Twenty minutes later, I look at myself in a filthy mirror, amazed at the magic of cheap dye.
"What do I look like?" I ask, combing my new black hair.
"Like Buddy Holly," Charlie says, looking over my shoulder. Only clumsier.
"Thank you, Carol Channing. "Bullet Head."
—Aquaman.
"Hey, at least I don't look like Mom's friends," Charlie says.
I look at myself in the mirror again. -Who are you...?
-They are ready? Oz interrupts.
Go!
Back to reality, Charlie and I walk out of the bathroom. I keep playing with my new hair. Charlie hasn't touched his. He is used to these things. After all, it's not the first time he's changed color. Blonde in tenth grade, deep purple at twelve. At that time, Mom already knew that Charlie wanted to be out of the system. I wonder what he would say now.
"I want you to stand there and pull down the blind," Oz says, pointing to the window on the far wall. On the floor there is a small X formed with masking tape on the carpet. Charlie pulls on the curtain string.
-Blue? he asks, noticing the light blue color on the inside of the blind.
On Oz's computer, the screen flickers and a digital image of a blank New Jersey driver's license appears. The background for the photo is light blue. Same as the blind. Grinning at the technological display, Oz stands in front of Charlie, digital camera in hand.
"On three, say, Department of Motor Vehicles...
Charlie speaks the words and I close my eyes to the bright white flash.
Craning toward the sky, Joey gazed up at the thirty-story building on Manhattan's Upper East Side.
"Are you sure she's home?" Joey asked, almost dizzy from the height.
"I spoke to her ten minutes ago posing as a pollster," Noreen replied. It's dinner time. She's not going anywhere.
Nodding to himself, Joey turned under the rigid awning and peered through the double glass doors that led into the foyer. Inside, a doorman was bent over the front desk, flipping through the newspaper. Out of uniform; no tie; no problem. Just another daddy's girl's first apartment.
Grinning broadly, Joey reached for the cell phone she had clipped to her belt, raised it to her ear, and opened the door.
"Oh, I hate when they do that!" Her," she whimpered into the phone. Panties are so middle class.
-What are you talking about? Noreen asked.
"You heard me!" Joey yelled. She hurried past the doorman with a wave and headed straight for the elevator. The man shook his head. Typical.
Twenty-three floors later, Joey rang the bell at apartment 23H.
-Who is it? a woman asked.
"Teri Gerlach of the National Association of Securities Dealers," Joey explained. Oliver Caruso applied for his 7 Series license a few days ago and since he listed you as one of his references, we were wondering if we could ask you a few questions.
As she delivered her short speech, Joey knew full well that there was no reference checking for the stock Series 7, but that detail had never stopped her.
There was a soft metallic sound, and Joey was clearly aware that she was being studied through the small peephole. After dark, New York women had plenty of reasons not to open their doors to strangers.
"Who else did Oliver include on that list?" the voice asked.
For effect, Joey took a small notepad out of her bag.
"Let's see…a mother named Margaret…a brother, Charles…Henry Lapidus of Greene Bank…and a girlfriend named Beth Manning.
There was the sound of chains and latches being released. When the door opened, Beth stuck her head in.
"Hasn't Oliver gotten Series 7 from him yet?"
"This is a renovation, Miss Manning," Joey said quietly. But still, we like to check references. Her." He pointed to the notepad again and smiled kindly. I promise you it's just a few simple questions... we'll be done in a minute.
Beth shrugged and took a few steps back.
"You'll have to excuse all this mess..."
"Don't worry," Joey said, laughing as she walked into the apartment, placing her hand lightly on Beth's forearm.
"My apartment is fifty times worse.
Francis Quincy was not one of those anxious men who pace up and down rooms. He, too, was not a man to worry more than was strictly necessary. In fact, when the lid of the pressure cooker threatened to fly off, while everyone else was anxiously pacing the plush carpet in Lapidus's office, Quincy would sit motionless in his chair, silently calculating the possibilities. Even when his fourth daughter was born three months before her due date, Quincy withdrew from him, consoling herself with the thought that eighty percent of premature babies made it to life. At that time, the numbers were on his side. Today they were completely out of his control. However, he was not dedicated to pacing the room like the others.
"He didn't say anything else?" Quincy asked dryly.
"Nothing... less than nothing," Lapidus said, intermittently rapping his knuckles on the desk. They just want us to keep our mouths shut.
Quincy nodded, standing by the window in the corner of the office. As he gazed at the electric line of the sky, he reached out and leaned on the top of the butterfly-patterned shoji blind.
"Maybe we should wait a day before talking to the partners."
-You've lost your mind? If they ever find out we've been withholding information from them... Quincy, they'll drink our blood with their breakfast.
"Well, I hate to break it to you, Henry, but they're going to ask for blood anyway, and until we find Oliver and the missing money, there's nothing we can do.
Lapidus's knuckles picked up the pace.
"I've already called twice. Rooster has not answered.
"If that can make things easier, Henry, I'm happy to make a couple of arrangements."
-I don't understand...
"Maybe Gallo needs to hear it out of both ears," Quincy said. Just to tip the scales a bit.
Lapidus reflected for a few seconds, studying his partner.
"Yeah...no...that would be great."
Quincy headed for the office door without wasting a minute.
"Just remember which side Gallo and DeSanctis are on," Lapidus said. When the time comes, law enforcement officers are just like any other customer...they only care what they can get.
"You don't have to remind me," Quincy said as he left the luxurious office. I know all about
this business.
"What are we looking for?" DeSanctis asked, holding the receiver under his chin.
"It's not easy to know. Obviously we've run into some obstacles, but I think everything will be smooth sailing soon," his partner explained. How are things over there? How is Gallo behaving with his mother?
Looking through the one-sided mirror, DeSanctis saw that Gallo was helping Mrs. Caruso into her coat.
"We've got it under control," DeSanctis said coldly.
You don't seem very sure...
"I'll be sure when we've caught them," he insisted.
Charlie and Oliver had gotten away this time, but that wouldn't happen again. Not with these kinds of bets.
"Have you thought about calling other agents?"
"No... impossible," DeSanctis replied. You can believe me; we don't want any more headaches. "So, you think you and Gallo can keep this under control?" "Personally, I don't see too many alternatives…for any of us.
"And what is that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing," DeSanctis said dryly. Behind the glass, Gallo escorted Mrs. Caruso out of the interview room. You do your job and we will do ours. As long as that is so, they don't have the slightest chance.