Numbered Account

Mevlevi repeated his question. He thought it wise to refer to his problem in metaphorical terms for the time being. That way should Rothstein grow upset, he could extricate himself diplomatically.

Rothstein looked to his table of bodyguards, then eyed the heavens and gave a whimsical shrug. "Cars," he said. "I've never taken to animals. I don't even have a dog."

Rothstein's retinue laughed dutifully. Mevlevi joined in.

"I have a small problem with my car," he began. "Maybe you can help me."

Again the weary shrug. "I'm no mechanic, but go ahead. What are you driving?"

"A beautiful machine. Dark body, clean, sexy lines, and what an engine. I bought it about nine months ago."

Rothstein spread his hands and smiled sagaciously. "I know what model you're talking about."

"Now let's say, Maxie, that I bought this car new."

"Well, there's new and then, there's new. Sometimes new is new, and sometimes new is almost new, and sometimes new is-" Rothstein chuckled and threw up his hands, "well, sometimes new can be pretty old."

"So what if the car that I thought was new was in fact old? Let's say a trade-in. Maybe something you were selling for a friend?"

Concern blossomed on the wrinkled face. "Would I sell you, one of my oldest customers, a used car?"

"Please, Maxie, it is no matter. That is not the issue today."

"You having troubles with this model? Send it back. If it's the one I'm thinking of, I could find another buyer in an instant."

"I never send back what belongs to me. You know this, Maxie. My purchases are always final. What I no longer need, I discard."

Rothstein ladled a spoonful of tapioca pudding into his mouth. Half dribbled onto his bib, half from his chin. He paid the mishap little mind. "Then what is the problem? Is she losing a little horsepower?" He laughed for the benefit of his coterie, and his four thugs joined in.

Mevlevi felt his patience slipping away. He tightened his grip on the hidden corner of tablecloth. "That is of no concern to you. Where did you find this car? The answer is worth more even than the car itself."

A thick envelope was passed across the table. In it was a stack of one hundred one-hundred-dollar bills. Rothstein inserted a thumb and eyed the bills.

"Ali, I took this car in as a favor to an old friend. The friend told me the car needed a home. A place where she might get the attention she deserved. High-class, you get my drift. The car required a single owner. Definitely not a rental."

"A fine idea," said Mevlevi. "But there are not many gentlemen, even among us, who can afford such a car."

"A few," said Rothstein cagily.

"Who might this old friend be who was so kind as to bring to you such an outstanding automobile?"

"He's a close friend of yours. Not that I put my ear to the ground, but I believe he may be one of your associates. It's only because you two know each other that I can tell you. After all, partners shouldn't keep secrets from each other."

"Ah, Max. As usual, you are a man of reason."

Mevlevi leaned forward and listened as Max Rothstein whispered the name of the man who had brought Lina to Little Maxim's. When he heard the name, he closed his eyes and willed his tears to fire. He had found his traitor.

CHAPTER 31

Nick arrived at the entrance to Sylvia Schon's apartment precisely at 7:30. He had traveled the same route only six nights before, yet since boarding the tram at the Paradeplatz he had felt as if he were making the journey for the first time.

Sylvia lived in a modern apartment building on top of the Zurichberg. An open field fronted the building, and a dark forest lay in back of it. It had taken him ten minutes to walk up the steep hill from the tram stop on Universitatstrasse. Do that twice a day and he'd live to be a hundred.

He pressed the button next to her name and waited for her to ring him inside. He had come directly from the office and carried his briefcase in one hand and a bouquet of colorful flowers in the other. He hadn't planned on the flowers. The idea had popped into his head as he passed a florist on the way to the tram. Even now, he felt foolish holding them, like a teenager on a first date. Suddenly, his anticipation turned sour. He wondered who'd be standing in front of Anna's door tonight with a bouquet of flowers. None of your business, he told himself, and after a moment his jealousy left him.

The door buzzed and Sylvia's voice told him to come downstairs. Sylvia opened it immediately. She was wearing faded blue jeans and a green Pendleton shirt. She had her hair parted in the center. He thought she was trying to dress like an American. Her eyes passed from him to the flowers, then back again. "They're beautiful. What a lovely idea."

Nick fumbled for an excuse. He could feel himself blushing. "I saw them in a window. It's not polite to arrive empty-handed." Not twice, that's for sure.