Kings of Midnight (12 page)

Leonard leaned forward, steepled his hands, looked at her. There was something familiar about him. Not someone she'd met, but someone she'd seen, in a photo maybe, or on television.

“All right,” she said. She sat back down.

“That's better,” Jimmy said. “Now, Leonard, let's hear it.”

Leonard tapped his fingertips together, looked at the floor, then up at her. “You know about Lufthansa?”

“The airline?”

“The robbery. Back in '78. Biggest cash heist in U.S. history at the time.”

“I've heard of it.”

“Six guys walked into the Lufthansa cargo terminal at JFK, walked out with eight, maybe ten million in cash and jewels. That was the estimate, at least. None of it was traceable.”

“Where'd the money come from?”

“People changing currency overseas. Military, tourists, whatever. The jewelry was being couriered, for delivery to the States. Just a coincidence it was there that day. The score was mainly cash, though. Most of it was never recovered.”

“And won't be at this point,” she said.

“Leonard's got a theory on that,” Jimmy said.

“Let's hear it,” she said.

“Some of the money got spread out right away,” Leonard said. “Up here and in Florida. Tribute to the bosses, and then some into a kind of investment fund. Seed money for businesses, real estate, that sort of thing. But there was still a lot left over. So people got greedy.”

“You know all this how?” she said.

“I was part of the crew that did it.”

She sat back. This was different. “You one of the six?”

“No.”

“But you got your share.”

He shook his head. “Should have, but didn't. Things got crazy right afterward. Guys started getting whacked right and left.”

“I remember that,” Jimmy said. “It was a bad time.”

To Leonard, she said, “Go on.”

“The guy who put it together, Jimmy Burke—we called him ‘the Gent'—he kicked up to Joe Diamante, Joey Dio. Joey oversaw a bunch of the Queens crews back then, along with Tony Ducks and Paulie Vario.”

She recognized the names. “You knew all these people?”

“I was around them. I used to be at Roberts Lounge all the time, in Ozone Park. That's where we all hung out, Jimmy and the guys. We sat around, shot the shit. Ran bets out of the back. That's where the whole job came together.”

It was all sounding vaguely familiar now. A movie she'd seen, maybe, or a book she'd read.

“Most of those guys from back then are dead,” he said. “A couple are in the joint, couple more in the program. Joey Dio just died a few weeks back.”

“This is all interesting,” she said, “but it's ancient history.”

“Joey Dio got a big chunk of the money, maybe the lion's share. It was his territory, so he had to give his blessing in the first place, before Jimmy put the score together. Joey got sent away a few years back, a RICO beef, but word was he'd stashed his cut somewhere, didn't touch it. He was a very paranoid individual. A couple days after the job, he and Jimmy were already having people whacked. It was easier than paying them off.”

“They let you walk away?”

He shifted, uncomfortable. “I knew what was coming. So I made some moves first.”

“You rolled.”

“If you want to call it that.”

“What else would you call it?”

“Saving my life. It was me or them.”

She looked at Jimmy. He shrugged. “It happens.”

To Leonard, she said, “You were in the program?”

“For a while, yeah.”

“Testifying in cases? Marshals looking after you?”

“Not anymore. I'm done with all that. No more marshals. Nobody in the G knows I'm back here. And at this point, they wouldn't care. They cut me loose.”

“Why?”

“I got tired of playing their game. And they were done with me anyway. I'd been out of the life so long, I wasn't any use to them anymore. The people I knew, the things I did … Like you said, ancient history. I'm no good to anybody now.”

She could see the regret in his eyes, something close to resignation. As if admitting something to himself for the first time.

“You have family?” she said.

He shook his head. “My wife passed. I don't know where my kids are. I haven't heard from them in a long time.”

“You on your own out here?”

“No. I've got someone with me.”

“A woman?”

“Yeah.”

“And that's it?”

“Just the two of us.”

“And your name's not really Leonard, is it?”

“That's the one on my driver's license. And now you know a lot more about me than I do about you.”

“What do you know about me?”

“Just that Jimmy vouches for you, says you're a serious person.”

She looked at Jimmy again. “I'm still not sure what I'm doing here.”

“Since Joey Dio died,” Leonard said, “people have been looking for his money.”

“Which may or may not exist.”

“It exists. I'm ninety-nine point nine percent sure of that.”

“And?”

“I think I have an idea where it might be.”

“Where?”

He looked at her, didn't answer.

“For what it's worth,” Jimmy said, “I knew Joey D a little. That's the way he was. If he had money put away, he'd burn it before letting anyone else near it.”

“How much are we talking about?”

“After all this time, I can't be sure,” Leonard said. “But I'd guess two, three million at least. Cash.”

The numbers made sense. If he'd named a larger amount—six or eight million—she would have dismissed it as unrealistic, made her excuses and left, and apologized to Jimmy later.

“What about his family?” she said. “Someone must have known he had that money.”

“His wife died some years back. No kids. He was alone when he passed.”

“What about his crews?”

“Most of them are long gone. But there's other guys circling around, getting the scent.”

“What's that mean?”

“You need to tell her,” Jimmy said.

“Tell me what?”

Leonard shifted again. “Some guys came out to see me, a few days ago. Tracked me down. They wanted me to help them look for the money.”

“What happened?”

“They braced me. I got away.”

“Where was this?”

“Indiana. Where I was living.”

“They still looking for you?”

“Probably.”

“They from back east?”

“Brooklyn.”

That wasn't good. She looked at Jimmy, then back at Leonard. “So, they could be around here now, waiting for you to turn up.”

“Yeah.”

“They know you had connections in Jersey?”

“They might.”

She turned to Jimmy. “Have you heard anything about all this?”

“Not yet. But I've got my ears open.”

He looked younger somehow now, his eyes brighter. She knew what it was. He was in the middle of it again, mediating. Back in the life, broken hip and all.

To Leonard, she said, “You know where this money is? Yes or no?”

“I got a pretty good idea. But getting it, that's something else. I'd need help.”

“Where is it?”

He didn't answer.

“What are we talking about?” she said. “A bank? A safe?”

“No bank. A safe, maybe. In a house. My thought was, if I can track it down for sure, we go in together and get it, split it sixty-forty.”

“With the sixty to you?”

“Yeah.”

“No.”

He looked at Jimmy, then back at her. “What did you have in mind?”

“First of all, I haven't heard anything convincing me this money actually exists. Or if it does, that you know where it is.”

“You'll have to trust me on that.”

“Doesn't work that way. If I'm in it, I'm in it. All the information up front. No surprises later. My decisions, my plans. If we find anything, we split fifty-fifty, expenses off the top, and a finder's fee to Jimmy here. That's if there's anything to find in the first place. Fifty percent of nothing is nothing. You have a cell?”

“No.”

“Get a disposable. Give the number to Anthony. I'll get it from him if I need it.”

“If?”

“That's all you're going to get from me right now.”

She turned to Jimmy. “Is that all right with you?”

“Of course. I appreciate your coming here.”

She stood, put a hand on his shoulder, felt the sharp bones there. “Take care, Jimmy. We'll talk soon.” He patted her wrist.

Out in the hall, Anthony pushed away from the wall. As the door swung shut, she could hear them talking inside, voices low.

“Walk with me,” she said.

He fell in beside her. At the elevator, she said, “You know that guy in there?”

“Never seen him before. My grandfather must trust him, though, or he wouldn't be here.”

“I hope you're right.”

They rode down in silence. She believed Leonard—or whatever his name was—about the crew he'd run with, his part in the robbery. He looked the type, a New York wiseguy forty hard years down the road. But where the money was now, or even if it existed, was another thing.

Out in the parking lot, Anthony nodded at a brown Volvo sedan. She followed him. The day was cold, the sky cloudless.

When they reached the Volvo, she said, “Not what I would have guessed.”

“You expecting a Lincoln?”

“Maybe.”

“This is my Dadmobile. I'm a dad.”

He unlocked the door, got behind the wheel, leaned over and opened the glove box, came out with a thick legal-size manila envelope.

“It's all in here. But like I said, if I were you, I'd ditch those twenties soon as you can.”

She slipped the envelope in her coat pocket. “Thanks.”

“Sorry the news wasn't better.”

She looked up at the sky. “I should have expected it, way my luck's been running lately.”

“Maybe it's getting ready to change.”

“Maybe,” she said. “But I have my doubts.”

ELEVEN

She opened the envelope, shook out the money on the kitchen counter. He'd marked the bad bills with tiny Xs in the lower left-hand corners. She took a closer look at those bills, noted the paper was slightly brighter, the printing less sharp than on the others.

She divided the money into two piles. The real bills came to $9,880. She exhaled. There was nothing for it. What was gone was gone.

She disconnected the kitchen smoke detector, burned the bad twenties in the sink. She took her time, only adding another bill when the previous one was almost gone. She watched them curl and smoke, Andrew Jackson's face darkening, then disappearing, in the hungry flame.

When she was finished, she opened a window to vent the smoke, turned on the faucet. The ashes swirled, dirty water circling the drain.

She got her laptop, opened it on the kitchen table. Her cell buzzed. Rathka's number.

“What did you find out?” she said.

“A little. But I need to ask you again: Are you sure you're okay?”

“I'm fine. What do you know?”

“Cavanaugh's in custody. Possession with intent. His two associates too, one with a gunshot wound. Newark police are still trying to sort it all out. I think the assumption is, it was a drug deal gone wrong.”

“Close enough,” she said. “Are they talking?”

“Not that I've heard. Cavanaugh will post bond, though, if he hasn't already. For the others, too. You could be in danger.”

“I'll take my chances. This isn't over. But I'll deal with it when I'm ready.”

“What's that mean?”

“He owes me money.”

“Your best bet right now is to stay as far away from him as possible.”

“I will,” she said. “For now. But sooner or later, this gets settled. It's not just about the money.”

“No,” he said. “I guess it never is.”

When he ended the call, she powered up the laptop, logged into the house's Wi-Fi signal. She went to a search engine, typed in
LUFTHANSA ROBBERY
1978. A list of stories filled the screen. She clicked on the first one and started to read.

*   *   *

When he opened the passenger door and got in, she said, “Should I call you Leonard or Benny?”

He shut the door. “Up to you, I guess. Where are we going?”

“For a ride, talk a little.” They were in the parking lot of a Target store just off the Garden State Parkway. She'd gotten there an hour before they were supposed to meet, parked and waited, watching the lot. He'd shown up on time, alone, in a battered green Hyundai with Indiana plates.

She started the engine, pulled out of the spot. The sky was slate gray, rain coming soon.

“First thing you need to do,” she said, “is get rid of that car. Or at least the plates. If someone's looking for you, you won't be hard to find, driving around in that thing.”

“It's the only car I've got.”

“Figure something else out. It's no good.”

She circled the lot, eyeing the rearview.

“I wasn't followed, if that's what you're worried about,” he said.

“You sure about that?”

“I kept an eye out. Like I said, I'm a little paranoid these days.”

“I don't blame you, from what I've read.” She got on the Parkway ramp, headed south.

“How much do you know?” he said.

“Enough. I did some research. Then I talked to our mutual friend again.”

“And?”

“He backs up your story, as far as it goes.”

“Then you definitely know more about me than I do about you.”

“Way it'll stay for the time being, I'm afraid.”

“What do I call you?”