“Or someone without imagination who wants us to think he’s Russian. A vodka brand as his alias? Really?” Margo said.
“Let’s see if he’s still there.” Tony typed a response. A reply came back. He typed again. Viktor answered.
“He says he knows you have the two programs your colleagues passed on to you before he took care of them for going back on their deal.” He typed again. “I’m asking what’s in it for you since whatever he gave to Jameson and Nixon didn’t include you. He offered fifty thousand dollars.”
“Hell, I’ll sell him Kiki for that.” She watched as Tony negotiated back and forth for several more messages. “What now?”
“We settled on $100,000 and I’m waiting for him to tell me what the terms are.”
The message that came back this time was longer than the others. There were a dozen conditions for the exchange of the material. The list began with a date a week away and a place. “No cops, no witnesses, no weapons” ended the list.
“You’re not meeting him alone,” Tony said as he responded.
“What if that’s the only way?”
“We’ll find some other way. You’re not meeting him alone.”
She decided not to argue with the tone of voice he was using and the set of his face.
Eventually, Tony negotiating as Margo got Viktor to agree she could bring her boyfriend with her to the Chinook picnic shelter in Blue Lake Park at 10 P.M. in a week. When Tony asked where that was, Margo shuddered and told him it was about five minutes from her house. He didn’t say anything but put his arm around her and hugged her before he pulled out his cell phone and called Sam.
• • •
“Your eye candy’s here,” Kiki said, swinging on the doorjamb into Margo’s office.
“He’s here so we can drive home. And Kiki, I appreciate how gorgeous he is, but … ”
“Who’s gorgeous? You?” Tony materialized at the door. She had to agree with Kiki. He was eye candy. He’d swapped his gray suit and maroon tie for a version of Northwest business casual — jeans and a jacket with a white shirt and tie — which almost made him a match for Sam Richardson, who never wore anything but jeans although Tony hadn’t gone so far as to buy cowboy boots. Yet.
Kiki smiled. “Buon giorno, detectivo.”
“Buon pomeriggio, Kiki. Come sieta?”
“Sorry, haven’t gotten that far in my online Italian lessons.”
“I said good afternoon and asked how you are.”
“I’m fine, grazie. Maybe you have time today to help me with my Italian? The website I found doesn’t really tell you the good stuff. Like how to swear.”
“Maledizione. Figlio di puttana. Merda. Vaffanculo,” Margo said.
“What’s all that mean?” Kiki asked.
Tony started to answer but Margo interrupted. “Look it up on a translation website. Here, I’ll write them down for you.” She grabbed a piece of paper and wrote as she finished speaking. “But do the translating on your own time, per favore. On county time, I need those citations I asked for. Andiamo.”