“Water?”
“Rocks.”
“Want to start a tab?”
“Please.”
“Will anyone be joining you?”
“No.”
“I’ll be right back.”
Although the occasion—getting out of prison—and the day he’d had—his bizarre meeting with the Speakmans—seemed to call for a highball or two, Griff didn’t really like to drink. Since he’d had to mop up regurgitated booze so often as a kid, he’d never really developed a taste for it.
But the drink the waitress delivered to him looked and smelled good. The first sip went down smoothly, although he could tell by the instant fire it ignited in his belly that it had been over five years since he’d had spirits of any kind. He cautioned himself to go slowly. He wasn’t sure how long he’d have to wait.
A million dollars.
“You’ll be paid in cash,” Speakman had told him. “It will be placed in the safe-deposit box, and only you, I, and Laura will be signatories. There will be no records kept, no paperwork of any kind. Once Laura conceives, absolutely no connection can ever be made between you and us. If our paths happen to cross, which will be unlikely, you won’t recognize us. We’ll be meeting for the first time. Understood?”
“Understood.”
Conversation was suspended when Manuelo came in to deliver a phone message to Mrs. Speakman. She read it, then excused herself, saying she would be back shortly. She left, Manuelo trailing her.
Speakman noticed Griff watching the manservant as he silently closed the double doors behind himself. “Don’t worry about Manuelo,” he said. “He speaks only a few words of English. I told him that you were an old school chum who was passing through. He wouldn’t have recognized you from your football days. By the time he reached the U.S., you were in Big Spring.”
Laura Speakman returned almost immediately. Her husband asked, “Anything important?”
“Joe McDonald with a quick question that he didn’t think could wait till morning.”
Foster laughed. “That’s Joe. Always in a hurry.”
While they were chatting about the impatient Joe, Griff thought of another problem. “Cash will be hard to spend,” he said abruptly.
After a slight hesitation, Foster said, “Yes, I’m afraid that will present some difficulties. I imagine that you’ll be under close scrutiny by the IRS and the FBI, since there was some speculation about your empty bank accounts at the time of your arrest.”
“It was assumed you had money tucked away somewhere.”
Beneath Laura Speakman’s cool statement, he heard an implied question mark. “Just like it was assumed I knocked off Bandy,” he said tightly. “I didn’t, and I didn’t.”
She held his stare for several moments, then said, “All right.”
But she said it like she was only half convinced, and that pissed him off. Even though he was going to bed her, he didn’t think he would ever like her. She was good to look at, but he’d never been attracted to the ball-breaker type. And why was she busting his when they were vital to what she needed him for? He considered bringing this irony to her attention, then decided not to. He doubted she would see the humor in it.
He said, “I need the money, Mrs. Speakman. The money is the only reason I would even consider doing this. At least I’ve been honest about it.”
His implication was clear—that they were being less than honest about their reasons. She was about to take issue when her husband intervened. “You haven’t asked me for financial advice, Griff, but I’ll offer some. Get a job that earns you a paycheck. Have a checking account, credit cards. Normal things. If you do get audited, how you’ll explain your millionaire’s lifestyle will be up to you. Probably for the rest of your life, they’ll be looking for a source of your income.”
He raised an eyebrow, adding, “Perhaps some of your former business associates can assist you with the matter. I’m sure that on occasion they use banking facilities abroad that don’t question the source of great sums of cash.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Griff said. “But even if they do, I won’t be associating with t
hem anymore.” He looked over at Laura and added, “Ever.” He emphasized it with a curt bob of his head.
Speakman asked Griff if he had any more questions. They cleared up some minor points. And then Griff raised one that turned out to be major. It concerned a potential problem with the long-term payout. Ten, fifteen, twenty years down the road, he didn’t want to encounter a dilemma for which a solution hadn’t been worked out ahead of time.
A heated discussion ensued. No solution was reached, but Speakman promised to think hard on it and get back to Griff with a resolution as soon as possible. Could Griff live with that? he asked. Grudgingly, Griff said he could. That settled, Speakman suggested they seal their deal with a handshake, which they did.