Page 53 of The Lie Maker

“Yale, perhaps? Harvard?”

“You got a point you want to make?”

“Pick a school,” Michael said. “Make your choice, and we can make it happen.”

“How the hell can you do that?” Gartner asked.

Michael smiled. “All we would ask in return is that you end this organized effort with your friends in other jurisdictions.”

“Stop making waves,” Gartner said.

Michael smiled again. “Yes. Mr.Gartner, we currently have a mutually beneficial relationship. You supply linens to all our businesses in this area. It is a lucrative contract and, knowing what you pay your employees, which is not all that much, we know that you’re making a substantial profit.”

“You’re not counting the money I slide under the table to your boss.”

“That’s a fee that is in no way unusual in the business world, and for a man of your experience it’s naïve to think otherwise. But that’s all immaterial. What I came here to discuss with you today is your children’s future.”

“You’re bribing me with my children’s future,” Gartner said, raising his chin, tilting his head, as though listening to something Michael could not hear.

“If you like,” Michael said.

“You hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“Some kind of rattle. I hate rattles. Anyway, okay, listen.” Gartner took a long, surrendering breath. “You can really make it happen? These college admissions people, you have some sway with them?”

“We do,” Michael said. “Mr.Frohm has more people in his debt, in a wide variety of fields, than you could imagine.”

Gartner was nodding slowly. Michael was afraid to feel hopeful, but things appeared to be turning his way.

“Are you sure you don’t hear that?” Gartner asked.

Michael tried to pick up what Gartner was hearing. “I don’t think so, but it’s your car and you’re more attuned to it than I am.”

“It might not even be the car,” he said. “Maybe my guy left something loose in the trunk. Gonna pull over for a second.”

At that moment, they were driving through a desolate area, what was probably once a thriving industrial district but was now home to abandoned buildings and debris-strewn sidewalks, with not a soul in sight.

Gartner brought the car to a stop, killed the engine, and took out the key. He needed the other key on the ring to open the trunk. No remote releases on a car this old. Michael sat in the passenger seat while Gartner got out and went around to the back of the Charger.

“Oh, shit,” Gartner said, looking down into the trunk, now open.

His curiosity piqued, Michael got out of the car, leaving the door open, and was walking toward the back of the car when Gartner appeared from behind the trunk lid, tire iron in hand.

He took a wild swing at Michael. Caught by surprise, he did not have time to deflect the first blow, which hit him on the left forearm, striking bone.

“Fuck!” Michael shouted, staggering back several steps, clamping a hand over where he’d been hit.

Gartner advanced, wild eyed. “Tell your fucking boss I don’t care if he offers to send my kids to the fucking moon, I’m not backing down. I’m talking to my associates tomorrow. We’re going to the FBI or the anti-rackets squad or whoever the hell it is who’ll take that son of a bitch down.”

“Abel, listen to me, you can’t—”

Gartner closed the distance and swung again, but this time Michael ducked and lunged forward, tackling the man around the waist and throwing him down to the cracked pavement. As Gartner’s hand hit the asphalt, the tire iron slipped from his grasp. Michael, crablike, scrambled for it, Gartner clutching at his legs, trying to stop him.

But Michael got his hand on the angled metal rod and rolled onto his back, readying himself to get onto his feet, but now Gartner was over him, getting ready to pounce.

Michael swung.