City Of Lies

by R.J. Ellory

  They arrived within twenty minutes. Where she’d called from Harper didn’t know, didn’t ask, but it was almost as if he wanted to see no-one but her. Walt came too, smiling, generous of word and action, bearing gifts – a bottle of liquor, a carton of Luckies, his smile high, wide and handsome. All of these things communicating a sense of warmth and fraternity, as if here – here in this small heartbeat of New York – they were all in this together.

  ‘You look good,’ Walt told him. ‘You got some rest?’

  ‘I got some rest, yes.’

  ‘I’ll fetch some glasses,’ Cathy said. ‘We’ll have a drink.’

  Walt went to the window, looked out over the city. ‘There is little that can compare to New York at this time of year.’ His tone was measured and calm; he seemed effortlessly in control of himself – unhurried, at ease. ‘And New York is the most beautiful city in the world?’ He turned and smiled at Harper. ‘It is not far from it. No urban night is like the night out there. Squares after squares of flame, set up and cut into the ether. Here is our poetry, for we have pulled the stars down to our will.’

  Harper frowned.

  ‘Ezra Pound,’ Walt said, and stepped forward. ‘There’s a little culture for the evening.’

  Cathy handed him a glass, one also to Harper.

  ‘I have been here for as long as I can recall, and yet Christmastime in New York always seems to possess an air of magic that is inimitable.’ Walt raised his glass. ‘A toast,’ he said. ‘To Edward, to health, wealth and happiness . . . and to the spirit of Christmas in New York.’

  Cathy laughed. ‘Such theater,’ she said. She turned and smiled at Harper, a warm and effusive expression of affection it seemed. ‘I can’t take him anywhere,’ she quipped.

  ‘It’s good to see you Sonny,’ Walt said. He looked down at the glass in his hand. It appeared he was trying to find the words to say what he wished. ‘I have . . . I have been worried—’

  ‘Worried?’ Harper asked.

  Walt smiled, shook his head. ‘Well . . . no. Worried is perhaps a little too strong. I have been thinking about your position here, how hard it has been for you. You’ve been here how long?’

  ‘Last Monday,’ Harper said. ‘I’ve been here a week.’

  ‘Christ almighty, just a week? Seems you’ve been here . . . God, I don’t know how long.’ Walt stepped away from the window, pulled the chair out from under a small table against the wall. Sitting sideways, his left arm on the back, he indicated the sofa to his right. ‘Sit down Cathy,’ he said. Cathy did so, and then Harper made his way to the bed and sat also.

  ‘Like I said, I’ve been thinking,’ he went on. ‘A great deal of things have happened in a very short time. Thing have been said—’

  ‘Walt, you don’t need to—’ Harper cut in.

  Walt raised his hand. ‘It’s okay. This isn’t a lecture. There’s just a couple of things that have been playing on my mind and I wanted to get them out, you know?’

  Harper didn’t respond; Walt Freiberg was going to speak whether Harper wished him to or not.

  ‘Things have been difficult since your father . . . since Edward was shot,’ he said. For a moment he looked away, his expression pensive. There was a depth to his eyes, maybe nothing more than shadows, perhaps the way the light fell, that created the impression of a man exhausted. Walt Freiberg seemed somehow burdened despite his calmness; that was the only way Harper could describe it.

  ‘For many years we have worked together.’ He waved his hand nonchalantly. ‘Now it is not a matter of what we have done, the business we have been involved in . . . that is not the point we are discussing.’ He looked directly at Harper. ‘This is not a moral issue John. This is an issue of justice and rectitude.’

  Harper frowned. ‘Justice?’

  Walt nodded. ‘Justice and rectitude.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Ben Marcus.’

  ‘Ben Marcus? I don’t understand.’

  Walt Freiberg set his glass on the small table beside him. He turned the chair beneath him and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. For a while he said nothing, looking down at the floor, looking at his own hands as he steepled his fingers together. When he looked up the shadows beneath his eyes seemed even deeper.

  ‘Ben Marcus. Hell, Sonny, Ben Marcus needs to pay for what he’s done to Edward.’

  ‘To pay? Pay for what Walt? I’m missing something here.’

  ‘Jesus, isn’t it the easiest thing in the world to understand?’ For a moment he looked angry, and then his face suddenly calmed. ‘I’m sorry, I’m not mad at you, I’m mad at the situation.’ He smiled awkwardly, shook his head.

  ‘I still don’t get the thing about Ben Marcus—’

  ‘It’s really simple. Ben Marcus ordered the shooting of your father, and I, for one, cannot let this lie John . . . I just cannot let this thing lie.’

  Harper shook his head. ‘I spoke to Frank Duchaunak—’

  Freiberg frowned. ‘Duchaunak was here?’

  ‘Oh, come on Walt, don’t take me for a complete idiot. I know very well that you’re aware that Duchaunak was here. Don’t insult me by telling me you haven’t been watching every move I’ve made since I arrived.’

  Freiberg smiled broadly. He looked at Cathy. ‘Smart guy eh? Didn’t I tell you that this was a smart fucking guy?’

  Cathy nodded, and for a moment it seemed she didn’t know where to look.

  ‘And don’t patronize me either, Walt. And don’t call me Sonny. And don’t think that I’ve spent a week in New York wandering around with my eyes closed.’

  Walt Freiberg raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. ‘Hey John, don’t get me wrong—’

  ‘I’m not getting you wrong, Walt. I’m getting you right. I’m here for a reason. God knows why but you insisted that Evelyn get me here. I want to know why. I want you to tell me exactly why you brought me here. I want you to tell me the truth, and none of this half-assed bullshit about this, that and the goddamned other. Tell me what you want, tell me now, and at the same time tell me how much I’m going to get out of it.’

  ‘How much—’

  Harper turned to Cathy. ‘Will you tell him that I’m not stupid? He doesn’t seem to be hearing me too well.’

  Cathy started to say something but was interrupted by Walt Freiberg.

  ‘You’re misunderstanding me, John,’ he started.

  ‘No Walt, you are misunderstanding me. I’ve been played like some dumb country hick farmhand out of the back-end of nowhere for the past seven days, by you, by Evelyn, and by this crazy fucking cop. I want to know exactly what is going on. I want to know precisely what you people are doing, what precisely it has to do with me, and if there’s something you need my help with then I’m going to want to come away from here with an awful lot more than I arrived with. Now do we understand one another?’

  Walt Freiberg nodded. ‘Okay,’ he said quietly. ‘First things first . . . tell me what the cop told you.’

  Harper smiled, shook his head. ‘What the cop told me doesn’t matter. The cop is crazy. That guy paid I don’t know how many thousands of dollars for a goddamned baseball. He’s been suspended. He’s off whatever case he thought he was on. He doesn’t have a hope of coming anywhere near whatever the hell you’re doing because even his own people think he’s lost it.’

  ‘Whatever,’ Freiberg said. ‘He came here to tell you something . . . what did he say?’

  ‘He told me that Ben Marcus could not have put a hit on my father.’

  Freiberg nodded. He looked down at the floor once more and shook his head. ‘And why did he think that Ben Marcus could not have done this?’

  ‘Because, according to the CCTV footage from that night, the robbery was already taking place before my father’s car even reached the curb. The guy with the gun was in the liquor store seven minutes before my father even showed up.’

  ‘Right,’ Freiberg said. He reached into his pocket, took out a packet of cigarettes a
nd lit one. ‘Do you know what Cabernet Sauvignon is?’

  Harper frowned. ‘It’s a type of wine.’

  ‘Right, yes. It is a type of wine. There are many different types of Cabernet produced, and your father was partial to a particular variety. It wasn’t that expensive, forty, maybe fifty dollars a bottle, but he liked it a great deal.’

  ‘And the point of telling me this?’

  ‘The store where he was shot ordered that wine for your father. They ordered it in especially for him. He asked them to, and they were more than happy to oblige. Sunday nights he would drive over there and collect a case of that wine for the forthcoming week.’

  Freiberg paused to light a cigarette.

  ‘It wasn’t difficult,’ Freiberg went on. ‘It was simply a matter of knowing a little of Edward’s routine. Edward was not a frightened man. He wouldn’t have even given the issue a second thought, wouldn’t have changed his routine even if he’d been told that someone was going to hit him there. Your father would merely have gone there with a couple of people, that’s all. Your father . . . well, he didn’t change what he wanted to do for anyone.’

  Harper didn’t say a word.

  ‘So it was not difficult to have someone there. It was no remarkable feat on Marcus’s part to predict approximately when Edward would be there. He could quite easily have had cellphone contact with some hoodlum outside the store. Marcus has Edward’s car followed, and as soon as he starts making his way towards the store the call goes out, the shooter goes in the store, the thing kicks off just in time for Edward to show up. All Marcus’s shooter has to do is keep that robbery going until Edward shows up. It was a simple effect . . . an illusion was created, and in that way anyone who believed it was a vendetta between Marcus and your father would have been easily convinced that it was not. Why? Because the shooter was already in the store before Edward arrived.’

  Harper looked at Cathy. She nodded her head to confirm what Freiberg had said. ‘It’s true,’ she said. ‘Most times I would go down there with him. I know the store, must’ve been there twenty, thirty times.’

  ‘So that’s how complicated it was,’ Freiberg said. ‘And that little trick certainly fooled your cop.’

  ‘He’s not my cop,’ Harper said.

  ‘He’s not?’ Freiberg asked.

  ‘What the fuck is this? What are you asking me that for?’

  Freiberg shook his head. ‘It is not easy to determine where your loyalties lie, John.’

  ‘My loyalties?’

  ‘Yes, your loyalties. A loyalty to family, or a loyalty to the law.’

  Harper laughed sharply. ‘This is so manipulative, and not even inventive manipulation. Jesus Christ, Walt, give me some fucking credit will you? Who the hell d’you think I am, eh? You want something, you ask me, okay? You need something from me then tell me what you need and I’ll tell you whether or not I’m prepared to give it. It isn’t complicated, Walt, it really isn’t this fucking complicated.’

  Cathy leaned forward. ‘Tell him, Walt . . . tell him what’s going on. If he doesn’t understand then he can’t help.’

  Freiberg nodded. He looked at Harper, then at Cathy, then at Harper once more. ‘I will tell you what you need to know,’ he said quietly. He waited for some word, some reaction from Harper, but there was nothing. ‘And I will tell you what we need from you. You will not have time to think about it, John – at least not a great deal of time – and if you decide not to help us then we will have to act regardless.’

  ‘Cut to the chase, Walt. Enough of this,’ Harper said.

  ‘Day after tomorrow,’ Cathy Hollander interjected.

  ‘The day after tomorrow, Christmas Eve, we take some actions,’ Walt said. ‘What those actions are you do not need to know. They are things that were arranged by your father, and have been organized for a considerable time. They involve both myself, the people who work for Edward, and also a number of people in the employ of Ben Marcus. We are, in effect, collaborating in a series of actions that will realize a considerable return—’

  ‘You’re going to hit some places, right?’ Harper said. ‘What are they? Banks? Finance houses? Diamond cutters?’

  ‘The first thing,’ Freiberg said.

  ‘Banks . . . you’re going to hit some banks, and you guys are going to work with Marcus’s people. That’s what you’re telling me?’ Harper looked at Cathy. She nodded in the affirmative.

  ‘And I have something to do with this. You want me to be a getaway driver, right?’

  Walt Freiberg laughed. ‘No, John, we do not wish for you to be a getaway driver.’

  ‘Then what? Tell me what you want.’

  ‘Tomorrow,’ Freiberg said, ‘there is a meeting. That meeting was supposed to take place between your father and Ben Marcus. Your father cannot be there for obvious reasons, and so I am going to take his place.’

  Harper was silent for a few seconds. He looked at Cathy, then looked once more at Freiberg.

  ‘I will be there to stand for your father, to speak for him, to agree to the terms of a sale.’

  ‘A sale? A sale of what?’

  ‘Your father’s territory,’ Freiberg said matter-of-factly.

  Harper frowned. ‘How the—’

  Freiberg raised his hand. ‘Your father made an agreement with Ben Marcus. He wanted to retire, had considered it for some time, but he did not wish to go away with nothing to show for the work he had done and the territory he owned. He spoke with Ben Marcus, and between them they agreed that Edward would sell his interests in his New York territory. They agreed a price—’

  ‘And after the agreement was made Ben Marcus had my father shot so he wouldn’t have to pay the money,’ Harper interjected.

  Freiberg nodded. ‘We think so. Edward had already started letting some of his people go. He’d started to settle old debts for his friends, gave money to people and helped them move out of New York. He was closing up the empire if you like. It was something he was ready to do, and I was not averse to the idea. To a degree, the fact that some of his affairs and relationships were being concluded put him in a vulnerable position. Once he’d made his agreement with Marcus we believed everything would roll forward, but there was a suspicion that Marcus might renege on the deal – and I suspected there might be an attempt on your father’s life—’

  ‘And yet he continued to do the same things, to follow the same routines?’ Harper asked.

  Freiberg smiled. ‘Like I said before, Edward was not a frightened man. He figured Marcus wasn’t ballsy enough to do what he did, but he was wrong, and we were faced with the reality of no deal, no Edward, and Marcus in a very strong position due to the fact that some of our people had already left New York and could not be recalled. I had to make a decision John . . . I had to do whatever was necessary to ensure that your father’s interests were taken care of.’

  ‘So you had Evelyn call me.’

  Freiberg nodded. ‘And then I spoke with Marcus directly, told him that in the absence of Edward I would stand as his representative, but that you were also here to ensure that your father’s interests were correctly managed. For Marcus to disagree with such a proposal would have implicated him in the attempt on Edward’s life. He had to agree. To have done anything else would have demonstrated that he never intended to keep his word in the first place.’

  ‘And tomorrow?’

  Cathy Hollander cleared her throat. ‘Tomorrow Walt will meet with Ben Marcus and agree to the terms of the sale.’

  ‘Which are?’

  ‘Complete and unconditional surrender of all territorial partnerships, properties, resources, outstanding collections. Basically, everything that Edward owned, everything that was owed to him, becomes Marcus’s property. Aside from some small bookmaker’s traffic and a couple of loansharks owned by an Italian family, everything in this territory that belonged to Edward will belong to Ben Marcus.’

  Harper nodded. He did not demonstrate any reaction to what he was being told. Inside h
is chest his heart thundered like a freight train. His hands were sweating, his pulse raced. ‘And the price?’

  There was silence in the room, just for a few seconds, but that silence was tangible and intense.

  ‘The price,’ Freiberg echoed, ‘will be seven and a half million dollars.’

  Harper looked up at Freiberg, his eyes wide, disbelieving. ‘And this money . . . it comes from—’

  ‘The actions we do on Christmas Eve,’ Cathy Hollander said. ‘That’s where it will come from, and that’s why we are working with Marcus’s people for the first time.’

  ‘You have to steal the buy-off money?’

  Freiberg smiled. ‘Ben Marcus doesn’t have seven and a half million dollars, John. Nevertheless Ben Marcus has the contacts and resources necessary to take a lot more than seven and a half million dollars in one day.’

  ‘And how many banks are you going to hit?’

  Freiberg shook his head. ‘That,’ he said quietly, ‘is a detail you don’t need to know.’ He paused. ‘However, there is something you do need to know.’ He glanced at Cathy. ‘Ben Marcus is not a stupid man. Quite the contrary. A certain degree of license has been employed . . . creative license if you like. Ben Marcus has been told that you are a player of some influence.’

  Harper looked up.

  ‘He has been told that you have been employed in the same line of work as your father. He has been led to believe that there is a possibility that you might have your own crew down in Miami—’

  Harper laughed suddenly, awkwardly. ‘You’ve got to be kidding!’

  ‘No, I’m not kidding. This was the only way he could be convinced to carry through with his agreement. He has been told, by inference, by lack of words rather than anything direct, that you have your own people down south, that you’ve come here to New York to make sure your father’s territory isn’t threatened. He thinks there’s a chance you might take some direct action against him if things don’t go the way your father intended.’

  ‘Jesus Christ, I don’t fucking believe this! You’re setting me up . . . putting me in a situation where I have to pretend—’

  Freiberg shook his head. ‘You cannot pretend to be anything John, you have to be your father’s son, nothing more nor less than that.’