Naked Greed (Stone Barrington)

by Woods, Stuart

  “See you then.” Both men hung up.

  Stone went to bed with dreams of beer bottles dancing in his head.

  Stone got to his desk by nine the following morning and called Dino.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey. After your departure last night I left Patroon and had a run-in with a couple of cops outside on the sidewalk.”

  “What do you mean, a ‘run-in’?”

  “They screeched to a halt in front of the restaurant and attacked a passerby.”

  “Passerby? You?”

  “No, someone I’d never seen before. They threw the guy against a wall and hit him, then one of them produced a blackjack and drew back on the guy.”

  “Did they hit him with the blackjack?”

  “No, I took it away from the cop and started asking questions.”

  “I’d have paid money to see that.”

  “I’m giving you a firsthand account, free.”

  “Go on.”

  “I asked them what precinct they were in and they said the Three-Five South, and I cowed them by mentioning their captain’s name.”

  “O’Donnell?”

  “Right. They backed off, and I put the guy in my car and took him to his hotel, the Waldorf Towers.”

  “Good for you. Get any names?”

  “One of the cops called the other ‘Ryan.’ That’s all I got.”

  “Ryan from the Three-Five South—that’s a start. I’ll get back to you.”

  “Thanks.”

  —

  Stone returned phone calls, dictated letters, and filled out time sheets until Bob Eggers arrived, early.

  “So who’s this guy we’re meeting?”

  “I told you last night—just replay the conversation in your mind, then we’ll start anew.”

  “Okay, I’ve replayed it. What else can you tell me?”

  “That’s it, that’s all I know. The guy is, potentially, a productive client.”

  Joan came in with coffee and Eggers had some. Then Jose Perado arrived and introductions were made.

  Stone watched as Eggers went through his potential-client dance: he started with small talk, moved on to biography and business history and, obviously to Stone, found Perado acceptable as a client.

  “We’d be happy to represent you, Mr. Perado,” Eggers said.

  “Please call me Pepe—everybody everywhere does.”

  “Pepe it is.”

  “I’d like very much to be represented by Woodman & Weld,” Pepe said.

  “Then let me welcome you to our firm,” Eggers said, standing up and shaking his hand.

  “Thank you, Bill.”

  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m due for a meeting back at our real offices.” He shot Stone a glance. “So, I’m going to leave you in the hands of our favorite partner, Stone, who will assess your immediate needs. I look forward to seeing you again soon.” Eggers left.

  “That was easy,” Pepe said.

  “Bill knows a good client when he sees one,” Stone replied. “Now, let’s talk about your immediate needs. What are they?”

  “Two, I think: a distributorship to buy, or alternately, a property where I can start one, and an ad agency.”

  “Let’s start with the ad agency,” Stone said. “I recommend a firm called Kelly & Kelly, a small-to-medium firm that does good marketing and great creative work. Can I set up an appointment?”

  “Please do.”

  Stone looked up the number and called the agency: “Good morning, Brad, it’s Stone Barrington.”

  “Good to hear from you, Stone. What’s up?”

  “I have a potential client for you.” He gave the man a brief description of Pepe, including his interest in acquiring or establishing a distribution business.

  “Sounds interesting. Is he in town?”

  “He’s in my office.”

  “Want to bring him over here after lunch? Say, three o’clock?”

  “Pepe, is three this afternoon good for you?”

  “Good for me.”

  “You’re on, Brad. See you then.”

  “Hang on, there’s something else.”

  “Okay.”

  “My brother-in-law, who works here, has a father with a very nice beverage distributorship who’s starting to look at retirement.”

  “That’s very interesting.”

  “His name is Martin Winkle, and I happen to know he’s free for lunch. You want to get the two of them together?”

  “Hang on. Pepe, would you like to have lunch with a man named Martin Winkle, who’s a beverage distributor looking to retire?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  “Okay, Pepe’s on.”

  “Marty can meet him at twelve-thirty at the Four Seasons. He had a lunch date with me there.”

  Stone checked with Pepe and made the date.

  He hung up. “Okay, you meet Winkle at twelve-thirty, and you and I will meet at the agency’s building at three.” He gave him the address.

  “Fine with me,” Pepe said.

  “Good.” They shook hands, and Pepe left.

  Dino called shortly after Perado left. “I got something for you,” he said.

  “Shoot.”

  “The guy named Ryan is one Eugene Ryan, who got busted off the force two years ago, because he was doing strong-arm work, freelance.”

  “So, he’s no longer a cop?”

  “That is his condition. The other guy is probably one Al Parisi, who was a buddy of Ryan’s. He graduated from the Academy but didn’t last through the probationary period. Ryan had been his training officer, and after Ryan went, so did Parisi. His record says it was for failure to carry out his duties.”

  “A catchall phrase?”

  “Right. A chat with his captain revealed that Parisi has some family mob connections, too.”

  “I remember a Gino Parisi from a long time ago.”

  “That was his grandfather.”

  “So the kid was mobbed up?”

  “Reading between the lines, I think he probably was not. He doesn’t sound like the type to qualify. The old man, Gino, would probably have thought he was a wimp.”

  “So he couldn’t qualify for the mob, but he could qualify for the Academy?”

  “He had a clean sheet, good grades in high school, and finished a couple of years of community college. And his family connection didn’t emerge in his background check. Parisi is a common enough Italian name. How do you suppose Ryan and Parisi chose this Perado guy to beat up on?”

  “It looked to me like they were looking to roll him,” Stone said. “Maybe they’re riding around town, pretending to still be cops, looking for likely victims on the street.”

  “I guess that makes some kind of sense,” Dino said. “Was there anything else that connected them to Perado?”

  “No, not according to him.”

  “This is very weird,” Dino said.

  “You just said it makes some kind of sense.”

  “I take that back—it doesn’t make any sense at all.”

  “Okay, I’ll grant you that.”

  “What are you doing for lunch?”

  “Eating your chateaubriand from last night.”

  “Then I won’t come between you and your beef. Let me know if some other connection comes up between Ryan/Parisi and Perado.”

  “Okay.” They hung up.

  Stone met Pepe Perado in the lobby at Kelly & Kelly, where they rode up together in the elevator.

  “Stone,” Pepe said, “something happened on the way over here.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I saw those two cops again. I was coming out of the Waldorf—the Park Avenue entrance—and they were double-parked outside the hotel. I know they saw me, and they drove away. I tried to get the
ir tag number, but a taxi pulled between us and blocked my view.”

  They arrived at their floor, Stone gave their names to the receptionist, and they were asked to wait for a moment. “Pepe, something’s wrong here. How would they know you were staying at the Waldorf? They didn’t follow us when we left Patroon that evening, Fred was careful about that.”

  “I can’t figure it out,” Pepe replied.

  “Who have you seen since you arrived in New York?”

  Pepe thought about it. “Just our current distributors,” he said. “They’re called Bowsprit Beverages.”

  “Tell me about them.”

  “Well, I told you they weren’t doing a very good job for us, and I told them that, too. They didn’t take it too well.”

  “Who did you talk to?”

  “Jerry Brubeck, and his partner, Gino Parisi.”

  “Ah, now this is making sense. My friend at the NYPD told me that the man with Ryan is probably an ex-cop named Parisi. You said they didn’t take your criticism well. What did you say to them?”

  “I told them I was unhappy with the job they were doing, and I was going to end our relationship. I gave them a letter giving them the notice that our contract required.”

  “And how did they respond?”

  “They didn’t seem too upset. After all, I’m a pretty small client to them. But Gino said he would see to it that I’d never find another distributor in New York.”

  “And how did you respond to that?”

  “I told them that if that were so, I’d start my own distribution business. Then they got mad, and Gino said I’d never get a license, that he would see to that, too. At that point I told them good day and got out of there.”

  A secretary came out and led them to the partners’ office.

  “We’ll talk more about Brubeck and Parisi later,” Stone said.

  The Kelly brothers worked in a roomy office at a large, old-fashioned partners desk. Introductions were made, then two other people came in and were introduced as Sam Diehl and Caroline Woodhouse, a writer–art director creative team. Stone found Ms. Woodhouse very interesting, and he noted the absence of a ring on her left hand.

  The conversation was immediately relaxed and casual: Pepe thanked them for their introduction to Marty Winkle, and the brothers gave him information about the birth and growth of their agency, then showed him some print ads and a dozen of their recent television commercials for various clients.

  “I’ve seen some of this work before,” Pepe said, “in magazines and on TV. You fellows are very good at what you do.”

  They talked more about marketing and media buying and about the possibility of opening a small office in San Antonio to handle their regional work, as well as Pepe’s account.

  “We know you’ll want to talk to some other agencies,” Stan Kelly said, “but I want you to know that we’re very interested in working for you. After you’ve had some time to make a decision, please call us.”

  “I don’t need to talk with anyone else,” Pepe said, “and I’ve never had any trouble making decisions. If I can put together this company in New York, I’d like you to represent us. I looked at Marty Winkle’s operation, and it looks like we’re going to make a deal, after we’ve done due diligence, and Stone has written us a contract. The minute we get that done, I’ll want you to go to work on an introductory campaign.”

  The brothers were delighted. They talked about the sort of budget they thought would be needed, and Pepe was agreeable to that. “By the way, Brad,” he said, “I understand your brother-in-law was responsible for the introduction to Marty Winkle. When the deal goes through, I’ll see that he gets a finder’s fee.”

  “That would thrill him, Pepe,” Brad replied. “He’s getting married soon, and he could use it.”

  They broke up the meeting and said their goodbyes. Stone made a point of shaking Caroline Woodhouse’s hand. “I hope I’ll see you again,” he said.

  She looked him in the eye. “I hope so, too,” she replied, handing both Stone and Pepe her card.

  Stone and Pepe took the elevator downstairs and chatted for a moment in the lobby.

  “Tell me about Marty Winkle’s operation,” Stone said.

  “I was very impressed,” Pepe said. “I also liked it that his building is quite large. If we can make an initial success of distributing here, then there’s room on the property for a brewing operation. But I’m worried about Gino Parisi’s threat of preventing me from getting a business license.”

  “Then I think what we should do is, instead of just buying Marty’s assets, buy the corporation, after satisfying ourselves that there are no liabilities attached. If you own the corporation, you own the license, though you may have to get the sanction of the licensing board. Later on, you’d need another license for brewing, but I think the State of New York would be very happy to have a new brewery in the state. We’ll see, too, what tax incentives they’ll give us for establishing here.”

  Pepe shook his hand. “Thanks so much for all your help, Stone. My CFO and accountant will be here tomorrow, and after they’ve looked things over, I’ll give you a call and let you know where we go from here.”

  The two men parted, and Stone went home to call Dino. He wanted to find out more about Bowsprit Beverages and its owners, Brubeck and Parisi.

  Stone called Dino. “There’s a problem you maybe should have a look at.”

  “The city is full of those,” Dino replied.

  “This one might be more fun. It’s something called Bowsprit Beverages. It’s a liquor and beer distributor, and it appears they play hardball. They tried to get tough with my client Pepe Perado—even said that if he started his own distributorship, they’d torpedo his license application.”

  “That doesn’t sound too good,” Dino admitted.

  “Something else: remember the two dirty ex-cops, Ryan and Parisi? Well, the partners at Bowsprit are Jerry Brubeck and—wait for it—Gino Parisi.”

  “That last one rings a distant bell. I’ll look into it.”

  “One more item: Ryan and Parisi the younger are still dogging my client, and they knew he was staying at the Waldorf.”

  “Okay, I’ll get our organized crime guys to have a sniff at it. Anything else your police department can do for you today?”

  “Well, there’s been a lot of double-parking on my street lately.”

  “Let the air out of their tires.” Dino hung up.

  Stone hung up, too. He had no plans for the evening, and he didn’t like reading after dark. Also, there were no more old movies on TV to watch, since he’d seen them all at least three times. It seemed that the more recently produced movies made bad old movies. He picked up the phone, called Kelly & Kelly, and asked for Caroline Woodhouse.

  “This is Caroline.”

  “This is Stone Barrington. Hello again.”

  “All right, hello again.”

  “I know that when I said I hoped to see you again, you may not have thought it would be quite so soon, but would you like to have dinner this evening?”

  “Actually, I thought it might be soon, and yes, I would. I get hungry every evening around eight.”

  “Anyplace special you’d like to go?”

  “I’m fond of the Four Seasons Pool Room.”

  “What a coincidence, so am I. Why don’t you come to my house for a drink at seven or so, and we’ll go on from there.”

  “You talked me into it, but I don’t do ‘or so.’ I’ll be there at seven.”

  He gave her the address, and they hung up. Stone alerted his factotum, Fred Flicker, to station himself near the front door at almost seven.

  —

  She was true to her word; the bell rang at precisely seven, and a moment later Fred showed her into Stone’s study. “Ms. Woodhouse,” Fred intoned. “When would you like the car, Mr. Barrington
?”

  “At seven forty-five.” Fred vanished.

  “What would you like to drink?” Stone asked Caroline.

  “What do you recommend?”

  “The house specialties are vodka gimlets, vodka martinis, and excellent whiskeys.”

  “What’s a vodka gimlet?”

  “Trust me, if you don’t like it I’ll get you something else immediately.”

  “I’m game.” She began looking at pictures.

  Stone opened the little freezer, extracted a bottle of pre-made gimlets, poured her one and handed it to her, then he poured himself a Knob Creek.

  She tasted the gimlet. “Whoa, that’s startling,” she said.

  “I make them by the bottle and keep them in the freezer.”

  “Make them how?”

  “Simple—remove six ounces of vodka from a 750-milliliter bottle of vodka, replace it with Rose’s Sweetened Lime Juice, and put it in the freezer overnight.”

  Caroline stopped before a painting. “Wait a minute, is this a Matilda Stone?”

  “It is.”

  “So, somehow you discovered who my favorite painter is, then rushed out and bought this? I’m impressed.”

  “No, she’s my favorite painter, too. Would you like to see some others?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “There’s one more beside the door.” He waited for her to appreciate it, then took her into the living room and dining room and showed her some others.

  “My God, how many do you have?”

  “Eleven, at the moment, but I have a man still looking for more.”

  “That’s more than the Metropolitan Museum has.”

  “I know, they keep trying to buy mine. How did you discover Matilda Stone?”

  “I saw one at an exhibition, then I discovered those at the Met. I bought four prints at the museum shop, and they’re my favorites of all my pictures. I paint, and she was an influence on my work.”

  Stone took her back to the study and sat her down.

  “Tell me your story,” he said.

  “Long version or short version?”

  “I’m not drunk enough for the long version.”