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“But after the fact.”
“What fact? Is it wrecked? Stolen? What?”
Stevens looked at Koch a moment, then said, “If you’ll excuse me a moment, I’ve got something for you.”
He put down his coffee cup on a table next to one of the armchairs, then went across the apartment, back to a door that was on the far side of the kitchen, opened it, and went through it. The door was left ajar, and Koch could see the foot of a bed inside.
What the hell did he mean by “after the fact”?
He shook his head as he walked over to the window. He looked out over the ocean, idly wondering where out there his U-boat was. Koch heard Stevens’s footsteps again, then his voice, now chipper, saying, “Here it is.”
He turned and saw that Stevens held a brown accordion folder and was pulling out an eight-by-ten envelope with R KOCH handwritten on it in black ink.
Stevens extended the envelope to Koch. He took it, squeezed upright the brass clasp holding the flap, opened the envelope, then peered inside. He saw papers—the letter he had sent (it still had the twenty-dollar bill in it), some sort of accounting sheet, and a stack of bills, mostly fifties, bound by rubber band—and pulled them out.
“Eight hundred forty-five dollars, less my commission,” Stevens said proudly as Koch fanned through the money. “More than the blue book’s retail value, even after deducting my fees.”
Koch was now reading the accounting sheet that accompanied the cash.
“You sold my car?” he said, incredulous.
“For a mint!” Stevens replied.
“Who said you could sell my goddamned car?” Koch said. “And what am I going to do now?”
“I didn’t need your permission,” Stevens said somewhat piously. “The law allows for the placing of a lien after failure to make payment on the storage and maintenance of a vehicle—”
“But I paid you in advance!” Koch said, his temper building. He was about to pull out his Walther but stopped himself.
“Not for the full period,” Stevens replied. “Regardless, that’s a mere technicality. I got you a very good deal. You should thank me.”
“I should fucking shoot you,” Koch snapped, then was immediately sorry that he did.
Stevens, his face showing fear, took a step back.
Don’t be stupid, Koch told himself. Think!
Stevens watched with real interest as Koch, nervous as well as agitated, pulled a wrinkled pack of cigarettes from a pocket of his shorts and lit one. The pack had a drawing of a black horse head and the brand name Derby.
Koch ignored the interest, and, after taking a long drag and exhaling, looked again at the accounting form.
Stevens said, “It’s all accounted for there on the sheet. There’s no need to be this way. You were gone quite a long time, longer than you said—”
Koch looked up at him. “Where’s my car?” he said forcefully. “I mean, who bought it?”
Stevens opened his mouth to speak but then closed it without uttering a sound. He thought something over, then shrugged and finally said, “I can get that information—I’m not required to share it—but I’ll have to check my files for it.”
“How long will that take?”
“An hour, maybe less. It’s been sold for at least six months. Getting to the paper could take some digging. Do you have to have it now?”
He’s right. I don’t. Even if I had the information on who bought it, I’d still need to find the guy. Right now, I need wheels.
“I need wheels,” Koch said. “Where can I get another car—and I mean now!”
“I understand,” Stevens said, thinking about it, “but I’m afraid that I don’t have any cars right now.”
“Shit!”
