Rathbone rose early and showered, shaved, dressed. He went downstairs where Blanche and Theodore were laughing in the kitchen. David had a small tomato juice and told them he'd be back soon to have breakfast on the terrace.
There was a heavy morning fog, but he knew that would burn off as the sun strengthened. He drove to a nearby mini-mall that included a drugstore selling out-of-town newspapers. He parked and noticed, on the other side of the mall, a newly installed line of newspaper-vending machines. One was the distinctive blue box of The New York Times' national edition.
Rathbone walked over, fishing two quarters from his pocket. He dropped them in the slot, pulled down the front lid. Glancing around to make certain no one was watching, he took two copies of the Times from the box and let the lid slam shut.
One newspaper he tossed onto the front seat of the Bentley. The other copy he carried into the drugstore.
"My wife bought this," he said, smiling at the clerk. "It's today's paper. But she didn't know I had already bought a copy. I wonder if I can get a refund."
"Sure," the young man said. "No problem."
He took the newspaper and handed David two quarters.
"Thank you very much," Rathbone said.
He drove home, noting the fog was already thinning. It promised to be a warm, sunny day, but maybe a little humid. Rita was still sleeping, so he breakfasted alone on the terrace. Theodore served California strawberries, a toasted bagel with a schmear of cream cheese, and black coffee. Rathbone read the Business Day section of his newspaper as he ate-paying particular attention to activities in the Chicago commodity pits- and had a second cup of coffee.
He was just leaving when Rita came straggling out, wearing his terry robe.
"I guess I overslept," she said.
"Not really," he said, kissing her cheek. "It's still early. But I'd better get to my office. Work, work, work.''
"Rather you than me," she said, and yawned.
He sat before his computer screen and took a look at balances in his checking accounts. He maintained both personal and corporate accounts. But because the government provided deposit insurance of only $100,000, he used several banks with no account in excess of the cap.
He was working on a schedule of deposits and withdrawals when his phone rang.
"David Rathbone Investment Management," he said. "David Rathbone speaking."
"This is Tommy."
"How're you doing, Tommy?"
"Okay. Can we meet?"
"Sure. When?"
"Soon as possible."
"How about a half-hour. Same place we met before." "Suits me," Termite Tommy said. "I'll be there."
Rathbone locked his office and went back to the terrace. Rita was finishing her breakfast and reading his newspaper.
"I have to run out for a few minutes," he told her. "Stick around for a while, will you? I may have a job for you later."
"I'll be here," she promised. "Knock us a kiss."
He bent to kiss her lips. "Last night was super," he said.
"They're all super," she said. "I love being pampered."
"Is that what you call it?" he said, laughing. "Slavery is more like it."
The Grand Palace hadn't opened yet; the parking lot was empty except for a decrepit pickup truck. Rathbone parked, and Termite Tommy got out of the pickup and came over to join him in the Bentley.
"Going to be a hot mother," he said.
"I guess," David said. "Got something for me?"
Tommy handed over a white envelope. "I hope we got the name spelled right," he said.
Rathbone examined the forged U.S. Treasury check. It was made out to Gloria Ramirez in the amount of $27,341.46. It looked very official, with seal, numbers, computer coding.
"A work of art," David said. "It still feels a little oily, but not so much that a busy teller would notice. How much time do we have before it dissolves?"
"Three days. Maybe four."
"I'll have the pusher deposit it today, and we'll draw on it tomorrow."
"You'll let me know?" Tommy asked.
"Of course." "That crazy German wants a third."
"Let's wait till we see how this goes. When we have the money, we can talk a split. Except that the pusher wants her cash off the top. I promised her two grand. Okay?"
"Sure," Termite Tommy said. "If this goes off without a hitch, maybe we can use her again. Have a nice day."
"You, too," Rathbone said.
He drove home and found Rita in her bedroom, painting her toenails vermilion. David sat down on the bed next to her and held up the check for her inspection.
"Don't touch it," he warned. "You might get polish on it."
She stared long and hard at the check.
"Queer?" she asked.
"As a three-dollar bill. But it's beautifully done. It'll pass. As soon as your toenails dry, I want you to endorse it as Gloria Ramirez. Then drive up to Boca and deposit it at the Crescent."
"And then?"
"Tomorrow you go back to the bank. Draw this out plus your original deposit. Close out the account."
"What if they ask why I'm closing an account I just opened a few days ago?"
"Death in the family, and you've got to go home to San Antonio. Tell them anything. If you have any problems, Mike Mulligan will okay it."
She bent down to remove the wads of cotton from between her toes. Then she straightened up to stare at him.
"I don't like it," she said. "It's a federal rap. They'll
lock me up and throw away the key. What if they lift my prints off the check?"
"They won't," he assured her. "Trust me."
She stood, naked, and began to pull on white bikini panties. "Seems to me you're asking for a whole bunch of trust. It's my ass that'll be on the line, not yours."
"In the first place," he said, "if I thought there was any real risk, I wouldn't ask you to do it. I don't want to lose you; I already told you that. In the second place, I want to find out just how much I can trust you. If you turn me down on this, I'll know."
"And then it's goodbye Rita?"
"You better believe it," he said, nodding. "But if you do it, there will be other jobs, bigger jobs. So it's your future you've got to consider."
She looked again at the check he was still holding. "What's in it for me?" she asked.
"Now you're talking like a mature adult," he said, giving her his 100-watt smile. "A grand for this job. And much more to come if you play along."
"All right," she said. "I'm game."
"That's my girl," he said, pulling her close.
He watched her endorse the check "For deposit only" and the account number. Then he went back to his office. Rita dressed and drove her Chevy up to Boca Raton, where she deposited the Gloria Ramirez check at the Crescent Bank. Then she called Tony Harker.
"A counterfeit Treasury check?" he said. "I can't believe it. Most yobs are specialists. A bank robber does nothing but hit banks. A strong-arm guy mugs people. They very rarely go outside their field. Like a gynecologist doesn't do tonsillectomies. Now we've got David Rathbone, a con man, going in for forgery. It doesn't make sense."
"I'm just telling you what he told me."
"I know," Harker said. "All right, do exactly what he wants. Go back to Boca tomorrow and close out the account. I'll take it from there. We'll let the Ramirez check clear so we have evidence of counterfeiting and bank fraud."
"I suppose I'll have to testify."
"Of course," he said. "That doesn't scare you, does it?"
"No," she said.
"Listen," he said in a low voice, "when am I going to see you again?"
She laughed. "Anxious?" she asked.
"Not anxious," he said. "Eager."
"That's nice," Rita said.