Naked Greed (20 page)

Al sat at the poker table and glanced at his hand again. He raised. The dealer dealt another card, and Al watched his face instead of his hands. He had already learned that the guy was too good a mechanic to make a move you could see. His face was something else, though. As he dealt Al’s next card there was a tiny smile.

Al forced himself not to look at his watch, on being completely caught up in the game. He wanted to be as surprised as everyone else at the table. When the two doors were simultaneously kicked in, he flinched with the best of them and looked around. Two men in masks and black clothes came into the room, one with a semiautomatic pistol held out in front of him and the other with a mean-looking sawed-off shotgun.

“Hands on the table, everybody!” Ryan shouted, and for emphasis, he cocked both hammers of the shotgun.

Al went back to looking at the dealer, and as he placed his hands on the table, the butt of a pistol revealed itself under his jacket. Oh, no, Al thought.

Vinny was methodically emptying the pockets of the players, while Ryan moved the shotgun back and forth, as if spraying the men at the table.

Al saw a flicker of a move of the dealer’s right hand, and he caught the man’s eye and slowly shook his head. That stopped the man long enough for Vinny to discover the pistol. It was a snub-nosed .38, and he thumbed open the cylinder and shook the cartridges out onto the table. Al heard somebody say, “Shit!” but he wasn’t sure who.

Vinny began wrapping the money, the cards, and the cartridges in the blanket, then he nodded at Ryan, who let go a single, deafening round into the ceiling, showering everyone with pieces of acoustic tiles. The two men ran out the rear door, and a moment later, Al heard the car’s tires squeal as it drove down the alley.

People seemed reluctant to move for a moment. “They’re gone,” somebody said.

Al turned to face the dealer. “You,” he said, “you nearly got somebody killed.”

“Fuck you,” the dealer snarled.

—

A
fter a change of cars and a dumping of their clothes, Ryan let them into his apartment and tossed the bundle onto the couch.

“I want to see it,” Vinny said, making a move.

“Not until Al gets here,” Ryan said. “That was the deal.”

“He’s going to be at least an hour,” Vinny said.

Ryan switched on the TV and found an old movie. “Watch and learn,” he said. “It’ll make the time fly.”

Al arrived at the apartment just before two
AM
. “Sorry,” he said, as Ryan let him in, “I had to drink with them, or they’d have suspected something. A couple of them were looking at me funny, until I pointed out to them that I was the big loser.”

He opened the blanket, and they stared at the pile of money. “I had twenty grand on the table,” Al said. “I get that out first.” He quickly counted the money, while Ryan and Vinny sorted the bills by denomination and kept a running tally on a shirt cardboard.

“I make it two hundred and twenty-two grand,” Ryan said, “give or take.”

“Vinny,” Al said, “you just made yourself forty-four grand.” He counted out the money.

“You guys made more,” Vinny said.

“You set up the jobs and do the planning, and you’ll make more,” Al said.

“Somebody give me a lift to my mom’s house?” Vinny said, getting to his feet.

“Sure,” Al said, getting up. “We’re all beat. Remember, no flashy spending for a while. Give it a month before you buy anything noticeable.” He led Vinny to his car and told him to get into the rear seat. “Stay down,” he said. “I don’t want anybody seeing us together.”

“Right,” Vinny said. “You got something else for us soon, Al?”

“Maybe,” Al said. “You don’t want to pull a rash of jobs. You got cash, take your girl to the city for dinner and a show.”

“Right.”

Al deposited Vinny on his doorstep, after a good look around, then drove away.

—

R
yan still wasn’t ready to sleep. He turned on New York One, the 24/7 cable news channel. He was half asleep when he heard a name that jerked him awake.

“Police Commissioner Dino Bacchetti worked late tonight,” the reporter said, “and got home late to his Park Avenue apartment.” Ryan watched as Bacchetti got out of a black SUV and walked under an awning into his building. He saw the building number on the awning. This was Barrington’s buddy, who rousted him outside the restaurant and made him spend a night in the can. Barrington had been hard to find lately, but now he knew where to look for his friend.

Bacchetti would do.

Ryan came back from his test-drive of a two-year-old Triumph Bonneville Black motorcycle and made the man an offer. After some haggling, he shelled out five grand for the machine, got the paperwork, and got the hell out of there. He was in Manhattan in half an hour.

The TV news show he’d watched during the wee hours had said that Bacchetti attended Mass on Sunday mornings, but not where. Ryan planned to see him either coming or going.

He eased the bike into a spot between two cars on East Sixty-third Street, locked the machine, and took the shotgun from the saddle bag and concealed it under his biker jacket. He didn’t take off the helmet.

—

D
ino showered, shaved, and got into a suit. The doorman rang as he was checking his tie, and he told the man to tell his detective that he’d be right down. It was ten-thirty, plenty of time to schmooze on the steps of the church. He’d been advised when he was sworn in that he should be seen in public around town often, and he’d managed to do so.

He left the elevator and walked briskly through the lobby, greeting the doorman and his detective, Bobby Calabrese. He could see his car at the end of the awning.

—

R
yan had seen the black SUV pull up to the building and the plainclothes cop get out of it and go inside. He’d been waiting for less than half an hour, and he’d gotten it right.

—

D
ino walked out of the building, and all hell broke loose.

—

S
tone and Pat were having a late brunch by the pool when his cell phone rang.

“Oh, turn it off,” Pat said. “Nothing important ever happens on a Sunday morning.”

Stone looked at the phone. “It’s Joan, she wouldn’t call if it weren’t important. Hello?”

“Stone, it’s Joan. Something’s happened to Dino.” She sounded breathless.

“Just slow down and tell me what you know.”

“I had the TV on, and there was a report that Dino was shot on the sidewalk outside his apartment building. They’ve said nothing since.”

“I’m on my way,” Stone said. “Call again if you get more information. We’ll be in the air in half an hour, and you can reach me on the satphone.” He looked at his watch. “Ask Fred to meet us at Teterboro at three
PM
.”

“Got it.” She hung up.

“Something wrong?” Pat asked.

“It’s Dino—something’s happened. Get packed, we’re leaving in ten minutes.” He got up and ran for their cottage, with Pat right behind.

She filed a flight plan for Teterboro as they drove to the airport, and they each took half the airplane for the preflight inspection.

Stone was frightened of the phone call that might come at any moment. He had tried to reach Viv, and the call had gone directly to voice mail. He got his IFR clearance and taxied to the runway while Pat entered the flight plan into the computer. He was cleared for takeoff, and as he lined up on the runway, he tried to get everything out of his mind but flying the airplane. He pushed the throttles forward, and Pat called the airspeed for him.

“Rotate,” she said, and he did. He got the gear and flaps up, engaged the autopilot at 450 feet, and pressed the flight level button to climb to his first assigned altitude of 16,000 feet. He was halfway there when he got his clearance to cruising altitude of flight level 410. The autopilot did the rest, while he ran through his checklists and tried not to think about what awaited him in New York.

He was over Orlando when the satphone rang. “Hello?”

“It’s Joan. There’s more, and it’s not good. He was shot, and the reports say it was a head wound. A detective with him was shot, too, and they were both taken to a hospital. They didn’t say which one.”

“It’ll either be New York Hospital or Lenox Hill,” Stone said. “Try and find out and let Fred know.” He hung up and tuned in XM rado, a news channel. Not a word about Dino for the remainder of the flight.

He flew the ILS 6 into Teterboro and taxied to Jet Aviation. As they approached the terminal, he could see Fred waiting on the ramp. Five minutes after shutdown they were in the car.

“The commissioner is at New York Hospital,” Fred said.

“Drop me there, then take Pat home.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Pat asked.

“Not a thing. I’m sorry our weekend got interrupted.”

“You go do what you have to do. I’ll go sit by the TV.”

Stone got out of the car, ran into the emergency room, and flashed his badge at the admissions clerk. “Where’s the commissioner?” he asked. She told him, and he ran for the elevator. There was a knot of uniforms gathered in the hallway, and Stone spotted Dino’s chief of detectives, Dan Harrigan, and pulled him aside.

“Dino’s in surgery,” Harrigan said without being asked. “Viv is on her way in from L.A. with the mayor. They were both at a security conference out there. They’re on Mike Freeman’s airplane and should be here soon.”

Stone flopped into a chair, closed his eyes, and waited. Soon, he was being shaken awake. Viv was sitting beside him. “He’s out of surgery,” she said. “The doctor will be out here in a minute.”

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Are you kidding? I’m half out of my mind!”

“Yeah, I know. I was in Key West when I got the word from Joan. We landed an hour ago.”

“Mike and the mayor will be here in a minute.” She looked around. “This is a real zoo, isn’t it? I haven’t seen this many uniforms in one place since the last . . .” She stopped.

“Inspector’s funeral,” Stone finished for her.

She laughed, then a man in green scrubs appeared and introduced himself as Dr. Gordon. “It went well,” he said. “He’s out of surgery and in the ICU. You can see him, if you want to, but I’m keeping him out for a few hours to let the swelling go down. He wouldn’t be able to talk.”

“I want to see him,” she said.

He led her away, and she came back a couple of minutes later. “I’m sorry I saw him,” she said. They were led into a VIP suite with a living room attached to a hospital room. A bed and a lot of equipment awaited Dino. The doctor came with them and sat them down. “Let me tell you what we’ve got here,” he said. “I’m no ME, but I’ve treated hundreds of gunshot wounds, and this is the oddest one I’ve seen.”

“Odd how?” Viv asked.

“This is how it went down, from what I’ve been told. Dino was coming out of the building with his detective, when a man in a motorcycle helmet and jacket appeared with a very short sawed-off shotgun. He fired both barrels from about twenty feet. The detective got the worst of it in the shoulder. He’s in surgery down the hall now and will be okay, after a lot of physical therapy. Dino was farther from the shooter than the detective by a few feet, and the shot pattern was expanding. There are nine pellets in a double-ought twelve-gauge shotgun shell. The detective caught half a dozen, Dino caught four—three in the side of his head and one that penetrated the soft tissue of his cheek and lodged in his tongue. He spat that out on the way to the hospital. That’s why his tongue is so swollen.

“Dino was very lucky. The pellets in his head stopped at the skull and didn’t penetrate or even fracture it. Those wounds are superficial and will heal quickly. He suffered a concussion but will be just fine, believe me. He’ll be walking and talking by tomorrow. I suggest you go home and get some rest, then come back first thing tomorrow morning. He won’t be awake until then.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said. “Stone, I’ll take the sofa, you take the reclining chair.”

Stone was awakened by something being set on his lap. He opened an eye and found a young, pretty nurse beaming at him.