Death Benefit (46 page)

“I’m pretty sure. Everything about his behavior told me he was lying. When I asked him a direct question, he hesitated and then started stammering that he didn’t know if he was related or not. It was obvious to me he knows the name. And it’s practically his name. If you’re gonna change your name, change your name.”

“And his boss didn’t say anything?” Prek asked, meaning Berti Ristani.

“Nothing. Either he didn’t notice or he didn’t want to say anything with me sitting there. I bet it’s the latter because he’s not stupid. It’s this Drilon guy who’s stupid.”

“Why would he lie about something like that? He must know what the implications are.”

“I would assume as much,” Buda said. This, of course, was the question that was nagging at him. If Drilon Graziani was lying, it meant whatever he was trying to conceal from his boss was more important to him than this girl’s life, even if she was a relative. Paradoxically, that fact made the girl suddenly more valuable to Buda, even if he didn’t know why. This was the reason it was so important for him to talk to Burim Graziani, if that was actually his name. Buda figured that Ristani had also realized Drilon was lying, which had an entirely separate set of consequences.

Buda himself didn’t appreciate being lied to, especially by a subordinate, and he wouldn’t want to be in Drilon’s shoes if Buda was right about his supposition. It also put Buda in a tricky position. His visit was probably now the cause of a problem within the Ristani crew. He hoped Berti didn’t blame him for that.

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” Buda said, meaning that he wasn’t comfortable having even this guarded a conversation over a cell phone line. “I’m coming up there to the summer house. Just make sure our guest is treated as a guest until this is cleared up,” Buda said.

“Will do,” Prek said, ending the call. He’d left Genti in charge in the house, and he trusted him, for the most part. But he thought he’d better check.

 

 

I
mmediately after talking with Prek, Buda got another call on his headset.

“Aleksander, it’s Berti. Sorry to bother you.”

“No bother, Berti,” Buda said.

“I talked with Burim,” Berti said. “I asked him about Pia Grazdani, wondering if he’d ever heard the name. And you know what? He said he did. Can you believe that?”

“No,” said Buda, but he could.

“Then Burim called back and said one of your guys tried to call him.” Berti said nothing more and left the statement hanging in the air. Buda thought he’d better play it straight.

“I did have one of my guys call Burim,” Buda admitted. “You know as well as I do, Berti, Drilon acted strangely to my question. My sense was that he was lying. I figure that’s your business, him lying to you, but he lied to me too. If I could ask the brother, maybe I wouldn’t have to bother you directly. But I have to find out so I can deal with the woman I’m holding without starting a blood feud.”

“I appreciate that, Aleksander. Of course, none of us want another blood feud: Albanian brother against Albanian brother. Of course I noticed Drilon was lying, and I called him back after you left and asked him again. I said, ‘No fucking around,’ and he said yeah, well, maybe he did know a Pia Grazdani. He tried to say he’d forgotten because he hasn’t heard the name or seen the girl for twenty-some-odd years.”

Buda was relieved that Berti was seeing it his way.

“So what do we do, Berti?”

“You hold on, I can conference you through to Burim.”

“I need to make another quick call first,” Buda said.

“Okay. Do what you need to do, then call me right back.”

Buda was navigating a complicated course but calmly made his call to Prek. When Prek picked up, Buda spoke and didn’t give Prek a chance to respond. He told Prek that he had to talk to a man named Burim Graziani before he could say yea or nay about Pia Grazdani. He said he was about to talk with him, so he’d be getting back to Prek straightaway with a final answer. “Hold the course with our guest for another half-hour or so,” Buda said. “I thought I’d also let you know I’m only about a half-hour away. I’m in Wayne, on Route 23. I’ll be back to you shortly.”

 

 

A
s soon as Prek hung up from Buda the second time, after being told to hold the course, he jumped out of the van. For a moment he stood and listened. He had expected to hear muffled conversation from his two sex-starved underlings, but he heard nothing, which was disturbing. A half-hour earlier the men had been unable to stop talking. With gathering urgency, Prek headed for the front door, hearing in his mind Buda telling him the woman was to be treated as a guest.

With his intuition setting off alarm bells, Prek reproached himself: He should not have left the two alone no matter how much he had wanted to get out of the house. He went to open the front door and found it locked.

“What the . . .” he said. He ran around the corner of the house directly to the window of the master bedroom. Neri hadn’t even bothered to close the drapes. Prek banged twice on the window, then ran back to the van, grabbed his gun from the glove compartment, ran back to the window, and smashed it with the butt of the gun. He was furious. Reaching in awkwardly, he fired off a single round.

 

 

I
understand you’re trying to reach me,” Burim Graziani said.

“Berti, are you still on the line?” Buda questioned.

“I’m getting off. You two men talk.” There was a click when Berti hung up.

“Yes, I need to talk to you,” Buda said to Burim. “We haven’t met each other, right?”

“No, I don’t believe so. But I know who you are, of course.”

In their line of work, everyone knew Aleksander Buda. This was going to be a complicated conversation, Buda could tell. He wanted to make sure it wasn’t also too compromising. Cell phones could be hacked, even new cell phones like the one Buda was currently using.

“For that reason, we need to be careful.”

“I understand.”

Neither of them was willing to start. Burim had been shocked to get Ristani’s call. He had been in his car, driving back to Weehawken from South Jersey where he’d concluded his business early. Ristani’s question had shaken him so much he nearly rear-ended the truck in front of him. “Pia Grazdani?” he’d repeated out loud, and he thought of his wife, not his daughter. He remembered her fiery personality, the fights, how Pia stayed out all night to party, leaving him alone with the baby. His sudden fury meant he wasn’t listening properly to what Berti was asking him.

“She’s about twenty-five,” Berti had said. “Apparently quite beautiful. Burim, shit, can you hear me?” The connection had not been good, going in and out. It was at that point that Burim realized Berti wasn’t talking about his late wife, but rather about his daughter, Afrodita Pia Grazdani.

Buda cleared his throat. “Berti told me you recognize the name Pia Grazdani. Is there any relation?”

“I remember her by a different name,” Burim said. “Afrodita, which is what I called her. Her middle name was Pia, like her mother. She was my daughter.”

Afrodita. The kid had been a pain in the ass almost as much as the mother since she’d inherited her mother’s personality. Drilon had been the only one who got along with her. A miserable little thing, very demanding at a time when Burim had been too busy trying to make the grade in the Rudaj organization. He’d had no time for a kid. After she’d been taken away by city services, Burim told himself that he’d go and get her back when he was legal in the country, but when he got his green card, he decided he was happier as a man without the burden of responsibility. Then he had to drop out of sight as Burim Graziani and he never got around to establishing his new identity beyond getting a driver’s license in case there was ever a traffic stop. He imagined he’d now have to explain all this to Berti Ristani, something that was a bigger issue to him than the fate of his daughter.

“So you think this girl might be your daughter?” Buda asked, not wanting to believe this was happening.

“It’s possible, for sure. It’s hardly a common name, and the age is about right, mid-to-late twenties.” Try as he might, Burim couldn’t remember Afrodita’s birthday—neither the day nor the year.

“What’s the story with the change of the family name?”

Burim related that issue. Since Buda, like all Albanian mafia, knew the details of the Rudaj debacle, he understood. When the FBI came bursting in, lots of people had to go underground.

“So you lost touch with your daughter a long time ago?”

“Yes, you know how it is in this business.”

Having been at the time a gofer in a neighborhood crew that was heavily involved in the drug business didn’t make him ideal parent material. Buda and Burim both understood. Burim didn’t think it was necessary to fill in the details. That the cops had come and taken the kid away and put her in foster care, that he hadn’t bothered to stay in contact, was all understood. Burim went quiet again.

“You think she’d remember you?”

“She was six, I believe, when she went away, and I guess a kid can remember back that far.”

Burim couldn’t help wondering why a man like Buda cared about this woman who might possibly be his daughter. “So how did this Pia Grazdani show up? How did she get involved with you?”

“She’s associated with a job I was asked to do,” Buda said vaguely. “She’s a medical student at Columbia University, doing work with some researcher who had an accident and died.”

Burim was shocked once again. Could his daughter be a medical student? And at such a famous university? It seemed incredible. If pressed, he would have thought the girl would end up on a similar path as her mother, would have been with a guy like him or maybe even out on the street. A medical student? He was surprised to feel something like pride.

“And is she pretty, like Berti said?”

“I haven’t seen her, but I’m told she is quite beautiful. And, er, scrappy.”

“You mean she likes a fight?”

“You could say that.”

“That sounds right,” Burim said ruefully. “Her mother was a tigress. So what is this about?”

“Where are you?” Buda asked. “With this development, we need to talk in person.”

It turned out that Burim was only about fifteen miles from where Buda was parked, near the Lincoln Tunnel exit on the New Jersey Turnpike.

“Do you know the Swiss House Inn?” Burim asked, and Buda did. The restaurant was just off Route 80, convenient for Burim and Buda and not far, as it happened, from Green Pond either.

“I want my brother to come,” Burim said.

“Okay,” Buda said, curious. The two brothers seemed to be like night and day. Why he’d want his moron brother there, Buda couldn’t imagine, but he didn’t care. It was, after all, a family affair.

“I will have an associate with me as well,” Buda said, thinking of Fatos Toptani. If he could get Fatos Toptani to get there in time, he thought.

“About thirty minutes,” Buda said, and rang off. He wasn’t happy that the call had taken so long, but his hand had been forced somewhat. What were the odds that Berti’s guy Burim was this Pia’s father? From that perspective, he was very glad he’d thought to look into the issue. Killing the daughter of a connected man, even a long-lost daughter, even a daughter the father was ambivalent about, would have been a serious matter, especially for a man associated with the Ristani crew. More than any other crew Buda knew, they were addicted to violence. For them it was like a sport.

Buda quickly phoned Berti back and gave him a synopsis of the conversation. “As strange as it may seem, this Pia Grazdani may be Burim’s long-lost daughter.” Berti was as surprised as anyone. “We’re getting together in person,” Buda added.

“Good,” Berti replied. “I appreciate the care you are taking with this. I wouldn’t want anything to come between our organizations.”

“Nor would I,” Buda responded, and meant it.

Buda then made one more call before heading off to the restaurant rendezvous with Burim. He called Prek. It was now more important than ever that Pia be treated with kid gloves. Her fate was going to have to be in Burim’s hands.

 

 

P
rek’s phone rang again. Again it was Buda, just as he expected. He took the news saying little until Buda had finished. He then reassured Buda that everything was fine at the cottage, and before he rang off, he asked Buda to bring them some takeout if it was convenient. Buda agreed, saying he’d bring it from the Swiss House.

“What is it?” Genti said after Prek had disconnected.

“The Buda is on his way with Fatos to a restaurant not far from here to meet with two of Berti Ristani’s guys who are brothers. It appears likely that the girl is related to them—the daughter of one and niece of the other. If it turns out to be true, my guess is they’re going to talk for a while and figure out how they will vouch for her silence just like we vouched for her safety. Then they’re going to drive here and find out that our promise was worth nothing. Then they’re going to shoot Neri in the head and you in the legs. If you’re lucky.”

Prek indicated first Neri and then Genti. Neri had crammed his body into the corner of the couch. His hands were thrust down between his knees and his body was slumped forward although his head was up and he was looking at Prek. His eye, where Prek had smashed him in the face with the pistol, was a livid red. It would turn into a big black shiner, if he lived that long. Genti was sitting at the other end of the couch. He wanted to be sitting up with Prek, who was perched on the back of the couch opposite with his feet on the seat cushion, but he understood the symbolism. He was in the doghouse almost as much as Neri was.