Читать книгу The Payback - Mike Lawson - Страница 11

The offices of Carmody and Associates were in Bremerton on the corner of Pacific and Burwell, on the ground floor of a building that housed three other small enterprises: an independent insurance agent, a tax consultant, and a beauty shop with no customers. Emma knocked once on the door, then immediately opened it without waiting for an answer. Two men – sitting at a card table, drinking beer and playing gin – looked up in surprise.

Both men were in their early fifties, and both wore blue jeans and short-sleeved shirts. Pretty casual attire for consultants, DeMarco thought. One of the men was tall, had gray-brown hair in need of a trim, a scraggly mustache, skinny arms, skinny legs, and a small potbelly. The other man was short, almost bald, and had a much larger potbelly. The bald guy also had an anchor tattoo on his right forearm.

Maybe it was the tattoo, but DeMarco had the immediate impression that if these two had been born two hundred years earlier they would have been pirates.

‘You need something?’ the tall one said.

‘Yes,’ Emma said. ‘We’re doing a review for Congress. We called earlier to set up an appointment but no one returned our phone call. I guess you were just too busy,’ she said, looking down at the card table.

The tall man looked over at the short man. The short man made eye contact with Emma, a touch of insolence in his eyes, then turned his head toward a partially open door behind him and yelled, ‘Hey, boss!’

The man who came through the door was big and good-looking: six three, broad shouldered, maybe two hundred and twenty pounds. He wore gray slacks and a blue polo shirt, and his chest and biceps strained against the material of the shirt. The guy worked out. His dark hair was cut short and he had a small scar on his chin. He struck DeMarco as being tough and competent, but more like a cop or a soldier than someone you’d hire to study a navy training program.

‘It’s that lady who called this morning,’ the bald man said.

The big guy was silent for a moment as he sized up DeMarco and Emma, then he relaxed and smiled. He had an engaging smile. ‘I’m Phil Carmody,’ he said, and shook hands with them. ‘I’m in charge of this little zoo. That’s Bill Norton,’ he said pointing at the short, bald guy. ‘And that’s Ned Mulherin.’ Mulherin nodded like a friendly puppy; Norton glared.

Carmody didn’t invite DeMarco and Emma into his office, which DeMarco found odd. Instead he told Norton to grab a couple of chairs from the office and directed Mulherin to clear the cards and bottles off the card table. DeMarco noticed the way he spoke to his employees, giving curt orders, not bothering to say ‘please’ or ‘thank you,’ having no doubt he’d be obeyed immediately. DeMarco had the impression that if Carmody had told his two guys to eat their playing cards, they’d start chewing.

‘And in case you’re wondering,’ Carmody said as Mulherin removed the beer bottles from the table, ‘we only bill the government for the hours we work, and these two were not on the clock.’

‘Right,’ Emma said, not bothering to hide her disbelief. DeMarco expected Carmody to protest but he didn’t. He just shrugged, obviously not overly concerned about her perception of his billing practices.

When the extra chairs were in place, Carmody said, ‘You want anything to drink? Coke? Bottled water? Coffee?’

‘No,’ Emma said.

‘Okay, then,’ Carmody said. ‘So how ’bout showing me some ID.’

DeMarco passed Carmody his congressional identification. Emma stared into Carmody’s eyes for a moment, then pulled a library card from her wallet and held it up for Carmody to see. She didn’t hand him the card. Emma was screwing with Carmody and DeMarco waited for his reaction, but all Carmody did was smile, his lips twitching in amusement. Unlike most people, Carmody wasn’t intimidated by Emma; he seemed tickled by her attitude.

‘So what can I do for you?’ Carmody said.

Before DeMarco could say anything, Emma responded to Carmody’s question. Emma had a tendency to assume command whenever she and DeMarco worked together. ‘A congressman,’ Emma said, ‘received a complaint from one of his constituents regarding how much you’re charging the navy for the work you’re doing.’

‘You flew out here because of one complaint?’ Carmody said. He seemed to find that both astounding and amusing.

Emma ignored the question. ‘We’d like to understand what you’re doing, how much you’re billing, how long it will take, that sort of thing.’

‘That fuckin’ Whitfield,’ Mulherin muttered.

‘What did you say?’ Carmody said sharply to Mulherin.

‘Oh, there’s this guy I used to work with and he keeps bitching about how much I’m making. I’ll betcha he caused this. I mean, I explained to him—’

‘That’s enough,’ Carmody said. DeMarco knew that after they left Carmody was going to have a pointed discussion with Mr Mulherin. To DeMarco and Emma, Carmody said, ‘As you probably already know, we’re doing a review to streamline a shipyard training program. The current program is expensive and I have, we have, some ideas for how to improve it. Get the book, Norton.’

Norton dashed into Carmody’s office and returned with a three-ring binder. Carmody spent the next fifteen minutes going over the existing training program, what it cost, the curriculum, class sizes, class hours, that sort of thing. DeMarco didn’t understand everything Carmody said but based on the questions she asked, Emma seemed to. The one thing DeMarco did understand was that as opposed to what Dave Whitfield had led them to believe, Carmody seemed to have acquired exactly the sort of information you’d expect him to have to do his review, and he seemed to know what he was talking about.

‘We understand that your guys here,’ DeMarco said, gesturing toward Mulherin and Norton, ‘are making a lot more money than they made when they worked in the shipyard.’

Carmody shrugged. ‘So what?’ he said. Before DeMarco could respond, he said, ‘Look, I submitted a bid to get this job, the navy accepted my bid, and I’m paying these guys the going rate. It’s not my problem that some yardbird thinks they should be paid less.’

‘Who awarded you the contract?’ Emma asked.

Carmody hesitated, but just for a second. ‘NAVSEA,’ he said.

‘Who?’ DeMarco said.

‘It’s not a person,’ Emma said. ‘NAVSEA is the Naval Sea Systems Command. A navy headquarters outfit back in D.C.’

‘Right,’ Carmody said. ‘You people could have saved yourself the trip out here. Somebody at NAVSEA could have given you the same information I just did.’

DeMarco wished he had known that before he flew out to Bremerton.

‘But who specifically at NAVSEA?’ Emma said. ‘Who’s the individual that awarded you the contract?’

‘I don’t know,’ Carmody said. ‘Whoever handles this sort of thing back in Washington, I guess.’

Carmody’s response had been casual but DeMarco had been looking at his arms when he spoke. Carmody was holding a coffee cup in both hands and when he answered the last question, he squeezed the cup hard enough that the muscles in his forearms jumped. DeMarco would hate to have to arm wrestle this guy.

Emma stared at Carmody for a moment but before she could say anything else, Carmody stood up. ‘Hey, it’s been great talking to you but I have a meeting I have to get to. All I can tell you is that the review we’re doing is needed, our billing rates are not out of line, and I was low bidder on the job. If you have any more questions you need to talk to the people back in D.C. who awarded me the contract.’

As they walked back toward Emma’s rental car, she said, ‘What do you think?’

DeMarco shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Norton and Mulherin didn’t exactly strike me as rocket scientists but the study sounds legit, and as for Carmody, he seems pretty sharp.’

‘Yes, he does,’ Emma said. She paused before she added, ‘He reminds me of mercenaries I’ve known.’