know. It’s all right.

The waiter came and poured water into their glasses. He nodded to Kline and he looked at Western. Would the gentleman care for a drink?

No thanks.

They ordered. The waiter thanked them and took the menus.

They know who you are, said Western, but they dont say.

That’s because they dont know who you are.

Is that the normal procedure?

I think I’d just call it good manners.

Is this place connected?

No. Sort of. Mostly they just look after their customers.

Does Carlos Marcello come here?

Carlos Marcello owns the place. Or he owns the building. But it’s the best Italian food between LA and Providence. I think you said you had family in Providence.

Yes.

He was in here a few weeks ago with Raymond Patriarca.

Marcello was.

Yes.

Did you know who Patriarca was?

No. I had to ask. It would be interesting to speculate about that conversation.

I’m sure. Are these people clients of yours?

No. They have their own people.

Of course.

What happened to your money?

What makes you think something happened to it?

Just a wild and reckless guess.

The IRS seized my bank account.

When was this?

A few days ago.

Kline shook his head.

Is there anything I can do about it?

No.

Nothing?

No.

They can just take it.

You could get a lawyer. But it wont help. How much did you have in the account?