Harold Robbins Organized Crime Double

by Harold Robbins

  I took my foot off the running board and shrugged my shoulders. “Who knows?” I asked. His car started to roll slowly. I walked along with it. “Maybe I’ll be lucky,” I said.

  He stepped on the gas and drove off. I walked over to my car slowly. When I got in I laughed a little to myself. Maybe I’ll be lucky, I had said. But that wasn’t all there was to it—you had to be smart too.

  78

  About eleven o’clock the next morning I got a phone call from Alex Carson. His voice sounded good for the first time in weeks. “Frank,” he said, “the Bar Association dropped its charges against me this morning.”

  That was in order. It was one of the things I had arranged with Jerry. I acted surprised. “That’s swell!” I said. “Get down here and we’ll have a drink on it.”

  I hung up the phone and called Flix into the office. The next thing I wanted to do was to get Fennelli over here. And I knew he wouldn’t come merely by invitation; so I sent Flix after him.

  Alex came into the office a half hour after he had called. I got up and shook hands with him. “Congratulations!” I said. “I knew you’d make out all right.”

  He grinned. “They had me worried there for a while, I still don’t understand why they dropped it.”

  “Sit down,” I said. “I’ll tell you why.”

  We sat down and I explained the whole setup to him. When I had finished he let out a long, low whistle. “Do you think you can get away with it, Frank?” he asked.

  I nodded my head. “With your help I can.”

  He stood up. “You can count on me.”

  “Swell!” I said. “Stick around, I want you here when Silk shows up.”

  Flix brought Silk in about three o’clock. Silk walked over to my desk and threw his hat down on it. “You didn’t have to send that lug over for me, Frank,” he said evenly. He even managed to get a slightly reproachful note in his voice. “All you had to do was call me.”

  I smiled at him. “You know how it is, Silk. I didn’t want to do you any less honor than you did me.”

  He skipped right over that crack and came right to the point. “Well, what do you want?”

  I looked up at him a moment. This was important. If he didn’t bite right I was a cooked goose. “You know my idea when we started this thing. The agreement was made to keep the industry in order. Of late you seemed to have other ideas—your own ideas on running the business. It would be very simple for me to have you knocked off—maybe a lot simpler than having Flix bring you out here, but that’s not the way I do business. I run this as a regular business and I don’t want any trouble. So I’ve decided to buy you out.”

  He drew his lips back slightly over his white even teeth. “Just what does that mean?”

  “That means you give up your territory to me and get out of the business,” I answered quietly.

  “And how much are you offering?” he asked.

  “One hundred grand,” I replied.

  He leaned forward against the desk. “That’s only my share of what’s in the pool,” he said coldly. “I take a quarter of a million a year out of my territory alone.”

  “I know that,” I said.

  “And the pool pays about two hundred grand a year,” he continued.

  “I know that too,” I said.

  He was quiet a minute, then he spoke again. “And what if I don’t sell?”

  I shrugged my shoulders and didn’t answer.

  He sat down in a chair quietly and I watched him. Let him take his time, let him think about it. He’ll come to the right answer. A few minutes passed by. His face remained impassive, unreadable; just his hands opened and closed.

  At last he spoke. “What if I offered to buy you out?”

  The fish was on the hook. “Not interested,” I answered noncommittally.

  He stood up and walked around the desk to me. I looked up at him. “I mean for real dough,” he said, “a quarter of a million.”

  I let his offer slide off. “I’m buying you out,” I reminded him. “I’m not interested in selling.”

  He walked back to his seat and sat down. He took a cigar out of his pocket and lit it nervously. “Three hundred grand and a share of the profits,” he offered.

  I looked at him. “You interest me strangely,” I said. “How much of a share?”

  “A half share, payable monthly.”

  I switched my line. “I got to think about it. This is too sweet to give up.”

  He was pushing now. This was something he had wanted for a hell of a long time. Only he didn’t know he was going to get it. “Frank,” he urged, “it would be just the thing for you. No work—you can do anything you want outside this racket. Why, you could live on the fat of the land. Travel—women—anything you want.”

  It was my turn to stand up and play dummy. “It sounds good to me,” I said, “but how do I know you’ll play ball?”

  “Certified checks in the morning sound convincing enough?” he asked.

  I stalled a few seconds more, then gave in. “O.K., Silk, it’s yours.”

  He stood up and held out his hand. “You won’t be sorry, kid,” he said. “Remember what I told you when you first came to me. I said you’d make a lot of money then, and I wasn’t wrong, was I?”

  I smiled at him. “You weren’t.”

  We shook hands on the deal.

  The next morning at eleven o’clock Silk came into the office. Carson and I were there already.

  “Got the checks ready?” I asked.

  He nodded and took them out and put them on the desk. “Made out just like you said: to Alexander Carson for services rendered.”

  I looked at them. He was right. I gave them to Alex. Alex endorsed them and handed them back to me. I pressed the buzzer for Miss Walsh. She came in with the envelope I had told her to have ready. I put the checks in the envelope, and she left the room while I was putting the envelope into my jacket pocket.

  I looked up at the two of them. “This calls for a drink,” I said, and brought out the old bottle.

  When we had had our drinks I told Alex to take Silk out and show him around the place. They left the room together.

  I called for Mackson, and he brought up the checks I had ordered him to draw up. I looked at them. They were all there: the pool split up into component parts as of this date. I signed them and gave them to Miss Walsh to send out. I had everyone paid off, even Silk. Then I left the office by the private elevator and went over to the hotel.

  Joe Price was waiting in my apartment. I gave him the envelope containing the checks Silk had given me. “You know what to do with this,” I said.

  He nodded. That was figured out too. An account had been opened in each of the banks where Silk had accounts. They were in the name of my new company. The checks would be properly deposited in each account. I left him and went back to the office.

  An hour later Joe called me. “Everything’s O.K., Frank,” he said.

  I hung up the phone. For a moment I hesitated; then I drew a deep breath and dialed a private number.

  For a few seconds the phone at the other end buzzed, then I heard Jerry’s voice: “Cowan.”

  “Frank,” I replied. “It’s your party!” and put the phone down.

  A few minutes later Fennelli and Carson came back to the office. Silk was pleased. He had a broad smile on his face. “What a setup! Frank,” he said. “I knew it was big, but I didn’t know how big it really was.”

  I stood up. “It’s not half bad!” I smiled. “How about another drink? We’ll get into the operations tomorrow.”

  He followed me over to the liquor cabinet. I took out a bottle, filled three glasses, and handed one to each of them. “Here’s luck!” I said, and tossed mine off.

  Alex downed his, saying the same thing: “Here’s luck!”

  Silk just smiled and swallowed his drink. He was looking at me expansively. Suddenly he walked around the desk and sat down in my chair and put his feet up on the desk. He waved his hand. “Take
a seat.”

  I smiled to myself. He didn’t know just how hot that seat could get, but he’d find out fast enough. I sat down in a chair in front of my desk and looked at Silk. He smiled back at me.

  Suddenly the door behind me opened. I didn’t turn around. I knew who it was.

  79

  Silk jumped to his feet. “What the hell is coming off here!” he shouted.

  I stood up and turned around slowly. There were four men in my office. Flix had been shoved to one side, and one of the men had a gun pointed at his belly.

  One of the men walked over to me. “Frank Kane?” he asked. I nodded.

  “We have a warrant for your arrest on a charge of conspiracy and bribing of public officials of the State of New York. We have a further warrant and subpoena pertaining to the examination of the books of Frank Kane Enterprises.”

  Carson stepped forward. “Have you a writ of extradition?”

  The man nodded.

  “Let me see it,” Carson demanded.

  The man gave some papers to Carson. Carson examined them carefully, then handed them back to the man. He turned to me. “It looks as if they’ve got everything figured out, Frank. You’ll have to go with them.”

  I stepped forward silently.

  The man walked past me to Silk. “Giuseppe Fennelli?” he asked.

  The trial was completed the last day in June. On that morning Jerry got up in court and threw in the bombshell. He walked past where Fennelli and I were sitting. I looked up at him gravely. He didn’t look at us. His face was white and grim as he turned toward the jury box.

  “Gentlemen of the jury,” he began, “this morning we received from the accountants the results of the detailed examination of the books and records of Frank Kane Enterprises. The examination had been conducted jointly by the agreement with the governments of the States of New York and New Jersey and with the co-operation of the Treasury Department of the United States. I wish to enter as evidence their joint report of the examination.” He held up a sheaf of papers. He looked at them a moment, then turned the first page and read from it. The first few lines were certificates from the various examiners. Then he read: “We the examiners find Frank Kane Enterprises, as originally conceived by the defendant Frank Kane, to be a legitimate and honest business insomuch as the defendant Frank Kane is concerned. We find that the financing of said business was arranged by one Giuseppe Fennelli, and that the intention of Mr. Kane was at no time to engage in the principal business of his financier. Toward that end Mr. Kane directed his efforts.

  “He engaged in the purchase and sale of various businesses and securities such as he deemed necessary to the welfare of his business. During such time as Mr. Kane was conducting his business properly, his financier, Mr. Fennelli, was running a business within a business. Or more properly, Mr. Fennelli was engaging in his business of gambling and bookmaking, using Frank Kane Enterprises as a cloak for his enterprise.

  “We are convinced that Mr. Kane at no time suspected that such uses were being made of his organization until very recently. Upon being convinced of such malpractices, Mr. Kane immediately took steps to dissolve his organization and returned to other investors in his company, including Mr. Fennelli, the amount of their respective interests with a letter explaining the reasons therefore.”

  Jerry turned and walked back from the jury box and placed the papers on his desk. Then he walked back to the jury box. He stood there quietly a moment. Then he began to speak again.

  “Gentlemen, in view of the evidence I have just introduced, I have been convinced that a great wrong and injustice is being done to Mr. Kane. His entire attitude during this investigation has been one of patience and co-operation.”

  He turned and looked at me, his face was pale and his eyes were bleak.

  “Gentlemen of the jury, the prosecution asks that a verdict of not guilty be returned to Mr. Kane—”

  The words were no sooner out of his mouth than pandemonium broke loose in the court.

  Silk jumped to his feet and grabbed me by the back of the collar and pulled me out of my chair. I turned and tried to get his hands loose from my clothing. Flashbulbs went off, and the crowd in the court surged forward trying to see what was happening. A court attendant pried Silk from me. I stood up and tried to straighten my clothing.

  The judge banged his gavel down hard. An attendant cried: “Order in the court!” The noise didn’t subside, and the judge ordered the court cleared. Police went down the aisles emptying the court, and in a few moments all was quiet.

  An hour later the jury retired to consider the evidence and reach a verdict. They returned to the court at four thirty. Fennelli and I were instructed to stand up and face the jury. We did.

  I looked over at Jerry. He sat at his desk glumly, not glancing in my direction. The court was empty except for the press. Suddenly my throat went dry. What if something had gone wrong? What if I had come this far only to lose? A pulse began beating in my forehead. I could feel the color draining from my face, and I was angry with myself. I wanted to appear calm, contained. But my hand shook a little.

  The judge looked at the jury. “Gentlemen of the jury, have you reached a verdict?”

  The foreman replied: “We have, Your Honor.” He cleared his throat and looked down at a sheaf of paper he held in his hand. He began to read from it.

  “We the jury find the defendant Giuseppe Fennelli guilty as charged.”

  Fennelli suddenly slumped into his chair, his face ashen. A court attendant came forward with a glass of water, but Fennelli waved him away.

  I remained standing as I was, still facing the jury. The pulse in my forehead was really jamming now.

  The foreman of the jury continued: “We the jury find the defendant Frank Kane”—he paused for a moment, consciously dramatic—“not guilty.”

  Carson turned to me and grabbed my hand and began shaking it. He spoke low; only I could hear his words. “You did it, Frank, you did it!”

  I turned and looked past him at Fennelli. Fennelli was staring at me, his hands clenched in front of him, his eyes burning into mine. Slowly I walked around the table past him. I could feel Silk’s hand brush against my coat as I walked by. I paid no attention to it but continued walking—to the court grille, into the aisle, up to the door, out the door into the hall, down the hall to the street. And all the way I could feel his eyes burning hate into the back of my head.

  Carson came running up to me. “Where are you going?” he asked.

  I looked up at the sun. Its white, blinding light burned into my eyes and made me feel warm where before I had been cold inside. I lifted my hands to my eyes, shading them from the sun. “For a drink,” I said, my voice shaking a little. “I need one bad.”

  I left him standing on the steps looking after me. I went around the corner. There was a saloon there. I pushed my way through the old-fashioned swinging doors and went into the bar.

  “Double whisky,” I said to the barkeep. He placed the drink in front of me, and I ordered another. I stood there for a few moments looking at it, then began to raise it to my lips. Someone touched me on the shoulder.

  I turned slowly. It was Flix. His face was impassive. “You made it?”

  “I made it.”

  “What about him?” Flix asked, jerking his finger toward the door.

  I knew who he meant. “He didn’t make it,” I said, swallowing my drink and ordering another. “Have one, Flix?”

  Flix ordered the same. We stood there side by side. The bar was fairly crowded and we were pressed closely against each other. I could feel a gun in his pocket. Flix lifted his drink. “How much time do you think he’ll get?” he asked, his voice flat and quiet.

  “About ten years—with time off.”

  Flix swallowed his drink. His voice was still low and quiet. “He’s not going to let you get away with it.”

  I turned to Flix. I was beginning to come out of the fog. “How do you know?”

  Flix shrugged his sh
oulders. “It figures.”

  Suddenly I was alive again. Flix was right. Jail wasn’t enough to stop a guy like Silk. He could pull wires from inside. I stuck my hand inside my jacket pocket for money to pay for the drinks. My hands closed about a bit of paper in there. I took it out and spread it flat on the bar to read.

  “I’ll get you for this,” it said. That was all. No signature—it didn’t need any.

  I looked at Flix. His face was impassive. I ordered two more drinks. The barkeep set them down in front of us. I picked mine up and turned to Flix. “Here’s to your sister!” I said.

  He was fast. He lifted his glass and we drank.

  I half finished my drink then spoke again. “Here’s to ten grand!”

  We finished the drinks and the barkeep brought two more.

  “How do you pay?” Flix asked.

  “Usual terms,” I answered. “Fifty percent down, balance upon delivery.”

  We downed our drinks and I threw a five-dollar bill on the counter to pay for the drinks and we walked out.

  We stood in the street a moment. I looked at him. “Carson will give you the dough. Contact him tomorrow.”

  He nodded.

  I flagged a passing cab. It screeched to a stop in front of me. I got into the cab. “So long, Flix,” I said.

  His face was calm. “So long—hard guy!”

  I sat back against the cushion as the cab drove off. This was bad. Someday I would have to deal with Flix—but that would be later. I was snapped out of my reverie by the cab driver.

  “I can drive all day, boss,” he said, “but don’t you want to go somewhere?”

  80

  I went back to my apartment and changed my clothes. Then I ordered the car out and drove back to New York.

  On the other side of the bridge I pulled over to a newsstand and bought the Evening Journal. There was a big red scare-streamer headline across the top of the page: “KANE FREED—FENNELLI GUILTY.” Below it was a black lead line: “Cowan Smashes Rackets.” There was a picture of Jerry leaving court after the trial. The caption below it read: “Jerome Cowan, Racket Buster.” He was smiling into the camera.