by Lyle Howard
Then something happened that took Jimmy Diaz by surprise. He looked up from the floor and noticed that the customer was almost smiling as he spoke. The stranger suddenly sounded aggressive. This was different.
“Mr. Coltello,” the customer pleaded. “You don’t want to do this.”
Nicky the Knife smiled. “Of course I do. I do it all the time.”
The stranger moved his head slightly back and forth feeling the tip of the scissors scratch his neck. “You need me,” he said, bluntly.
Nicky pressed the scissors harder against the customer’s throat making him raise his head a few inches and rise on his toes. “Need you? I don’t even know who the fuck you are! You come busting into my place of business like some kind of superhero and expect me to believe anything that comes out of your fucking mouth? Are you fucking kidding me?” Coltello looked to his left at Diaz who just shrugged. “If I broke into your office would you trust me?”
It wasn’t comfortable speaking with your chin pointed at the roof, but the stranger managed to mumble what he needed to say. “Who does your books?” He asked, trying desperately not to lower his head.
“Who does my books?” Coltello asked. “Is that what you’re asking me? Who does my fucking books? What are you, an accountant looking for work?” Coltello wiped a strand of wet hair out of his eyes. “Are you sure you want ‘who does your books’ to be your very last words?”
“I’m not here for a job interview, Mr. Coltello,” pleaded the customer. “Trust me. I’m trying to save my life.”
Nicky Coltello tilted his head from side to side, not sure what to make out of this intruder. So, like the cat and lizard, Nicky decided to play with his prey for a while longer. “I already got a whole team of accountants that do my books. I ain’t in the market.”
The customer shook his head slowly. “No, I mean your books. Not the ones that the government audits…your real books.”
Coltello’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, pal. We only got one set of books here. This is a legitimate business. I’m just a bighearted entrepreneur who runs a trendy nightclub, pays every penny of taxes he owes and tries to do right by his fellow man, period. End of story.”
The stranger didn’t know where he got the guts from, but he very slowly and cautiously raised his right hand and put it on Coltello’s left wrist easing the blade downward, away from his neck. “I can tell your heart is huge, Mr. Coltello,” he said softly, not wanting to pull the trigger of the half-cocked gun standing before him. “But let’s just say hypothetically there were another set of ledgers somewhere. And that these notebooks or computer records revealed other income that you would rather not have the government pry into. Who do you have keeping track of those transactions?”
Nicky the knife smiled and took a step back. He looked at the customer like he was some sort of oddity that he had never come across before. “I gotta admire your balls, mister. They must be gigantic. For you to come into my workplace and hypothetically accuse me of running an illegal enterprise out of this nightclub,” he chuckled. “You don’t fear death at all, do you?”
The customer could feel a drop of blood dribble down to his collar, but he dared not make any sudden movement to wipe it away. “It’s obvious I have nothing to lose by asking, Mr. Coltello, so I’ll ask you again. Who cooks your books?”
Diaz took a step forward from the desk, either in anticipation of interfering, or catching the body, he wasn’t quite sure yet.
“Do you believe this mamaluke?” Coltello asked no one in particular, as he tightened the knot in his robe while still grasping the business end of the scissors. “Okay, I’ll play along just for shits and giggles. I got a whole team of very knowledgeable accountants who oversee my business affairs. They are highly competent, and I trust them implicitly to keep all my transactions on the up and up should the government ever decide that they want to subpoena…I mean, request to examine them. Hypothetically.”
Diaz spoke up. “Nicky, I think you need to stop talking.”
Coltello held up his hand to stop him. “My associate over here thinks we should discontinue our conversation and I am inclined to agree with him. I think I might have inadvertently stepped over an acceptable boundary of familiarity with you.” He snipped the scissor blades twice in the air.
“I’m better than all of them combined,” the stranger blurted out. “I have been hiding assets and laundering money for one of the largest corporations in the State of Florida for the last twenty years. I know every loophole in the U.S. Tax Code, and I can double your profits through specialized investments that make any dirty currency sparkling clean. I’m like Mr. Clean.”
Coltello looked over at Diaz and then back at the accountant and smirked. “You’re Mr. Clean, eh? You don’t look nothing like him.”
The customer held out his hand and spoke slowly and precisely. “If I had my wallet, I would gladly give you one of my business cards, but I told you, I was pick-pocketed by a woman out there.”
Coltello spoke to Diaz while keeping shark-like eye contact with the accountant. “Is Veronica working our joint again?”
“Probably,” Diaz admitted.
The accountant interrupted. “Excuse me, but she called herself Rain, not Veronica.”
“Rain,” Coltello chucked. “That’s fucking rich. Find Veronica and bring me the wallet,” he ordered.
Jimmy Diaz signaled one of the guards to track down the missing wallet. He knew Veronica would still be in the club hunting another easy mark. She was a two-bit hustler that no one in the office thought about twice. Diaz knew she carried a change of wigs in her purse to dodge guys like this. He had seen her change her hair color and clothing more than once in the evening. It was quite a clever scam actually. Hell, everyone had a right to make a living.
“And make sure everything in the wallet is intact,” Coltello yelled, as the door shut.
“What do we do now?” The accountant asked trying desperately to ignore the corpse encased in a bolt of rug lying a few feet away from him.
Coltello untied the knot in his robe and let it fall to the floor. Walking naked across the office, he reached into a dresser and slipped into a pair of navy blue trousers sans underwear. From another drawer, he pulled out an orange v-neck t-shirt and pulled it over his head.
Okay, that was incredibly normal and uncomfortable, the accountant thought. At least he put down the scissors for now. That’s a good sign.
Coltello walked over to Diaz and whispered something into his ear. The customer thought he heard the word “concrete,” but he wouldn’t bet his life on it. And then he wondered if that was exactly what he was doing.
Ten minutes later the office door opened and the guard returned with Rain in front of him.
“Is this her?” Coltello asked aloud, never taking his eyes off the girl.
The accountant nodded.
“I can’t hear you shaking your fucking head, jerk-off. Yes or no, is this Rain?”
“Yes,” he said.
Coltello smiled sweetly. “You’ve been very busy tonight, Veronica. Do you have something that belongs to this gentleman?”
The young woman was trembling. “Mr. Coltello, if I had known that…”
Nicky held up his hand again. It was his universal signal for silence. “Do you still have this property?”
“Excuse me?”
“The wallet, do you still have this man’s wallet?” He demanded impatiently.
“Oh yes, sir,” she replied meekly, as she reached her quivering fingers into her purse. She pulled out the billfold and held it up. It was at the same instant that she noticed the roll of carpet on the floor. Coltello looked at the rug and then back at her. He shook his head remorsefully. “It’s okay, Veronica, there’s nothing to worry about. There’s nothing to see here. We’re just doing a little redecorating. You retur
ned the merchandise you took, and that’s all that matters to me.” Nicky nodded to the guard standing behind her. “Take Veronica and get her a drink on me. Get her whatever she wants. Are you hungry, Veronica? We’ve got some pretty good pasta dishes here. The sauce is a Coltello family secret. I’d tell you what was in it, but then I’d have to kill you,” he snickered.
The young pickpocket’s eyes started to tear up. “Thank you Mr. Coltello, for your generosity, but I’m not very hungry. I’d just like to leave now, and I promise I’ll never come back to the Three Aces again.” She swept her finger across her heart.
Nicky the Knife smiled warmly. “Oh, I assumed that was a given.”
He shrugged his head at the beefy guard standing next to her. “Escort Veronica out and take care of her.”
The guard grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her toward the door. There was a long moment of unbroken eye contact between her and the accountant as she was being led away that spoke volumes. Neither of them wanted to admit it, but they both assumed that before this night was over, they would end up together anyway.
10
Nicky Coltello opened up the wallet and pulled out the Florida driver’s license from behind a transparent window built into the leather. He looked at the name and the picture and confirmed that the wallet did indeed belong to Mr. Clean.
“Gerald Banks, that’s you?” He asked, handing the license to Jimmy Diaz.
“Yes sir,” Banks confirmed. “That’s my billfold. Now if I could just have it back, I would really appreciate it.”
Jimmy Diaz walked around Coltello’s desk and removed a laptop computer from one of the desk drawers. In less than a minute, he had searched the name “Gerald Banks” and begun reading any information he could find on the alleged accountant.
“You’ll get your wallet back when I’m good and ready to give it to you,” Coltello grunted. “What’s it say on there, J.D.? Is this guy who he says he is?”
Diaz ran his finger across the screen. It was a bad habit he had attained as a slow reader back in parochial school. He held up another finger while he continued to read to himself. “Just give me another second, Nicky, I’m almost through.”
Coltello stood silently and waited. He never took his eyes off the man he now knew as Gerald Banks. What was it about this guy that made Costello uneasy? The mobster considered himself a good judge of character and his intuition was usually on point. There was just something about the way this guy handled himself that intrigued him. “I’m growing impatient, Jimmy. What did you find out?”
Diaz looked up from the monitor. “You work across the street?” Diaz asked.
The customer nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“On the eighteenth floor?”
“Sixteenth through eighteenth actually.”
Coltello felt like a third wheel in the conversation. Something he was never used to. “Does anyone want to clue me in here? Is this guy who he says he is, or isn’t he?”
Diaz stood up and closed the lid on the laptop. He walked around to the front of the desk, hitched up the knees of his slacks and took a seat. “Mr. Banks works for Mason Cruise Lines, boss. Peter Mason is the new mover and shaker in town.”
Coltello grimaced. “I know who Peter Mason is. I know everything that happens in this burg. So you’re Peter Mason’s accountant?”
Banks nodded. “And his brother-in-law.”
The owner of the Three Aces took a step back. “Whoa, his brother-in-law? Then why were you over here chasing a piece of ass? The old lady cut you off?”
Banks rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s a long personal story that I would rather not get into if you didn’t mind. So now you have something on me. Happy?”
Coltello looked over at Diaz. “Get on the blower right now and call Tiny off the girl. We may need her if something goes sideways here.”
Diaz pulled out his cell phone and dialed. “Yeah it’s me,” he said into the phone. “Don’t touch the girl. Put her somewhere safe for the minute.” Then there was a pause. “No,” he continued. “Stay away from the field for now. Bring her back if you need to. We need you and Jumbo to clean up this mess and get some new flooring in by tomorrow. Yeah, just come back.”
“You know what I want?” Coltello announced. “I want a tour of your office. Can you take me there now?”
Banks nodded. “Sure, but why?”
Coltello shrugged. “I want to see how a classy guy like Peter Mason decorates his place. I’ve never really been in a big corporate office before. Maybe I can get some ideas for this shit hole. You got a problem with that?”
Banks looked over at Diaz who raised his hands. “Let’s take a walk.”
Coltello smiled as he tied his hair back into a ponytail. “Yeah, let’s take a walk, and we can talk on the way about what you think you can do for me. Worse comes to worst,” he chuckled, “we can always take you up to the roof and toss your ass off!”
The accountant smiled. Coltello didn’t return the gesture.
With Banks walking between them, the trio left the office and made their way through the chaos of the One Eleven Club. People pointed at Nicky the Knife as he sliced through the throng of humanity. Seeing him in person was like spotting a great white shark. You knew they were out there, but you rarely came face to face with one—and really didn’t want to.
When they reached the sidewalk, Coltello looked up at the skyscraper across the street. The wind was brisk, and a line of customers was still huddled against the wall of his club waiting to get inside. There were only a few random offices lit up as cleaning crews went about their business. “I remember when they built that fucking monstrosity,” he bemoaned. “It ruined the skyline. What a damned shame!”
Banks tucked his hands into his jacket pockets as they stepped off the curb. “I wouldn’t know. We only moved into these offices last year. Most of corporate are still in Miami.”
“Like Mason himself?” Coltello asked as he waited for a car to slow down so he could cross.
“He comes and goes. I think he’ll be starting to spend more time here in the future. He’s got big plans for his financial interests in the city of Jacksonville.”
Jimmy Diaz was the first to reach the entrance to the Jax Building lobby, and he held open the door for Coltello and Banks. The interior was austere and cold. A local bank had a branch office in the on the ground floor which was closed now, but otherwise, there was just a security desk and a few pieces of non-descript art adorning the marble walls.
“Mr. Banks, you’re back?” The security guard sitting behind the desk called out.
The three men stepped up to the desk. “Yeah, I need to get something from my office. No problem, right?”
“Of course, Mr. Banks. No problem. I’m just going to need you to sign in,” he reminded him, as he placed a clipboard with an entry log on the desk.
“Sure, Freddie. Thank you,” Banks said, signing his name.
The guard exchanged smiles with the other two men. “You fellows don’t need to sign in as long as you’re with Mr. Banks.
“They’re with me, Freddie.” Banks confirmed.
“Yes sir, Mr. Banks. I’ll turn on elevator three. Shouldn’t be too long.”
The three men arrived at the wall of elevators just as the door to number three slid open. Banks waved to the guard who was still watching them.
Once in the elevator, the floors seemed to take forever to click by.
“So, in my office you implied that Peter Mason had some shady dealings. Did I hear you right?” Coltello asked as he stared at the numbers ascending.
Banks stepped out into an empty foyer when the elevator finally stopped. “You’re kidding me, right? Do you know how the Mason fortune was created?”
Diaz interrupted. “His father was a drug runner in the eighties.”
Coltello sounded perturbed. “I know
that. Everyone fucking knows that.”
They turned the corner and Banks pulled open one of the glass doors with the Mason Cruise Line logos etched into it. Nicky the Knife ran his hand over the insignia. “Nice.”
The offices of The Mason Cruise Line Corporation had quickly overtaken the top three floors of the Jax Tower. Marketing filled the sixteenth floor; Operations occupied the seventeenth floor; and Administration and Accounting filled the Penthouse suites.
“This is some freakin’ operation going on here,” Coltello conceded. “Sweet…very sweet.”
A photograph, lithograph, sketch, or watercolor of one of the company’s vessels decked out each wall along the hallway to the conference room. “I’m glad I’m wearing comfortable shoes.” Coltello blurted out. “This is quite the fucking hike.”
“I thought we would be more comfortable talking in the conference room.” Banks said. “I’m afraid my office would be kind of cramped.”
“Cramped.” Coltello laughed. “I’ll bet your office is bigger than the Three Aces.”
The trio of men turned yet another corner. “Not even close.” Banks admitted.
Nicky tapped Diaz on the back. “You know, the irony of an accountant named Banks hasn’t been lost on me. Did you wonder about that, Jimmy?”
Diaz shook his head. He was too busy being impressed by what some illegal drug money had grown into in less than a generation. “No, Nicky, I didn’t. That’s clever.”
Coltello smiled. “Really fucking ironic!”
The hallway emptied into the spacious and luxurious conference room. Taking up a quarter of the entire eighteenth floor, the room had an almost identical arrangement to the conference room in the Miami Headquarters. Teleconference screens filled the far wall, while the opposite wall revealed an absolutely jaw-dropping vista of Jacksonville at night. The same models of the Hydra and Mason Ballpark stood guard on each of the other walls.
Coltello stood by the window nearly speechless. “Are you seeing this, Jimmy? Top of the world, Ma…top of the world!”
