6
Richie Cordova jumped when his cell phone started ringing. Who'd be calling him on a Sunday afternoon? Sure as hell wouldn't be Neva. Eddy?
He'd been chilling—in the physical as well as the slang sense—outside Julio's for a couple of hours. The place wasn't real busy but had a steady trickle in and out. Richie had taken a couple of peeks in the front window. From what he could see through all the dead hanging plants—what was up with that?—it looked like a typical neighborhood bar. Reminded him of Hurley's, and how he wished he was nursing a shot and a beer there instead of hanging out here on a street far from home. He'd promised himself to stay around until three or so, then head back to do just that. The Giants had the four o'clock game against Dallas and he didn't want to miss it.
Hours of watching and still nobody sitting at one of the rear tables. Everyone clustered around the bar where the TV was.
And now someone was calling him. He pulled out the phone, flipped it open, and thumbed the SEND button.
"Yeah?"
"Mr. Cordova?" said a funny-sounding voice he didn't recognize.
"Who's this?"
"My name's Louis Gorcey and—"
"How'd you get this number?"
"I was just about to tell you that. I'm friends with Lee Dobbins and he gave it to me. He recommends you very highly."
Dobbins… Dobbins… Oh yeah. The real estate guy. But he didn't have Richie's cell number. Or did he? Richie sometimes gave it out to clients when he needed to stay real close to a situation.
"That's nice of him, but—what did you say your name was?"
"It's Gorcey. Louis Gorcey."
Something about the way he said his's's… he sounded like a fag.
"Well, Mr. Gorcey, I'm glad Lee recommended me, but this is Sunday. My office is closed. If you want to call back first thing tomorrow morning—"
"It can't wait till then. The window of opportunity is tonight. It has to be tonight."
"Sorry, I—"
"Please hear me out. This is very important to me and I'll make it well worth your while."
Well worth your while … he liked the sound of that. But it was Sunday… and the Giants were playing Dallas…
"I'll pay you a thousand dollars cash just to meet with me and listen to my problem. If you aren't interested, then the money's yours to keep."
"This must be one hell of a problem."
"It's not so much a matter of magnitude as timing. We have to meet this afternoon because the window opens tonight."
A thousand bucks… that would be the best hourly rate he'd ever earned. And an hour was all it would be. Richie had already decided to get the money up front, listen, and say no thanks. Then he'd head for Hurley's and the game. Worst-case scenario was he'd miss part of the first quarter.
"Okay. You've got a deal. You know where my office is?"
He didn't, so Richie gave him the address. They'd meet there in half an hour.
A nasty suspicion crawled up his back as he thumbed the END button. What if this was the nun's Jack? What if he'd heard about Sister Maggie and decided to give Richie a dose of the same medicine?
He shook it off. Crazy. The nun had hired the guy to do a job and he did it. End of story. If something happened to the client afterward, so what? Not his business, not his worry.
Besides, not only did this Gorcey sound like a fag, but he knew Dobbins and had Richie's cell number.
Still, maybe he should do a little checking up before the meet.