He slipped the cassette in the machine. "Something the FBI picked up this morning. Some of it sounds garbled, but the techs have taken it as far as they can." He pressed the Play button, triggering a generalized hissing and the ringing of a phone. A man on the other end picked up without identifying himself. "Yes?"
The calling party said, "Problem."
The minute I heard the voice, I shot a look at Cheney. "Beck?"
He pressed the Pause button. "The guy he's talking to is Salustio Castillo. This was the first call he placed when he got to the office." He pressed Play again.
On the tape, Castillo was saying, "What?"
"When I took delivery on that shipment, the inventory was off."
Silence. Hissing. "Impossible. 'Off meaning what?"
"Short."
"By how much?"
"A pack."
"Large or small?"
"Large. We're talking twenty-five."
Salustio was silent. "I supervised the count myself. What about the invoices?"
"Not a match. I checked three times and the numbers don't tally."
Salustio said, "I told you I wanted someone supervising your end -"
"This wasn't on my end."
"Or so you say."
Silence from Beck. "You know I wouldn't do this."
"Do I? You've argued for a bigger cut of the action, which I can't… there's no way I can justify from my end. Now you say… missing, all I have is your word."
"You think I'd lie?"
"Let's call it inventory shrinkage. It's been known to happen. From my perspective, you're adequately compensated… don't see it that way. So maybe you siphon off a percentage of the goods and that satisfies your need for a pay increase. What better cover than claiming I shorted you?"
"I never said that."
"Then what?"
"I said the total's off. Might be the… mistake…"
"Yours. Not mine."
"…"
"Fix it."
Silence. There was a stretch of pure hissing on the tape.
Tightly Beck said, "Tell me what you want me to do and I'll do it."
"Make up the shortfall out of your end, which is where the loss occurred. My total's correct and I want full payment deposited to my account. In the meantime, not to worry. I know you're good for it. Pleasure doing business," Salustio said, and clicked off.
Beck said, "Fuck!" as he banged down the phone.
Cheney turned off the tape.
I thought the conversation was interesting, but I wasn't clear why he wanted me to hear it. I was on the verge of making a comment when Cheney said, "A tightly packed bundle of hundred-dollar bills is one inch thick," he said. "That's twenty-five thousand dollars. I know because I asked the Treasury boys. Beck's been back a day. If a currency delivery came in while he was gone, it makes sense he'd double-check the totals first thing."
"Okay," I said. And then I shut my mouth because I could hear the penny drop. He knew Reba and I had ventured into the counting room on Saturday when the currency was being unwrapped and run through the machines. All either of us had to do was clip a pack of hundreds and who'd be the wiser? Beck didn't know we'd been there and all Salustio cared about was having the right total credited to his account. "You think she took it?"
"Sure. Vince was apoplectic. I thought he'd pop a vein. Beck doesn't know she was up there, but he'll rip the place apart looking for that dough. Once he pulls the security tapes, he's got her. You, too, for that matter."
"She has to be nuts. Why take the risk?"
"Because Beck can't report the loss. He calls the cops and he'll generate the kind of scrutiny he can't afford. Not when he's on the verge of skipping out."
I could feel myself flush, overtaken by alternating surges of denial and guilt. I suddenly understood what she'd been doing in the counting room for those few beats after I'd entered the elevator. I'd felt anxious, impatient to be gone while she'd been smitten with the sight of all that cash. Meanwhile, I was preoccupied, intent on checking the corridor to make sure we were in the clear. It wouldn't have taken any time – two seconds? – to stuff a packet of cash down her shirt or in her jacket pocket. I'd been thinking "nerves of steel," amazed at her nonchalance while I was wetting my drawers. Then, of course, there was her exuberance with Willard once we got downstairs. She'd flirted and I'd assumed she was hyper because we'd discovered Beck's counting room. Must have been the feel of all that money next to her skin. Crazy. Reba wiping down her fingerprints. Cheney verbally boxing my ears when I'd confessed our misdeeds. And I'd defended her. Shit! My palms were damp and I rubbed them against my jeans. "What now?"