4
The gunslinger looked at the tower of cards on Balazar’s desk and thought: Another sign.
Balazar did not look up—the tower of cards had grown too tall for that to be necessary—but rather over the top. His expression was one of pleasure and warmth.
“Eddie,” he said. “I’m glad to see you, son. I heard you had some trouble at Kennedy.”
“I ain’t your son,” Eddie said flatly.
Balazar made a little gesture that was at the same time comic, sad, and untrustworthy: You hurt me, Eddie, it said, you hurt me when you say a thing like that.
“Let’s cut through it,” Eddie said. “You know it comes down to one thing or the other: either the Feds are running me or they had to let me go. You know they didn’t sweat it out of me in just two hours. And you know if they had I’d be down at 43rd Street, answering questions between an occasional break to puke in the basin.”
“Are they running you, Eddie?” Balazar asked mildly.
“No. They had to let me go. They’re following, but I’m not leading.”
“So you ditched the stuff,” Balazar said. “That’s fascinating. You must tell me how one ditches two pounds of coke when that one is on a jet plane. It would be handy information to have. It’s like a locked room mystery story.”
“I didn’t ditch it,” Eddie said, “but I don’t have it anymore, either.”
“So who does?” Claudio asked, then blushed when his brother looked at him with dour ferocity.
“He does,” Eddie said, smiling, and pointed at Enrico Balazar over the tower of cards. “It’s already been delivered.”
For the first time since Eddie had been escorted into the office, a genuine expression illuminated Balazar’s face: surprise. Then it was gone. He smiled politely.
“Yes,” he said. “To a location which will be revealed later, after you have your brother and your goods and are gone. To Iceland, maybe. Is that how it’s supposed to go?”
“No,” Eddie said. “You don’t understand. It’s here. Delivery right to your door. Just like we agreed. Because even in this day and age, there are some people who still believe in living up to the deal as it was originally cut. Amazing, I know, but true.”
They were all staring at him.
How’m I doing, Roland? Eddie asked.
I think you are doing very well. But don’t let this man Balazar get his balance, Eddie. I think he’s dangerous.
You think so, huh? Well, I’m one up on you there, my friend. I know he’s dangerous. Very fucking dangerous.
He looked at Balazar again, and dropped him a little wink. “That’s why you’re the one who’s gotta be concerned with the Feds now, not me. If they turn up with a search warrant, you could suddenly find yourself fucked without even opening your legs, Mr. Balazar.”
Balazar had picked up two cards. His hands suddenly shook and he put them aside. It was minute, but Roland saw it and Eddie saw it, too. An expression of uncertainty—even momentary fear, perhaps—appeared and then disappeared on his face.
“Watch your mouth with me, Eddie. Watch how you express yourself, and please remember that my time and my tolerance for nonsense are both short.”
Jack Andolini looked alarmed.
“He made a deal with them, Mr. Balazar! This little shit turned over the coke and they planted it while they were pretending to question him!”
“No one has been in here,” Balazar said. “No one could get close, Jack, and you know it. Beepers go when a pigeon farts on the roof.”