center, 100 percent FDA approved. The largest tablets of OxyContin were 80 milligrams. At a buck a milligram, one 80 mg pill was worth eighty bucks, and they came in bottles of a hundred. That meant one little bottle was worth eight thousand dollars. A truckload—thirty million or more.
Noccia had a big problem. He was desperate to control the damage and at the same time he couldn’t let anyone know he was dealing in pharmaceuticals. So instead of turning his own crew loose on the underground, he’d come to me.
More people died from illegal prescription drugs than all the street drugs combined. This was a very bad business and I wanted no part of it.
Noccia leaned in toward me, fixed me with his big brown eyes. “I’ve been waiting thirty years to say this, Jack. I’m gonna make you an offer you can’t refuse.”
CHAPTER 13
I GAVE NOCCIA a smile I didn’t mean and said, “Carmine, I don’t do drug-recovery missions. We do corporate work. Government contracts. You know.”
“You do more than that, Jack, but that’s your business. I’ll give you ten percent of the street value. That’s three million dollars—cash. All you have to do is find the merchandise. With your connections, it’ll take you a few days, tops. Three million dollars, Jack. How many cheating husbands do you have to tail to make that?”
Cody buzzed me on the intercom. “Mr. Morgan, your nine o’clock is here.”
I said to Carmine, “I wish I could help you, but this isn’t my kind of work.”
I ran my eyes over my schedule; my appointments were stacked up like incoming aircraft at LAX, every half hour to the end of the day. I thought about Colleen, lying on a cold slab, the medical examiner slicing her open from her collarbone to her bikini line.
As I sat here, cops were going through my house, putting my life under their Slap Chop while Carmine Noccia dangled millions of dirty dollars in front of my face.
I lifted my eyes and looked at the mafioso with a big future, a future that had now been compromised by the loss of a monumental inventory and three men.
Carmine’s expression was cold. No more kiddin’ around with Godfather lines. He interlaced his manicured fingers on my desk.
“I’ll double your take to twenty percent,” he said. “Tax free, six million in cash.”
The bigger the offer, the more I wanted nothing to do with it—or him.
“Thanks, but I’m not interested, Carmine,” I said. “I’m sorry, I’ve got another meeting.” I got to my feet.
Noccia also stood up.
We were the same height.
“You misunderstand me, Jack. You’ve got the job. What you want to tell me is how fast you can recover my merchandise—because very soon those goods will be all over the country and I’ll be out thirty unacceptable million. Call me when you have the van.”
“No, Carmine,” I said again. “No can do.”
“What part of ‘can’t refuse’ don’t you get, Jack? You know where I’m going. ‘Never a better friend.’ I’m calling in my marker. Here’s my number,” he said, writing it across an envelope. “Stay in touch.”
He tossed the pen down and it skidded across my desk as he walked away.
I heard Noccia say to Cody, “I can find my way out.”
I sat back in my chair and looked out at the wide cityscape of downtown LA. If I didn’t take the job, what would happen? Was I prepared to go to war with the Noccia family?
I got Del Rio on the line, kicked it around for a few minutes: what was possible, what was the wisest, safest plan of attack. Rick said his piece. I said mine. And then we kicked it around a little more.
When we had a working plan, I asked Cody to show my nine o’clock appointment into my office.
CHAPTER 14
THE ATTRACTIVE WOMAN sitting in a blue armchair made me think of old black-and-white gumshoe movies adapted from novels by Chandler, Hammett, Spillane.
Amelia Poole looked like Sam Spade’s new client: glamorous white female, late thirties, short brown hair, no bling on her ring finger.
In place of a cigarette holder and a fox fur around her neck, Ms. Poole gripped an iPhone and had a fine necklace of gold chains and diamonds at her throat.
“Looks like you pulled an all-nighter, Mr. Morgan,” Ms. Poole said with a quick grin, stashing her phone in her handbag. “I know because I just pulled an all-nighter myself.”
“I’m sure yours was more interesting than mine,” I said, flashing on Del Rio’s bedroom with