“So?”
“Did he have access to the books, bank accounts?”
Terry Swain had gray eyes that were very expressive. They widened as if seeing the rope that could save him just inches t h just iout of reach.
“Pete was honest.”
“He was that. But he was a loner, too. No parents or wife, not even a girlfriend.”
“So?”
“You got any money, Terry?”
“What’s your name?”
“Leonid McGill is my name. Jimmy Pine sent me.”
Jimmy was a bookie. Terry was one of his best customers.
“Leonid? What kind of name is that for a black man?”
“My father was a Communist. He tried to cut me from the same red cloth. He believed in living with everybody but his family. McGill is my slave name. That’s why I got to do business with fools like you.”
“What kind of business?”
“You ever hear of Big Bank?”
“On Forty-ninth?”
“Peter Cooly had a savings account there. I got a guy, a business associate owes me a favor, who works with a guy who works there. The guy in the bank can make it look like Pete deposited an extra twenty-four thousand in his account over the last six years.”
“He can?” Terry passed gas then. He was a very worried man. “How?”
“My friend and his friend need six thousand apiece and then there’s the twenty-four.”
“I don’t have that kind of money.” Terry was so upset that he rose to his feet. “They’re gonna prosecute me, Mr. McGill. They’re gonna send me to prison.”
“Say the word and I’ll throw just enough suspicion on Pete so that any half-decent lawyer could keep the new owners from dragging you into court. Hell, they won’t even be able to take your pension.”
“Where am I gonna get thirty-six thousand dollars?”
“Forty-six,” I said, correcting his perfect math.