by Lewis Orde
‘You got news for me?’
‘The very best news.’
‘Make it the Forum on Route 4 in half an hour.’
Generoso hung up and returned to his car. He pulled out of the shopping mall and headed toward the westbound ramp for Route 4. He was so excited – and relieved that his role in the necessary unpleasantness was over – that in the dark he never noticed the Cadillac limousine which took the ramp one hundred yards behind him.
In the Cadillac, Roland occupied the front seat with Bernie while Chivers, Michael and Kassler sat in the back. ‘Where do you think he’s heading?’ Roland asked Bernie.
‘Okay, he made a phone call. We assume it was to Milano for a meet. Milano’s suggested someplace west of here. I’d guess the Forum Diner. Busy this time of night, good place for a meet.’
‘Do any of us know what Milano looks like?’ Kassler asked. ‘Or are we just assuming that any man Generoso meets will be this Milano?’
‘Here.’ Bernie dug into his breast pocket, pulled out a black-and-white mug shot of a square-faced man with a belligerent expression; beneath his chin was a number. ‘Courtesy of the New York City Police Department. Milano was arrested once for assault, beat the hell out of a tow-truck driver who was pulling his car away from a no parking zone. He got off because the tow-truck driver suddenly lost his memory. My guess is Milano either paid him to shut up or used other persuasive means.’
Ahead of them Generoso swung the Lincoln off Route 4 into the parking lot of the Forum Diner. Bernie went right by, took the next exit and returned to the diner by a back road. By the time he entered the parking lot Generoso was inside. Bernie cut the engine and lights, and they settled down to wait.
Ten minutes later a chauffeur-driven black Cadillac pulled into the lot. The uniformed chauffeur climbed out and opened the rear door. A heavy-set man, hunched up in a camel hair coat, walked quickly toward the restaurant door. As he passed under a light, Bernie said: ‘That’s him. That’s Joe Milano.’
‘Now what do we do?’ Chivers asked.
‘Stay right here. Unless you want to go inside and break up their little meeting?’
‘No, thank you. We’ll follow your advice in this matter.’
*
Generoso was seated in a booth by a window which overlooked the parking lot, sipping a cup of coffee and picking at a wedge of cheesecake when Milano dropped heavily into the seat opposite him.
‘Biwell’s pulling out of the Brady deal,’ Generoso said. ‘Last night was the finishing touch, the fire and then the phone calls. Eagles is scared of having any of his people hurt.’ And Chivers didn’t look too happy either, Generoso thought; maybe this will be enough to send him packing and I’ll get the position that’s rightfully mine.
‘Good. A man with sense,’ Milano said. ‘When will it be official?’
‘Tomorrow, I believe. They’ll inform Brady tomorrow.’ Generoso glanced out of the window toward his car; he’d only had the Lincoln four weeks, and New Jersey always made him nervous.
‘Nice work, Vince. You can always count on family to get the job done.’ Milano pulled a bulky envelope from his pocket. ‘Just a small token of my appreciation.’
Generoso opened it just wide enough to see the edges of hundred and thousand dollar bills. ‘Thanks.’
‘Thank you. You’ll get the other fifty thousand after it’s official.’ Ignoring the cup of coffee the waiter had placed in front of him, Milano rose to leave. Generoso didn’t even look up as he left the diner.
‘Here comes Milano,’ Bernie said softly. He started the Cadillac’s engine and pulled out of the parking lot, back onto westbound Route 4, as Milano walked toward his own car.
‘Where to now?’ Roland asked.
‘How about we try Generoso’s home?’ Chivers suggested. ‘We’ll wait for him to get back. Before I speak to the police, I’d like to talk to him first, find out why he did it.’
Bernie took the first exit ramp, came back down on the eastbound ramp and headed back toward the bridge. He wished all crooks were as stupid as Generoso, sitting in the window of a diner with Joe Milano.
*
Generoso left the Forum Diner fifteen minutes after Milano, the fat envelope full of money feeling comfortable in his breast pocket. He even managed to convince himself that even if it had been a crime, it was victimless. Who had been hurt? No one. Any damage to Biwell over the vandalism would be made good by the insurance companies: those thieves charged too much for their premiums anyway.
He took his time driving home to Mamaroneck, thinking about what he’d do with the first fifty thousand dollars. He would spend it quietly on his wife and daughters, use it as he would have used the extra money that would have come with the top position at Biwell and a seat on the main board – the position that should have rightfully been his, Generoso didn’t mind a British company taking over an American chain; that was all part of business. He didn’t even mind them bringing in the Englishman during the transition period. But he’d never bargained on Chivers staying, this long, and he wasn’t going to sit on his hands any longer, especially when this opportunity had come up.
Driving easily, he reached home an hour later, swung the car into the driveway and pressed the button to open the garage door. A figure materialized from the shadows at the front of the house, then four more, standing in a line across the open garage. Generoso panicked as the lights of the Lincoln shone on terrifyingly familiar faces. He braked suddenly, considered throwing the transmission into reverse. Before he could act, though, the driver’s door was pulled open and Bernie had a hand in the car to remove the key.
The other men were quickly gathered around his side of the car.
‘Why did you do it, Vince?’ Roland asked.
‘Why did I do what?’ Generoso had no doubt why the men were there, but he’d be damned if he’d help them.
‘We saw you meet with Milano at the Forum Diner. There’s no point in trying to hide anything. What did he do? Pay you off to keep us out of the Brady deal so he could pick it up for a song?’
The front door of the house opened and Generoso’s wife looked out, attracted by voices. She started to step back and Roland called out to her. ‘If you’re thinking of phoning for the police, please do. We’ll need them here shortly.’
‘May I be allowed to resign?’ Generoso asked.
Roland would have preferred it that way, without the breath of scandal that would taint the company, force share prices down, if only temporarily. ‘I’m afraid not, Vince. The police want your friend Milano out of the way just as much as we do.’
Generoso looked from one face to another, not for sympathy but for an answer. Finally he stared at Chivers. It had to be him. He’d managed to foul up the rest of his life, his plans.
‘What tipped you off? What made you follow me to the Forum?’
‘You did. If it’s any consolation, Vince, you’re not cut out to be a crook. I never told anyone but Michael, Roland and Heinrich that I had a threatening phone call last night. Funny you seemed to know about it.’
*
Bernie drove Roland, Michael and Kassler to the airport on Friday evening to catch the TWA flight to London; Kassler would be staying with his son’s family for the weekend before returning to Germany since he wouldn’t be able to spend Christmas with them.
This time, the trip to the airport was made in a Cadillac limousine with clear windows and normal gauge steel; the terror over and the Brady deal signed, the men were feeling jubilant while, no doubt, Vincent Generoso and Joe Milano were trying to explain their actions to the police.
‘Bernie, thanks for all your help,’ Roland said to the chauffeur as porters carried their baggage into the TWA terminal.
‘Ah, it was nothing, Mr Eagles. All in a day’s work.’ Nonetheless, he swiftly accepted the five one-hundred-dollar bills that Roland passed as they shook hands.
Inside the terminal, the three men studied a bookshop display, looking for reading material for
the flight to London. Suddenly, Roland touched Kassler’s arm. ‘Up there.’ He motioned toward the terminal restaurant. ‘Is that him again?’
Kassler stared up at the man who had followed him and Roland into the coffee shop that morning. Now he was sitting with a cup of coffee and a sandwich, looking aimlessly across the terminal from his elevated vantage point. ‘I think we owe him an apology,’ Kassler said. He took the stairs to the restaurant two at a time, with Roland and Michael following. ‘It seems our paths are destined to cross again,’ Kassler said, reaching the man’s table. Glancing down he saw a passport wallet resting next to the coffee and sandwich; flight tickets protruded from the top.
This time, the man seemed neither surprised nor frightened, as if he’d already spotted Roland and Kassler in the terminal and had resigned himself to another confrontation. ‘What do you want?’
Roland stepped in quickly. ‘We came over to apologize for the other morning. We’d been through some trouble and were a bit nervous, that’s all. Have a good flight.’
The man regarded Roland stonily before returning to his coffee.
‘Come on,’ Michael said, steering his two colleagues away. ‘Let’s have a drink, and forget this madness before we all wind up in a padded cell.’
*
By Sunday, as Roland and Kassler walked across Hampstead Heath with their grandchildren, they were able to joke about the experience. Surrounded by the serene safety of London, the trip to New York didn’t seem as threatening anymore.
‘The look on that man’s face when you stepped out and touched his shoulder,’ Kassler said. ‘Such shock – it was priceless.’
‘It was nothing compared with the expression on your face when you grabbed him. He must have thought he was being mugged – and by a fellow German to boot. Heinrich, you looked really vicious. I certainly wouldn’t have wanted to meet you down a dark alley just then.’
‘How did you expect me to look? You thought he was following us, too.’
‘And he’s probably back home now, telling his family that the biggest thugs in New York are Germans and Englishmen.’
Kassler walked on in silence for a while, then turned to Roland, his tone serious. ‘I owe you a lot, Roland, more than I can ever hope to repay. Because of you, I’ve found what it means to have a family – to have a son who . . . who loves me.’
Roland felt embarrassed at the German’s gratitude, and he considered a flippant reply to dilute the intensity of the moment. Instead he said nothing, letting Kassler continue.
‘I can’t believe I let all those years pass without acknowledging Franz . . . no, that’s the wrong word. I mean without sharing his growing up, being a proper father to him, like you were to Katherine.’
‘I had my lapses as well,’ Roland reminded him.
‘Lapses. Short ones. I just had one long lapse.’
‘Stop punishing yourself, you’ve more than made up for it in the past few years.’
Kassler’s face barely brightened at the words. ‘I think,’ he said slowly, ‘that if I ever lost Franz now, I would kill myself. Life would be so empty, such a vast vacuum, it just wouldn’t be worth continuing.’
Roland clapped the German on the shoulder. ‘Let’s get back to the house before Kathy starts worrying that we’ve abducted her children.’ The cheerfulness in his voice was forced. Kassler’s soulful admission had moved Roland so, making him realize just how fortunate his own life – especially with his children – had been. ‘We’ll have something to eat, then Franz and I will take you to the airport. Are you sure,’ he said as they started toward the house, ‘that you can’t arrange to be here over Christmas?’
Kassler shook his head. ‘I have too much work to do in Stuttgart. The office will be quiet then, I’ll be able to complete it. But my thoughts will be with you all.’
‘You’ll be in our thoughts as well.’
Chapter Three
At ten-thirty on Christmas morning, Sally picked up Roland to drive him to Katherine’s for the day. After loading a pile of gifts in the trunk, Roland got into the car. Sally pointed to the glove compartment.
‘In there, something for you.’
Grinning, Roland opened the compartment and took out a gaily wrapped box the size of a book.
‘Merry Christmas,’ Sally said. ‘Open it and see what Santa Claus brought you for being a good boy all year.’
Roland undid the wrapping carefully, opened the box and found a painted stone figure of an armor-clad man astride a horse. ‘I give up. What’s it supposed to be?’
‘That’s a knight of the Round Table,’ Sally answered, one hand on the wheel as she took the small statue from Roland. ‘And I expect you to go around dressed like that after you receive your knighthood.’
‘Do you now? And what am I supposed to do when it rains?’
‘Turn rusty probably. Take a good look at the face.’
Roland took back the statue and studied it. The carefully painted face was his own – the features, the blue eyes, the hair a dark silver.
‘I gave the artist a photograph of you,’ Sally admitted.
‘I like it. Merry Christmas.’ He leaned across the car and kissed Sally on the cheek. ‘I was saving this for later, but you may as well have it now.’ He took a slender box from his coat pocket and gave it to her. She opened it and held out a gold and diamond pin in the shape of a letter S.
‘Just in case you ever forget who you are.’
‘It’s very pretty,’ Sally said, sticking the pin on her coat. ‘Where did you get it?’
‘New York, in between lowering the crime rate over there.’
‘Oh, that reminds me.’ Sally fumbled in her handbag. ‘Read this.’
Roland looked at the envelope which bore an American airmail stamp and a New York postmark. Inside was a Christmas card – he supposed it was a Christmas card anyway; it had ‘Season’s Greetings’ embossed on the front with a picture of a group of young women in bikinis sunning themselves on a crowded beach.
‘Came yesterday,’ she said.
Roland read the message, written in fountain pen in a scrawly hand . . . ‘The horses run better upside down, but then I always did prefer life that way. Sorry for any trouble, old girl. Fondly, C.’
‘Christopher?’ Roland asked, staring at the bikini-clad girls again.
‘I guess. That card was printed in Australia – that’s what it says on the back – and he had it mailed in New York. He could be anywhere.’
‘Australia sounds reasonable. And you thought you’d get a note from Pango Pango.’
‘What do you think I should do about it?’
‘Do you mean turn it over to the police?’ When Sally nodded, Roland said, ‘You don’t know it’s from Christopher. That C could stand for anything, you must know a hundred people with that initial.’ He tapped the card against his fingernails; what would he do in Sally’s place? ‘I’d let sleeping dogs lie, Sally,’ he said at last.
She took the card back from him and backed out of the driveway, heading for Katherine’s house. As they stopped at a traffic light she looked at it one more time, rolled down the window and let the card fall onto the wet road. ‘Sleeping dogs and other assorted animals have been officially allowed to lie. At least, he apologized . . . eventually.’
Roland and Sally were the first to arrive at Katherine’s. While Franz took their coats and offered them drinks, Roland piled presents under the Christmas tree which was alight in the huge hallway. ‘Too bad your father couldn’t be here today,’ he said, when Franz finally dragged him away from the tree and handed him a glass of scotch and water.
‘What, so the two of you could bore us all day long with tall tales of how you trapped this crook?’ Franz joked.
‘Got a date to see the Queen yet?’ Katherine asked. She held a huge box in her hands which she shoved at her father. ‘Merry Christmas.’
‘I’m scared to open it. What’s inside?’
‘Something you’ll wear when you go to t
he Palace.’
Roland glanced at Sally, who was having a difficult time keeping a straight face. Whatever was inside the box – and it seemed every gift today would be somehow connected with his knighthood – Sally already knew about it. He undid the wrapping and opened the box, surprised to see a pearl gray top hat. ‘God almighty! A sensible gift! It’ll go perfectly with my morning suit, bless you.’ He kissed Katherine, then tried on the hat. It slid straight over his eyes and bent his ears double before it stopped.
‘It’s a size nine,’ Katherine said, between bursts of laughter. ‘We had it made especially because we figured your head would swell that much when you received your knighthood.’
‘Very funny.’ He struggled to remove the hat and jammed it over Katherine’s head. It covered her completely, right down to her chin. Roland rapped with his knuckles on the crown. ‘That’ll teach you to make fun of your father.’
Within half an hour the other guests arrived – Ralph and Janet Morrison with Carol and Richard, and Michael and Lisa. More presents were exchanged. Roland was grateful that there were no more jokes about his impending knighthood or the business in New York. Finally, everyone sat down to lunch. Roland caught Sally’s eye and he debated whether she was thinking about the card she’d received from Christopher. He didn’t even understand why she’d asked him what to do. Mellish was in the past, gone – surely she wasn’t feeling sentimental about him now . . .
But Roland couldn’t be sure. With that thought in mind, he raised his glass. ‘Before we start, how about a toast to absent friends?’ He looked squarely at Sally as he suggested it.
‘An excellent idea,’ Franz agreed, thinking of his father.
‘To absent friends,’ Sally joined in. ‘And may some of them stay absent . . . for all our sakes.’
Halfway through the main course, the telephone rang. Franz answered it, then motioned to Roland. ‘It’s Alf Goldstein, he was told you were here.’
