by Stuart Woods
“I’m going to buy one.”
She handed him a key. “This is for the garage. You can use it immediately. I’ll want it back, if the sale doesn’t close.”
“Okay.”
“Can I buy you a celebratory lunch?”
“Sure, you can,” Mick said. He felt warm all over.
11
Bob Cantor flopped down in the chair next to Stone’s desk. “What have you got?” Stone asked.
“This could be good for your client.”
“How’s that?”
“Mickey O’Brien hit it big,” Cantor said. “Probably a fixed race.”
“How big?”
“Well, he paid a visit to his bank this morning and made a deposit and got cash back, a transaction that required the approval of the manager; that indicates a substantial sum. Tiny Blanco, a known bookie, was waiting outside, and Mickey paid him. Then he ambled down the street and went into a real estate office, then a woman agent took him to look at three houses. He bought the best one, a duplex and two rental apartments and a garage.”
“How much?”
“Just a guess: a million and a half. And the only other way he could have come into that much money, I figure, is to murder his mother, who’s quite well off. But she’s still alive. The other good news is, he’s not going to need your client’s money, not until he makes a few more bad bets, anyway, which he will surely do.”
* * *
—
Mickey met Geraldine Conner in the bar at the River Café, the swankiest place in Brooklyn. She had dressed for the occasion and looked great. They had a champagne cocktail, then they were shown to their table, overlooking the East River and Lower Manhattan.
“This is gorgeous!” she said. “I’ve heard about this place, but I’ve never been here.”
They had a look at the menu. “You were the talk of the bank yesterday,” she said. “I mean, nobody just walks in and deposits two million dollars in his personal checking account.”
“Bankers talk, do they?”
“Just among themselves, not to anybody else.”
“I bought a house yesterday,” he said.
“A whole house?”
“A duplex and two rental apartments, not far from here.”
“Oh, wow. You’re having a good week!”
“I certainly am.”
“When do you close?”
“Tomorrow.”
“That’s fast.”
“My lawyer is handling it.” He looked at his watch. “He’d better be reading the contract right now.”
They dined and drank until ten o’clock. “I’d ask you back to my place for a nightcap,” Mickey said, “but there’s no furniture yet.”
“Well, we’d better go back to my house,” Gerry said. “My roommates have got a rental in the Hamptons, and they’re out there.”
“Invitation accepted,” Mickey said.
* * *
—
Mickey stumbled out of her place around two am and walked back to his mother’s house, all aglow.
* * *
—
Jack Coulter sat at a table in the sun and worked on his tan. His nose, under the plastic protector, had become very white. A waiter brought him a second cup of coffee, and a busboy took away his breakfast dishes. His phone rang. He looked around, found nobody within range, and answered it.
“Yeah?”
“Johnny. You know who this is.”
“Yeah. You’re late, Vinnie.”
“My boss says to tell you there won’t be any more money.”
“Did he say why?”
“He doesn’t have to. He’s the boss. Me, I figure he thinks you’ve gotten all your money back and more, and he ain’t giving you no more.”
“You tell him for me that I want last week’s vig and a refund of the mil I gave you in the beginning in my bank account by noon tomorrow.”
“Or what?”
“Or you’re both dead within a week, that’s what. And if you think I’m kidding, you’re already dead.”
“Johnny . . .”
“You see, I know exactly where you both are, but you don’t know where I am. Got it?”
“Yeah, but . . .”
“You’ve got the message,” Jack said. “Deliver it, and if he doesn’t come through by noon tomorrow, get a head start on your funeral arrangements. Both of you. Goodbye, and I mean goodbye.” Jack hung up. He didn’t run, and he wasn’t afraid. He knew what he had to do and how to do it, and they couldn’t get at him.
* * *
—
Vinnie, the bookie, didn’t walk—he walked fast from his position at the post, out of the track, and across the parking lot to an Airstream trailer parked at the outer edge, next to an old-fashioned telephone pole that was festooned with aerials and satellite dishes. He knocked on the door.
“Who is it?” a muffled voice replied.
“It’s Vinnie. I gotta talk to him.”
There was some muttering, then the sound of something being unlocked, and the door opened. “Get in here,” a man said from behind the door.
Vinnie got in there, and the door slammed and was locked behind him. His boss, Manny, sat at the breakfast table of the trailer, which sported three phones and a calculator. A man was seated across the table, packing stacks of hundreds into air-shipping boxes.
“What?” Manny inquired, not looking up.
“You might want to hear this alone,” Vinnie said.
Now Manny looked at him. “Are you serious?”
“Oh, yeah.”
Manny tapped the money packer on the arm and jerked a thumb toward the opposite end of the table. “Lose yourself, but don’t go out.”
The man did the best he could, given the confines of the trailer.
“Sit,” Manny said. He had always been a man of few words.
Vinnie sat. “Johnny Fratelli called.”
“I figured, when he didn’t get his money.”
“Manny, I’m going to tell you exactly what he said, to the best of my recall. I want you to remember that I didn’t say any of this. Johnny did.”
“Right.”
Vinnie repeated his conversation with John Fratelli, word for word, with the emphasis in all the right places.
“He’s kidding right? He thinks he can threaten us?”
“Manny, when we was in the joint together, Johnny had a reputation. Well, he had more than one reputation, but the big one was about threats.”
“What about threats?”
“He didn’t make threats. He made promises, and he always kept them. Always.”
Manny looked just a little impressed. “Yeah?”
“I saw it happen time and again, over fifteen years. He never failed to come through, not once. If Johnny said it was going to happen, it happened.”
Manny made a swallowing noise and looked around, as if for help. He was unaccustomed to being threatened. He had known Johnny Fratelli well enough to believe what Vinnie was saying.
“You know where he is?”
“No,” Vinnie said. “He always uses throwaways, then he throws them away. The important thing is: he knows where you and I are. He knows where this trailer is. Can you imagine how much money you would lose if this trailer got burned up?”
“Did he say he would do that?”
“No, he just said we have until noon tomorrow for his mil and the vig from last week to turn up in his account.”
“Or what?”
“He didn’t say how, just that it would happen. Then he said, ‘Get a head start on your funeral arrangements. Both of you.’ ”
“Pay him,” Manny said. “And make sure the amount is correct.” He pointed at the money packer and jerked a thumb toward the unpacked money. “Beat it, Vinnie.”
Vinnie beat it. And he was already on the phone to the money guy, with instructions.
12
Mickey woke early, then went to the kitchen upstairs and made his mother’s favorite, scrambled eggs, for breakfast. He set everything on the tray, then warmed the coffeepot with hot water before pouring in the coffee and replacing the lid. He found a little vase and put into it a single rose, from a bunch on the windowsill, then he poured a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, set the New York Times on the tray, and carried it into her bedroom, where she was just waking up.
“What’s this?” she asked as he set the tray beside her, then pressed the button that raised her bed to a sitting position.
“Just breakfast,” he said, setting the tray on her lap. “It’s the least I can do.”
“Use the money well,” she said, “but not on the horses. That’s over, or your inheritance ends there.”
“Gotcha. May I have some advice?”
“Well, that’s new. What do you need?”
“Are you happy with your stockbroker?”
“Very.”
“May I have his name and number? I want to invest about half the money.”
“His card is in my center desk drawer,” she said. “Take his advice.”
“I’ll do that.”
“What are you doing with the rest of the money?”
“Well, I bought a house.” He gave her the address. “A duplex and two rental apartments and a garage.”
“Good move. I suppose you’ll need a car to fill the garage.”
“It crossed my mind.”
“There’s also a card in my desk for a man named Herman Goldsmith. He deals in high-end cars, independently; he’ll find you what you want.”
“Great. I need some clothes, too. The rest I’ll spend on wine, women, and song.”
“You’re entitled. Now, let me eat my breakfast and read my newspaper before the eggs get cold.”
Mickey called the broker and made an appointment, then he got ready to go out. He was early, so he called Herman Goldsmith. “I’m Michael O’Brien. My mother, Louise, sent me to you.”
“Great. Nice lady. What can I do for you?” the man asked.
“I want a Mercedes S-Class four-door, loaded.”
“What color?”
“A nice shade of silver would be good.”
“Interior leather?”
“Tan or dark brown.”
“Give me your cell number, and I’ll get back to you.”
They both hung up, and Mickey went to see the broker. An hour later he was a growth-oriented shareholder.
He was waiting for the elevator when Herman Goldsmith called.
“Check your e-mail. You’ll find pictures and equipment lists for three Mercedes S 560s. One of them has the sports engine and package, which is very expensive. They are available immediately. Call me.” He hung up.
Mickey let the elevator slide and made himself comfortable in the broker’s waiting room while he checked out the photos of the cars and their prices. He called Herman back. “I’d like the one with the dark brown leather.”
“Where do you want it delivered?”
Mickey gave him the address of his new house. “What time?”
“An hour and a half. The guy will give you a package with the invoice, title, and other stuff. You give him a check for the amount of the invoice. My company name is on it.”
“Thank you, Herman.”
“Anytime. My best to Louise.” They both hung up.
As Mickey left the building he saw something he had seen when he had left the house: a gray van with the name of a plumber emblazoned on its panels. It had darkened windows, too. Odd, he thought, that he should see the same van in two different places on the same morning.
He walked down the street for a block and stopped before a store window that gave him the reflection of the street behind him. The van pulled out of its parking spot, drove past him for a couple of blocks, then made a turn and was gone. He had gotten spooked for nothing. Besides, who would give a damn how he was spending his morning?
* * *
—
Mickey was at his new house with the garage door open, when his new car showed up on time. He did a walk-around with the deliverer, pronounced it okay, and wrote a check. The guy gave him the envelope with the window-sticker, the title, and the invoice marked Paid.
He showed Mickey how to set up the electronics, then left. Mickey got into the car and started it. The thing made a beautiful noise.
* * *
—
Jack Coulter turned on his iPhone at 11:00 am and logged onto his offshore bank account. No sign of the money he had demanded. Well, they had another hour. He sat by the pool until noon, then called back; the money was there, all of it. It paid to be remembered as someone who kept his promises, he reflected.
Hillary came down from their apartment at the Breakers, and they ordered a good lunch.
“I’ve had some interesting news this morning,” she said over her lobster salad.
“Tell me.”
“We’ve had an offer for the company,” she said.
“That is interesting.”
“My share would be just over a billion dollars, and that’s after taxes.”
Jack had just stuffed a large piece of lobster into his mouth and he chewed it carefully for a while before swallowing. He considered that the delay might make him appear thoughtful. “That’s very nice,” he said finally, keeping calm. “Is it a first offer?”
“Yes.”
“Turn it down,” he replied.
“Are you sure?”
“Always turn down a first offer. Ask for twenty percent more, then take fifteen.”
“All right,” she said, picking up her phone.
Jack went to the men’s room to give her some privacy. When he came back, she was smiling. “They went for it,” she said. “You made me a million and a half dollars more on the transaction. That’s your commission: a million and a half.”
“Sweetheart, you don’t need to do that.”
“Yes, I do,” she said, “so don’t argue with me!” She kissed him.
“You win,” he said.
13
Mickey was back in the real estate office in time for the closing. Marge had taken care of everything; all he had to do was sign a lot of stuff, then call the bank and do the wire transfer.
“Congratulations,” Marge said when they were done. “You’re officially a homeowner. When do you move in?”
“Hey, wait a minute. I don’t have a stick of furniture.”
“I’ve got a friend in SoHo who sells and rents all sorts of furniture.”
“Rents?”
“For theatrical productions and movies. She’ll sell you anything she’s got, right off the floor, and the prices are good.”
“How about you be my decorator?” he said.
“I do that sort of thing,” she said. “How much do you want to spend?”
“How much stuff will twenty grand get me?”
“Fully furnished?”
“Yep.”
“Better start with fifty thousand. That will get you the basics, and you can fill in the gaps later.”
“You do it,” he said.
“You’d trust me to do that?”
“You’ll do a better job than I would.” He unsnapped a key from the ring she had given him. “Let me know when it’s done.”
“It’ll be faster than you think. Tell you what, give me three days, then you can come and take a look at what I’ve done.”
“You’ve got a deal,” he said.
“I get ten percent of what you spend.”
“Done. Call me, if you need more.” He gave her a credit card. “Put it on this. It has a zero balance
.”
“You want art, too?”
“Sure. You pick it out.”
“I’ll need to spend another fifteen grand on that.”
“Okay. One thing I want is an electric bed. Two electric singles with king sheets and a duvet on top.”
“I can do that. You come to the house at five o’clock on Friday. No peeking before that.”
“You’ve got a date,” he said. “Then I’ll buy you dinner.”
“Done.”
* * *
—
When Stone came down to work, Bob Cantor was waiting for him. “Let me save you some money and pull my guys off Mickey O’Brien,” he said.
“Why?”
“He’s bought a house, and a woman is decorating it for him. He opened an account with a stockbroker. He bought a new Mercedes S560. He’s not after your client’s money, at the moment. Why pay for the moment?”
“Well, my client is out of town anyway,” Stone said. “Pull ’em off and give Joan the bill.”
“I’ll have somebody check on him once a week. If there’s a change in his intentions, we’ll get right on it.”
“All right, all right.”
Bob left Stone and the other Bob, the Labrador retriever, keeping each other company, the Lab in his usual spot by the fireplace.
* * *
—
Jack Coulter was wakened by the sound of the house phone in their apartment at the Breakers. Hillary answered. “Yes?” she said. “Yes?” she went on. “Yes!” she cried. “Please hold.” She put her hand over the phone. “Jack, they’ve come up to a billion three for our share.”
Jack’s eyes opened. “Yes,” he said.
“We’ll take it,” she said. “When do we close? All right.” She hung up. “The buyer is in a hurry. We close in a week.”
“If I’d know he was in a hurry I’d have asked for more,” Jack said.
