Kristmas Collins by Derek Ciccone Read Free Book Online Page B

partner that might have embezzled from them, or something like that.”
    Falcone began laughing. “Funny guy, ain’t he, Larry?”
    “A real crack up,” Boersch added. “Like he makes me wanna crack up his skull.”
    “Don’t mind him,” Falcone said to me. “He’s just a little pissy because he had to squeeze into an elf costume and park cars in the snow for a bunch of rich pricks. He even had to chase down a guy who decided he’d rather spend his Sunday at the lake, instead of at the nice warm party.”
    “Trust me, if you were inside that party you’d understand.”
    “I don’t trust anyone, especially felons like yourself, Collins. But I was inside that party, and I agree—it was a pretty scary place.”
    Boersch added, “Not as scary as where you’ll be going if you don’t start telling us the truth.”
    Since that wasn’t an option, and lying to federal agents seemed like a good way to end up back in prison, I decided to just stare out the window. The cab was headed south on FDR Drive, a road named for the man who once uttered the words, “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.” I begged to differ.
    Falcone filled in the downtime by making a phone call. “Any word on Gooch?” he asked.
    After a short pause, he responded, “I was distracted breaking up a fight … when I looked back he was gone … keep looking.”
    After the call ended, we again sat in silence. Finally curiosity got the best of me. “Gooch?” I asked.
    “Gooch is short for goochelaar,” Falcone answered. “It’s the Dutch word for magician. And you got to see one of his disappearing acts tonight. One minute he was chatting it up with you and getting a lap dance from your buddy’s girlfriend, and next thing we know, he’s gone.”
    “The professor?”
    Boersch chuckled. “Professor … now that’s a good one.”
    Falcone didn’t seem to share his partner’s humor, remaining grimly serious. “Gooch could teach a class on how to take a body apart, piece by piece until he gets the information he’s looking for.”
    “And this Gooch works for Scroggie?”
    Falcone nodded. “He grew up with your old pal Diedrich Kerstman in the Netherlands. That’s how he was able to bring the two of them together. And when I say he works for Scroggie, I mean he kills for him.”
    If he was trying to scare me it was a waste of time—I was already scared. Hence the bulletproof vest. “So what do you want?” I asked.
    “What I want,” Falcone said, “is to take my wife out to dinner on New Year’s Eve.”
    “Why didn’t you say so? I know Sal Morzetti—represented him in some legal matters. If I pull a couple strings, maybe I can get you a reservation at his restaurant.”
    “That’s nice of you to offer, but I’ve promised to take her out every year since we were married, and I’ve always ended up having to work on New Year’s. And this year I’m stuck on the job until the Kerstman money is recovered. So if you would let us know where it is before then, I’d really appreciate it … as would my wife.”
    “You guys think I know where the money is?” I asked with a surprised look.
    The comment caused a ripple of laughter, but not the friendly kind.
    “You know who also thinks you know where it is?” Boersch asked.
    “Scroggie, Alexander Wainwright, and this Gooch fella come to mind, but I’m probably leaving someone out.”
    “The difference between us and them, is after we get the money, we’re going to put a roof over your head and feed you three meals a day. But a guy like Stone Scroggie is going to send you through one of those chippers like they do with dead Christmas trees.”
    “What Agent Falcone is trying to say in his eloquent manner, is that if you return the money, and help us put Scroggie away, we can put in a good word with the judge for you,” Boersch added. “And I’m sure your time served will be factored in.”
    That sounded more like a death sentence than an olive branch. “Even