by Justin Scott
“You can’t have Eddie home.”
“I want him free, the charges dropped. I’m willing to pay.”
“Hold it!”
“I’m willing to pay.”
“Pay? You’re going to pay me? That’s a bribe. Helen, surely you don’t mean—”
Her eyes filled with tears. “I’ll pay.”
“There’s nothing for sale in this house.”
“Yes, there is.”
“Nothing.”
“There is always something. Even when a guy thinks he’s God.”
“You are warned. I’ll charge you with attempted bribery if you say another word.” He stood up and took her roughly by the arm. “Get out of my house.”
Helen tore away. “I’m here to bargain, you bastard! I’ve got something to bargain with.”
“What?” he asked scornfully.
“Chris.”
Taglione felt the blood rush from his face, leaving his cheeks prickling with cold and his heart afire. Of the thoughts racing through his head, he blurted the first he could accept: “You’re lying!”
“About what?” she asked. “I haven’t told you yet.”
“You’re lying!”
“Your brother for my brother.”
“My brother isn’t a criminal.”
She saw by Taglione’s agonized expression that she had won. Her heart withered, but it was the only way. “Shall I start with the day his people kidnapped me? Or the day your father was killed.”
28
CHAPTER
“Chris? It’s Helen.”
Sylvia had reached for his private line. Taggart beat her to it, and when he heard Helen’s voice, he shooed her out of his office.
Sylvia mouthed, “What about the mayor saying no?”
“Excuse me.” He covered the phone. “Fuck him,” he said savagely. “Fuck his whole City Council. I’ve had it. Let him build his own stadium.”
“Chris, listen a second. Henry Bunker’s on the other line. Kenny Adler called him to smooth things over.”
“I don’t need his garbage.”
“It’s Henry. Talk to him, please.”
“Goddammit. Okay, I’ll talk to him—Helen, hold another second.” He stabbed the button. “Henry?”
“Chris. Look, I’m as angry as you are. But Kenny called. His Honor thinks maybe things got out of hand between you.”
“We agree at last.”
“That’s a big concession for him; don’t forget he’s a hot-tempered guy who happens to own a twenty-percent plurality in this town. He’d like you to know he’s sorry. Maybe we can get the project going next year.”
“I got to wait a year?”
“Years go fast when you’re paying interest.”
“Would you give him a message, Henry?”
“Sure.”
“The message is: ‘Fuck you, Your Honor.’”
“Chris, let’s not be crazy.”
“I’ll have Sylvia send a confirming letter.” He banged down the phone. “No more calls, Sylvia. And send that letter by messenger.” Sylvia backed out, dismayed. Taggart composed himself and returned to the phone.
“Hi. I miss you a lot.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve been hassled.”
“How’s your brother doing?”
“Not great. He’s getting into fights with the guards. How’s yours?”
“The darling of the New York Post—‘Battlin’ Tony.’ Too bad he hates publicity.”
“I want to see you.”
“Is half an hour too soon?”
“Could we go away for the weekend?”
“That’s like the original Helen asking a Greek shipbuilder if he’s got anything that floats. Let’s go up to the country. Cold as hell, still, but we’ll build a fire and—”
“Take me to Atlantic City. I want to go to a casino.”
“Casino? I’ll take you to Monte Carlo.”
“No. AC’s fine.”
“Hey, I’ll charter a Concorde. Hit Monte Carlo, Macao, and AC on the way back.”
She laughed. “The only traveling I want to do is between bed and the blackjack table. I want to beat the house and blow it all on dinner and presents.”
“Okay. I’ll call Trump and get his top floor.”
“One big bed in a private suite will be perfect. I’ll drive.”
“No way I’m getting my hand caught in your gearshift. I’ll pick you up with the Rolls. And wear something loose. It’s a nice long ride.”
Helen cradled the phone, her head resounding with the trust in his voice. “You heard.”
Tony Taglione, Marty, the broad-chested agent of the East Side Ironworks FBI bug, and Zell, his platinum-blonde partner, removed their headsets.
“That means we have to wire her,” said Marty. “I was hoping we could do the car.”
“Wire me? Didn’t you hear his voice? The guy loves me. Am I supposed to slap his hand?”
Tony Taglione had refused to believe her. He demanded proof she hadn’t concocted a story about Taggart’s scam to get her brother’s charges reduced. He wanted his brother’s guilt in his own words. So the price to free Eddie Rizzolo had gone up: Helen had to trick Taggart into admitting—on tape—how he had seized control of the New York Mafia.
“Zell?”
“Yeah, we have something new she can wear. It’s soft and it’s kind of pretty. Goes with your coloring.... You are a natural brunette?”
Taglione said, “They’re intimate. A wire’s too dangerous. What if he finds it?”
“He won’t hurt me.”
“I wouldn’t bank on that,” said Marty, and Zell nodded firm agreement.
Helen turned on Tony. “Let’s get something straight. You know damned well he wouldn’t hurt me.”
The act was easy. She had to pretend she wanted to be with him, which she did, and pretend she wanted to sleep with him, which she did, and behave as if she adored him as he adored her. The hard part was concealing the secret knowledge of how it would end. Harder still was hiding the sorrow.
They made out like kids in the back seat of the Rolls on the drive down. Their suite had a pool table, on which she beat him twice, a hot tub they abandoned for the cool sheets on the mirrored bed, and a white piano that Chris said he wished he knew how to play. He took her out to dinner, but still, Friday night turned to disaster; she spent it crying in his arms. He comforted her, thinking she was crying only for Eddie.
Saturday morning they made up for it, in bed till lunch, then back for more. By Saturday evening, Taggart was sprawled happily on the sheets enjoying the sight of her as she chose a dress for dinner. “I never knew a girl who wore a garter belt.”
“Just on special dates.”
“Need help?”
“You stay there.”
“Aren’t you cold?”
“Back. Back.”
“Exhibitionist.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “That’s a fancy word for tease.”
“I told Reggie I want to marry you.”
His words went through her like ice. She teased him, to hide her agony. “What is it with Italian boys? As soon as they pass thirty they have to get married?”
“I would have asked you when I was ten.”
“What did Reggie say?”
“He agreed to be best man.”
“First, we’d have to find him. Where is he?” Tony Taglione and his eager assistants had agreed that the existence of Reggie Rand would do a lot for her story. But Taggart, she knew, would never knowingly betray the Englishman.
“Will you?”
“Will I what?”
“Marry me.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
It killed her that he was making it easy, setting himself up in his innocence. She forced her mind to an image of Eddie bloodied on a concrete floor in a battle with the guards. It gave her the strength to seize the opening. “Because there’s stuff going down you don’t know about.”
“Like what?”
“Like I have to see people.”
“Who?”
“Philadelphia people.”
“Hang on a minute.” Taggart got off the rumpled bed and pulled a briefcase out of his two-suiter. “Certain habits don’t go way.”
“What are you doing?”
“Sweeping the room.”
“We took it at the last minute with phony names. Who’s going to bug us?”
“I didn’t know we were doing business,” Taggart replied, unlocking the case.
“We’re not.” Helen picked up her dress, sauntered around the bed, and wrapped his naked body with hers. “We came to play. I’m just going to check them out. Can you fix this damned zipper?”
“If I can do it without letting go. When did you connect with Philadelphia people?”
“Are you kidding? They connected with me. They came right up to me at the blackjack table the second you went for a walk.”
“What if they’re cops?”
“Oh, no. I recognized them. I’d seen them in Vegas and once in New York.”
“What did they say?”
“You should hear them. They’re like from another country. They talk out of the side of their mouths.” She mimicked, ‘“We hear you’re doing real good in New York. Maybe you want to come in with us down here.’”
“How do they know about you?”
“You can’t fool the street, Chris. Everybody knows the Riz-zolos are tops. Philly and New England have to connect in New York. Inviting me to take a shot at AC is like a peace offering. Of course, I’d have to fight to keep it, but we’re talking gold, man. This place is making Vegas a ghost town. The only problem is, the connected people can’t get their act together. The Philly cafone are killing each other off, messing up the image and wasting a great shot. Anyhow, that’s why I’m getting dressed. I’m meeting a guy for dinner.”
“What guy?”
“One of these guys.”
“Mind if I come?”
“Relax, he’s with his girl.”
“I’ll come along anyhow. Sounds interesting.”
Their hosts were waiting in an Italian restaurant a block from the Boardwalk. Marty had a broad chest and a hearty conspiratorial laugh. He reminded Taggart of a young version of his Uncle Vinnie, the way he said, “It don’t look like much, but it’s nice and private and the food’s good.”
Marty’s girlfriend, Zell, looked loud, but said little. She got flustered when Taggart grinned at her for staring at the love bites Helen had left on his neck.
“I know you,” said Marty. “You’re the builder.”
“What do you do?” Taggart asked.
“I’m a builder, too. You wouldn’t a heard a me, yet. I’m not as big.”
“Around here?”
“Pennsylvania. This is just fun down here, but I was talking with Helen earlier about what a future this place has.”
“I’m a builder, too,” said Zell.
“What?”
“Honey... She’s got a plumbing outfit. You know, affirmative action.”
“But I really run it,” said Zell.
“Honey, pipe down. Do you do that up in New York, Chris? Front companies for the civil rights quotas?”
“I don’t.” Taggart looked at Helen, who hadn’t said a word since they sat down. She lifted her shoulder in a minute shrug.
“They kept trying to steer the conversation,” Taggart said on the ride back to their hotel. “Like they were looking for quotes.”
“I didn’t like them, either.”
“Too busy establishing credentials,” he said in the room. “I think they’re phonies.”
“What do you mean?”
“Small-time hoods trying to get a free ride off you.”
He went out on the terrace and stared at the dark ocean awhile.
She came out and stood with him, shivering until he wrapped his arms around her. “You’re not really interested in Atlantic City, are you? We could go to Europe and—
She turned her face. She wanted to scream, Yes. Let’s go. Now! Run!
“It’s a gold mine, Chris.”
“But—”
“I could set up here and get the hell out of New York. Less heat.”
“You really think so?”
“I could really take control. End the fighting here. And no one would ever try to take it away. It’s like a gift for the right family.”
They went in and had a drink. Taggart was quiet. He went to look at the ocean again. She watched him, her heart pounding. He leaned over the terrace railing so he could see the bright lights marching along the beach. He looked at New York that way, she knew, hunting dark spots to fill with new buildings.
She had done it. She had wedged the idea into his head that the prize was worth taking. And, best of all, she thought bitterly, she supposedly came with it. A poisonous pot sweetener. She thought of her brother and her family. Had she not, she would have walked out on the terrace and thrown herself into the night.
Taggart stayed outside a long while, thinking. When he came back, she was hanging up her dress. He came up behind her, cupped her breast and her belly, and touched his lips to her ear.
“I’m going to make you an offer.”
She turned swiftly in his hands and covered his mouth. “We’ll sleep on it.”
“It’s wild. You’ll love it.”
She drew him to the bed. “Not another word till morning.”
“I’m serious.’
“Shut up. Everytime you open your mouth, I’m going to put part of me into it. Shhh.”
“Listen—”
“I warned you....”
In the morning, she awakened early and phoned quietly for coffee. Chris stirred sleepily when the waiter arrived. She pillowed his head on her thighs and sipped the coffee and stroked his hair, wishing they could sleep forever.
“Can I talk yet?”
“Tell me at breakfast.”
“It’ll be brunch by then.”
Finally, at brunch in a hotel dining room with a gold-vaulted ceiling, huge chandeliers, and the flashing casino lights visible through many doors, Helen Rizzolo spread a pink linen napkin on her lap, clinked her mimosa glass against his, and listened to Taggart with somber eyes.
“If you want Atlantic City—”
“I don’t know,” she whispered. “Maybe you should—”
“You got me thinking. I’ve been thinking about how Las Vegas was years ago. With your support, I could be like the Howard Hughes of Atlantic City. We could own this town. It’s a great place to build hotels, especially when the woman I love is in a position to help me with zoning. The town’s got more class already than Vegas ever did, and it’s near our stuff in New York. We ll run this place exactly the way we want it. We ll own it. No government bullshit.”
“Chris, are you sure?”
“Consider it a wedding gift. If you want to take over Atlantic City, you’ve got Atlantic City.”
She looked away, because if she looked into his eyes she would cry. But so far, nothing she had coaxed him to say would make a case for Tony Taglione. It was now or never.
“What do you say?” he prompted.
“How would we do it?”
“Exactly like New York. The hell with those clowns last night. We don’t need them. We’ll do it our way. Find a nice, tight family like yours to front the street for us. If we can’t find one, organize one or bring in our own people. Then I’ll talk Reggie into supplying the dope and the muscle to bust them up on top. We’ll take this town in a month—if you’re sure you want to do this again.”
“I don’t know,” she whispered. She took his hand and pressed it between her thighs, covering the bug, but it was too late. She saw them coming from the doors.
“I’m sure,” said Taggart. “I could build for ten years here if we controlled the government. It’s a dynamite opportunity. And the best part is we’ll do it together.”
Helen leaned across the t
able and took the back of his head in both hands. She stared into his eyes. Taggart was astonished to see tears fill hers.
“What?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”
She crushed his mouth with hers. When he opened his lips she pulled him harder. Her body shook with the strain. He felt her teeth and tasted blood. With a convulsive shudder she let him go. When they parted he thought he would die.
“Jesus. Come upstairs.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. There was blood on her lip, bright red, his or hers—he would never know. “I wish it never happened.”
“Why?”
She turned her face. He looked up, his heart still pounding, and broke into a startled smile. “Tony! There’s Tony! Hey, Tony! What are you, on a junket? Sit down, man. Grab a chair. Waiter!”
The waiters had retreated to the wall. They were watching for something to happen. Taggart looked at Helen. Her face was white, her mouth a rough line crumbling at the edges. He turned back to his brother, saw the agents spreading out behind him, and thought, They got to Jack Warner. There were four big guys with Tony and agents at every door.
“What’s going on, Tony? Who’s the heavies?”
“They’re going to arrest you, Chris.”
“What?”
“I came to read you your rights. You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to legal counsel. You have the right—”
“What the hell for?”
“Heroin trafficking.”
“Hey, I’m just a businessman.” Taggart laughed. No way they could ever prove that.
“Racketeering.”
“Forget it.”
“And murder,” Tony finished coldly. “I didn’t believe her ... I didn’t want to believe her. So I needed this to start a case.” He pulled a Sony out of his pocket and turned it on.
“Exactly like New York. The hell with those clowns last night. We don’t need them. We’ll do it our way. Find a nice, tight family like yours to front the street for us. If we cant find one, organize one or bring in our own people. Then I’ll talk Reggie into supplying the dope and the muscle to bust them up on top.”
Tony turned it off. “Who’s Reggie?”
Taggart felt a sickening sensation that the casino lights were whirling around him. He looked at Helen. A tear skated down her cheek. She pulled back when he reached for her hand.
