by Peter Ralph
“Yeah, he’s killed before both as a soldier and a mercenary, but he’s never been suspected of murder. He’s clean and he’s smart. He doesn’t have a rap sheet, not even a parking ticket.”
“Is there anything else?”
“Yeah. There’s going to be times we need to bypass Vanessa and talk to you. Don’t worry, we’ll be very careful. You’re still going to have appointments with your lawyers pending the hearing of your appeal, and I see you’re still visiting Frank Arturo. There’ll be times and places where it’s safe. We’ll get word to Vanessa when we want to see you. Oh, and what is it with you and Arturo?”
“He likes me, and he likes playing chess. Is that all?”
Grinich grinned. “It’s far better that he likes you than the alternative. How do you find him?”
“I don’t know him. We hardly talk. He keeps to himself.”
“Well don’t get too close to him. He’s personally responsible for at least twenty murders and only God knows how many he’s ordered.”
“I know what he’s like, but he’s been good to me.”
“He’s not a worry where he is,” Grinich said, “but Elliot and his cohorts are. They’ll have almost certainly bugged your new apartment. There might even be cameras. Don’t look for them. Just act naturally and don’t talk about anything you’re doing with us while you’re in the apartment. Not to Vanessa, not to Lechte and not to me. Do you understand?”
“Yeah,” Todd said, standing up. “I better get back to waiting tables.”
As Grinich removed the wedge and unlocked the door, he said, “Good luck, Todd.”
By the time, Brock Borchard’s flight landed at O’Hare he had made his decision. Before leaving the terminal, he reluctantly called Becker.
“Dermott,” he said, “you may be right. Let’s use Jack Elliot to try and extract the cash from Karen Deacon. I’ll call you with her number.”
“A wise decision,” Becker replied. “I’m sure Jack will have some creative ideas.”
On Saturday morning, Todd packed his three suitcases and one carry bag and said goodbye to the tiny, smelly apartment that had been his home since getting out of Castlebrough. As he crammed his luggage into the cab, he thought it ironic that he was moving from one Chinatown to another Chinatown. Twenty-five minutes later they pulled up in front of an old, three story, gray stone building in Gable Street, Flushing. Todd told the taxi driver he’d tip him twenty if he helped get the suitcases up one flight of stairs. He opened the door to #204 and was immediately struck by the extravagance. His shoes sunk into the plush beige carpet and his eyes went straight to the fifty-inch flat screen television built into the wall. Smaller televisions were in each of the bedrooms, and there was a large teak dining table in the living/dining area surrounded by eight brown suede chairs. The kitchen contained a double width stainless steel refrigerator and Miele appliances including an oven, steamer, and microwave. There was a phone in the kitchen and another on the coffee table in the living/dining area. The thermostat was set to seventy-two and the apartment bordered on luxurious. Todd went into the main bedroom, jumped on the king-sized bed, put his hands behind his head and said, “How good is this!”
After Todd finished unpacking he took a walk along Gable Street to Jack Elliot’s appropriately named Bandits nightclub. It was a two story, seedy looking brown brick building with double entrance doors and two small, smoked glass windows on the lower level. The upper level was more conventional with large windows running across the width of the building. It looked like it had started life as a warehouse with offices above it before being converted to a nightclub. There was an alley adjacent to the building and Todd made his way along it until he came to another alley that crossed it and ran at the rear of the club. It was a dead end, and he could see a loading bay for deliveries of alcohol and food.
Todd strolled back to the front and entered the club through its heavy timber doors. He was greeted by lush, dark carpet and small, coffee tables surrounded by sofas and recliners spread around a large room. Two pool tables were set back from the carpet on tan colored tiles. There was a long, polished wooden bar directly in front of him stocked with a variety of spirits. To the left of the bar, he could see the stainless steel doors of the kitchen. On the right was a small dance floor with psychedelic lighting above it. There was a young, attractive girl dressed in a low-cut dress behind the bar and perhaps ten patrons lounging in recliners, drinking and smoking. A thickset man stood up and walked over to Todd. “We’re not open until six o’clock, dude. Why don’t you come back then?”
“I’m not looking for a drink. I start work here on Monday, and I just wanted to check the place out. I won’t stay.”
“Ah, you’re Todd, the accountant,” the man said thrusting his hand out. “I’m Jed Buckley. I manage the place. I hope you’re gonna help me clean up this mess.”
Buckley had meaty hands and a powerful grip. He was only about 5’ 9” but looked like he weighed more than two hundred pounds. He was smiling, but he was like many of the inmates Todd had met. His mouth turned up, and he flashed his pearly whites, but there was no mirth in his eyes. This and his Grecian nose gave him a cruel appearance.
“Good to meet you, Jed. Do I report to you on Monday?”
“Shit no! To the boss. He’ll want to show you your office and get you started. Do you feel like a drink? I can introduce you to the boys,” Buckley said running his hand over his nearly bald head.
“Thanks, but I can’t. I’ve got a date. I’ll see you on Monday.”
“Lucky man,” Buckley said.
Todd turned to leave and could feel Buckley’s eyes boring into his back. He was sure that Buckley was going to be watching him intently and knew that a mistake could prove fatal.
As Todd left the club, he called Vanessa on his cell to warn her that he’d be calling her from his apartment and that she shouldn’t mention anything about the FBI or the SEC.
A few minutes later, Vanessa answered, “Hi honey. Have you finished unpacking? What’s the apartment like?”
Todd smiled. She was a far better actor than he was. “I didn’t have much to unpack.” He laughed. “The apartment’s way cool. Even better than what I had in Manhattan. I can’t wait for you to see it.”
“That good?”
“Yeah, it sure is. After the hostel, and the smell of the delicatessen, it’s like paradise. God, I hope my lawyers get me off. I could get used to living here.”
“I’ve got my fingers crossed for you, hon. Are we going to catch a movie tonight?”
“Sure. Why don’t I head to your place now? We’ll grab something to eat and then go and see that new Angelina Jolie movie.”
“Fine. She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Vanessa said.
“Not as beautiful as you.”
Vanessa laughed. “You’re wearing rose colored glasses.”
“No, I’m not,” Todd said.
“I’ll see you soon.”
Todd hung up the phone. Perfect show.
Karen Deacon was sitting in front of her computer when someone she didn’t know Skyped her.
“Who is this?” she asked.
“Never mind that Mrs. Deacon, I know you have some problems. I’m going to help you.”
“How did you get my Skype address? Who are you?”
“All you need to know is that I know about the CD, and I can get hold of it and the copies.”
“What do you want?”
“I told you. I’m a white knight. I want to help you.”
“Do you know who the people are that are blackmailing me?”
There was a long pause. “Mrs. Deacon, they are extremely dangerous people who won’t hesitate to kill you or those close to you if they don’t get their way. You and your family are far safer dealing with me.”
“I’ll ask you again, what do you want?”
“I just wanted to make contact, Mrs. Deacon. I’ll be in touch again, soon.”
Chapter 42
Todd arrived at the club
just before 9 A.M. on Monday morning and was greeted by a small, nasty looking man who roughly patted him down. The wiry, dark-haired man then barked at another thug telling him to take Todd upstairs to Elliot’s office.
“Good morning, kid. Do you like your new accommodation?” Elliot asked.
“It’s okay,” Todd replied as he looked around Elliot’s timber paneled office.
“Don’t fall over yourself with gratitude. I hear you met Jed this weekend. You can start by sorting out his paperwork. I’m sure it’ll keep you out of trouble for a few weeks. Oh, and I’m the only one who uses a computer and only for communications. All our systems are manual, and anything you introduce will be too. You won’t’ be emailing any files. Understand?”
“Who would I email them to?” Todd smirked.
“That’s something I’ll never have to worry about, because everything will be in books, on paper, or in my head. Now I’ll ask you again. Do you understand?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Good, I’ve set up an office for you. Come on, you might as well get started.”
The office was two doors down from Elliot’s, and Todd could still see a trace of sawdust on the carpet. They had removed the door from its hinges and replaced the timber wall with a large pane of glass. Todd smiled. There were no filing cabinets and no drawers in the desk. Two open metal cabinets, not unlike the ones at Castlebrough sat behind his desk. Every document and action would be visible, and there would be no such thing as working behind closed doors. On the plus side, there was a window on the other side of the office that let natural light in and overlooked the alley.
The small man came up the stairs, and Elliot introduced him as Amon McEvoy, one of Jed’s assistants, who would be helping out with the paperwork. This time McEvoy extended his hand, and as Todd shook it, he asked. “Are you an accountant too?”
Before he could reply, Elliot said, “No, he’s not. Amon handles security. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to you. Amon will make certain it doesn’t.”
Todd looked at the little man. Tattoos covered his arms, and there was an ugly scar on his neck. He had the hard look that Todd had become so used to seeing in Castlebrough.
“Amon, before Todd gets settled in, why don’t you show him around?” Elliot said.
Todd was surprised by the size of the building. It had been a large warehouse. Jed Buckley’s office was between Elliot’s and Todd’s and housed a large steel safe. On the other side of Elliot’s, there were two vacant offices and quite a few closed doors. Amon explained that they were sleeping quarters and there were always at least half a dozen “employees” on the premises. Downstairs, Todd was impressed with the all-stainless kitchen and the expensive Gaggenau equipment. The receiving store was untidy and overflowing with spirits and food. Todd ran his eye over some of the use by dates and saw that much of the food needed to be thrown out. Adjacent to the store was a large, cool room carrying an abundance of poorly arranged stock. As Todd went down the steps to the cellar, he knew that there was no purchasing or stock control, and that hundreds of thousands of dollars were unnecessarily tied up carrying stock. There were forty kegs of beer in the cellar, some empty and some full, and a long refrigerator stretching down one wall that was full of white wines. An equally large temperature controlled cabinet ran the length of the opposite wall, and it contained some fine red wines. Todd took out a bottle of Scarecrow Cab Sav and read the label. “Hell, you wouldn’t get any change out of five thousand for this.”
“I wouldn’t know,” McEvoy grunted. “Are you nearly finished?”
Todd was about to make a smart remark when he remembered Elliot’s warning. “Yeah, thanks for showing me around, Amon. Are you going to be working in my office?”
McEvoy laughed. “Not feckin’ likely. Don’t worry, though, I’ll be watching you.”
In twenty-four days’ Phillip Cromwell would be rid of Doug Lechte, and he was counting them down. He could barely wait for the partners’ meeting. Initially, he’d been annoyed that Lechte hadn’t resigned, but now he was glad. He was going to enjoy seeing Lechte degraded in front of his peers. He had already arranged for security guards to escort him from the building. Cromwell’s position had gone from strength to strength. His photo had been on the front page of the New York Times with the mayor and the senior partner of Strauss Robinson after they’d enjoyed a game of golf at the exclusive Redwood Hills. Cromwell asked his secretary to obtain the photograph and have it framed so that he could hang it in his office.
The second Skype call Karen Deacon received from Elliot was little different to the first. He professed to be only interested in helping her and made no mention or demand for monies. His manner was charming and friendly, but Karen sensed there was another side to this unknown caller. Five minutes into the third call the caller said, “You really should deal with me. I can guarantee you that that CD will never see the light of the day if you pay me.”
“That’s a lie,” Karen said. “You don’t know how many copies there are. How can you make that guarantee?”
“That’s where you’re wrong. There’s an original and two copies.”
“Did your foreign partner tell you to tell me that?”
“I don’t have any partners. I’m just an intermediary trying to help you.”
His English was far better than his partner’s, and he wasn’t as volatile, but Karen suspected that it was all an act.
“I think you’re a liar,” she said. “Yes, I’d pay five million to make sure the CD’s never shown on the internet but there’s no way you can guarantee that it won’t. I’m not paying.”
“Mrs. Deacon, I’m warning you,” Elliot said, his voice raised. “I’m trying to help you. I’d hate to see your children given copies. They might open them on their school’s computers. Can you imagine their embarrassment when all their school friends see it? And what about your ex-husband and the Cougars’ players. If you pay, you remove those possibilities.”
“That’s what your partner said,” Karen laughed scornfully even though the butterflies in her stomach were running rampant. “I know what you’re going to do. You’re going to take my money and then sell the CD to the sleaze who pays the highest price. You might even make multiple sales. I’m not paying a cent.”
“I’m going to give you a little time to sleep on it. The next time I Skype you’d better have changed your mind. If you haven’t, your kids are going to be devastated, and you’re going to be the biggest porn star in America.”
“Go to hell,” Karen said, ending the call. Then she broke down and wept.
Book 4
Chapter 43
After two weeks, Todd had managed to get the club’s paperwork in order and set up a ledger of what was owing to it. The thugs that lived at or hung around Bandits seemed to have got used to him and didn’t pat him down every day anymore. They were a surly lot when he was around, and their dislike for him was obvious. When they were together, they laughed a lot, usually at the expense of someone they had kneecapped or beaten up. Amon McEvoy hardly spoke to Todd but was never far away, and Todd thought the Irishman would slit his throat as soon as look at him. Twice McEvoy had come into his office and told him to get lost. The first time he had misunderstood. McEvoy had said, “Take fifteen minutes and go get yourself a cup of coffee, kid.”
Todd had replied, “Thanks, but I’m okay I’ll grab one later.”
McEvoy had shouted, “Get the feck out of here. Disappear! I don’t want to see your face for fifteen minutes.”
The second time, Todd had left instantly. There was a coffee shop across the street, and he had sat at the window and watched the same small, unmarked, white van drive down the alley on each occasion. Todd had little doubt the van was delivering drugs destined for Jed Buckley’s safe. Other than this, nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. Elliot worked with his door closed, and his office was too far away for Todd to hear his conversations unless he was shouting, which he frequently did. Despite this, T
odd could still only pick up the occasional word. He heard Ronny’s name being used disparagingly many times and guessed it was Ronny Conroy. The only other name he consistently heard was Mrs. Deacon, usually after hearing the unique Skype call sound.
On the taxi ride to Castlebrough, all Todd could think about was Vanessa’s concern about Lechte being removed as a partner of Montgomery Hastings & Pierce, and she losing her job. If that occurred he would have no indirect contacts to the FBI and SEC and the danger in what he was doing would multiply twentyfold.
As he emptied his pockets at the visitors entrance, Todd wondered whether he was destined to visit Frank Arturo every second Sunday for the rest of his life. He was shown to the same room as last time, except this time there was a pack of cards on the table, and Arturo was watching a fight on a small flat screen television. His eyes never left the screen, and he held his hand up for silence, but as the guard went to leave, he said, “Hang on, Joe.”
Todd and the guard stood there until the round and fight were over. “Mayweather’s a bum, but he can sure box,” Arturo said. “I love watching the guy.”
“He’s a great fighter, Mr. Arturo,” Joe replied.
“Jeez, don’t you know anything? He’s not a fighter’s bootlace. He’s a boxer. He’s a master of the art of self-defense. Pacquiao’s a fighter and when they eventually meet the master of self-defense will win easily. Put your house on it, Joe.”
“Yes, Mr. Arturo.”
“Joe, get me a latte. Todd, would you like anything?”
Todd pinched himself again in amazement at the power of the man now shuffling the cards. “I’d like a mineral water if you’ve got it, please.”
“If he hasn’t, he’ll get it. Won’t you, Joe?”
“Sure, Mr. Arturo,” the guard replied, nervously opening the door.
“Gin today, Todd. I want to talk and don’t want to have to concentrate.”
