Naked Greed (23 page)

“Dino, there are no ballistic marks on shotgun pellets, and he didn’t leave any shell casings. If they can find it, then all they can charge him with is possession of an illegal weapon, i.e., a shotgun with a barrel shorter than eighteen inches.”

“Well, that oughta get him, what, five to seven?”

“He’s an ex-cop with no criminal record, not even a DUI. If he’s dumb enough to hang on to the weapon, he’d get a suspended sentence, but the shotgun is probably at the bottom of a Jersey river.”

“Why are you such a pessimist?”

“I’m not a pessimist, I’m a realist, and you’re not an optimist, you’re an obsessive.”

“I think that’s an exaggeration, don’t you, Viv?”

“Nope. I think it’s an astute judgment.”

“Now you’ve got her ganging up on me, Stone.”

“I’m just one person,” Viv pointed out, “I can’t gang up on you.”

“You can, with a little help from Stone.”

“I’m not ganging up on you,” Stone said, “I’m drinking soup, and very good soup it is. My compliments to Eva.”

“I’ll pass that on,” Viv said. “She’ll love it.”

“Now you’re changing the subject to soup,” Dino said.

“We’re trying,” Viv replied. “And we’re not getting much help from you.”

“Why does everybody blame everything on me?”

Viv looked at her watch, then shook a pill into her hand. “Time for another painkiller,” she said.

“I don’t want another one,” Dino said. “They make me drowsy.”

“I know.” She popped the pill into his mouth and forced a glass of water on him.

—

G
ene Ryan slept like a child in his new bed.

Al Parisi walked around Gene Ryan’s new apartment, checking it out. “I specially like the crown moldings,” he said. “That’s an elegant touch. Two TVs, too—you don’t have to get out of bed.”

“Thanks, Al.”

“It’s all in very good taste.”

“Well, I didn’t really have much to do with it, except the TVs. Some decorator did it up, along with the two-bedroom across the hall, as model apartments. I made ’em an offer for the place, furnished.”

“Smart move, Gene.”

“You said on the phone you got another job?”

“I have,” Al said. “It came to me when I got a phone call from Sean Finn. He’s one of the guys in the poker game, and he said some of the fellows wanted to talk to me. They want to have lunch tomorrow. Sean’s the one who brought the ringer dealer into the game.”

“And you accepted?”

“Sure, I got nothing to hide.”

“And why did the invitation make you think of a new job?”

“Because the job is Sean Finn’s liquor store, on 17 North.”

“I don’t know, Al, liquor stores can be tough: these days they got cameras and silent alarms, and you never know when some guy’s going to pull a shotgun from under the counter and let fly.”

“This one’s not like that,” Al said confidently.

“Why not?”

“Because I overheard Sean tell another guy right before the next-to-last poker game that he’s considering putting cameras and all the other security stuff in the store, but not until the first of the year, which means it ain’t there now. Something else I know: when I bought a couple of cases of wine there for my housewarming, it was a Friday, like tomorrow, about noon, and while I was there two guys came in carrying bank bags with the week’s receipts from the other two liquor stores Sean owns, and I heard one of ’em say that Sean comes in every Friday at two, to pick up the bags and take the receipts from all three stores to the bank.”

“So the take from all three stores is there between noon and two?”

“Every Friday,” Al confirmed.

“So I’d have to deal with guys from all three stores, plus whoever works the counter in the 17 North store?”

“Nope, you sit outside somewhere, and you’ll see the two guys come in with the bags. When they leave the store, then you hit it. You’ve only got the two countermen to deal with.”

“Oh, I see. Sounds good.”

“Vinny’s up for it, too, but we’re going to have to give him twenty-five percent of this take. I talked him down from a third.”

“Seems reasonable. He didn’t fuck up last time.”

“I told you, Vinny’s a cool kid.”

“Yeah, he is.”

“I want the two of you to get together and talk about what you’re going to wear.”

“What is this, a fashion show?”

“Nah, I just don’t want you to look like the two guys who hit the poker game. And don’t bring that little shotgun of yours—that would be a tip-off, and this time, the police will get called. Drive down to Virginia—there’s gun shops, first exit off I-95—and get yourself a couple of riot guns, like the cops use, with eighteen-inch barrels. Buy ’em at different stores and use a false ID. You’ve got that, haven’t you? I know Vinny does.”

“Yeah, and don’t worry about my shotgun, it’s at the bottom of the river, sinking in the mud. Why not just use handguns?”

“Because shotguns will scare the living shit out of the counter guys. You want to get one of you behind the counter, so you can see if they’ve got any weapons stashed back there.”

“Yeah, okay. What do you figure we’ll pull down?”

“I don’t know, but it’s a week’s take from three liquor stores, and that’s like three weeks’ take from one liquor store, so it’s gotta be substantial.”

“Sounds right.”

“Then you two switch cars and come back here for the divvy. I’ll join you after lunch.”

“Nah, I don’t want to do any business here,” Ryan said. “There’s new people moving into the building every day, and they might think something funny is going on.”

“All right, then we’ll meet at Vinny’s mother’s house. She works at Walmart, on the day shift, so he’ll have the place to himself.”

“Much better.”

“You and Vinny can start the count as soon as you get there. I’ll trust you.”

“Okay, but make sure nobody follows you from lunch.”

“You know me better than that, Gene.”

“Yeah, you’re right, I do.”

“Then you and Vinny drive down to Virginia this afternoon and pick up the hardware. Here’s his number, a throwaway. When you get back, drive by the liquor store on 17 North. You know it?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Pick a spot to watch from tomorrow. I’ll tell Vinny to steal an old car, and you two can decide where to dump it. Another thing: no phone calls between us, unless something goes wrong. Last time, I got some funny looks when that call came in. Just be there around eleven-thirty, so you know you’ll be there when they arrive. I won’t call you, unless Sean doesn’t show for lunch.”

“Got it.”

Al went home for lunch. “There’s a postcard from Florida for you,” his girlfriend, Gina, said. She was practically living there by now.

Al found it on the hall table. It was a beach scene, and the message said:
Hi, I want to invite you down for a few days. Give me a call.
It was signed,
Charlie
, and there was a number on the back. Al knew only one Charlie, the guy who used to work for his dad, with a partner named Frank. They had chewed the fat a few times.

“Are you going to Florida?” Gina asked.

“Maybe.”

“Me too?”

“Maybe. I’ll call the guy later.”

“The beach has always turned me on,” Gina said, kissing him on the ear.

“Well, that’s the best reason I ever heard for going to Florida,” Al said, giving her a kiss. “Give me a couple days to find out what’s going on, okay?”

“Okay,” she said, sounding doubtful.

“Don’t worry, babe, I go to Florida, you go to Florida.”

Ryan and Vinny were back from Virginia by midnight, completely equipped with shotguns, ammo, rubber boots, gloves, and cheap raincoats, along with foul-weather hats and large sunglasses. “It’s supposed to rain tomorrow,” Vinny had said. He had also spotted a costume store in a strip mall near one of the gun shops and had bought a pair of false beards that amused him.

Together in the car for so many hours, Vinny had opened up a bit, and Ryan had grown to like him. He was very comfortable with the idea of walking into that liquor store with him.

—

A
l turned up for his lunch at an Italian restaurant on 17 North, a couple of miles from Sean Finn’s liquor store. The other two present were Merv Zilberg, who owned a big-men’s outlet store, and Joe Monroe, who owned a building supply company.

Sean was late, and Al was worried, until he showed up. They were given a favored table, since Sean was a regular and the restaurant bought wine and liquor from his wholesale operation. He ordered a good bottle of red, then insisted on ordering for everybody. “I know what’s good here,” he said.

“L’chaim,”
Merv said, raising his glass, and so did the others. Sean ordered several plates of food, and when they came it was like a buffet.

“So, Al,” Sean said, when everybody was eating, “how’d you spend your cut?”

Al took a minute to think about that, then he put down his fork, took a sip of the wine, and set down his glass. “Exactly what d’ya mean by that, Sean?”

“Your cut from the poker game robbery,” Sean said pleasantly, winking at the others.

“Oh, I bought a couple Cadillacs, a yacht, and a Herbalife franchise,” Al replied, smiling. “What’s your point?”

“You set it up, didn’t you?” Sean asked, and he wasn’t smiling anymore.

“Fellas,” Al said, addressing the group, “anybody here know who the big loser was in the robbery? Let me refresh your memories: I had a big pot going there, and I was holding three aces. Maybe some of you saw my hand when the guy with the shotgun told us to put our hands on the table?”

A couple of them nodded.

“Now, Sean, let me ask you a question: Who was it who introduced the pro dealer into the game—the one with the pistol under his arm?”

“Yeah, Sean,” Merv said. “Who was it did that?”

Sean had not expected to be on the defensive. “I told you, it was better if we had a dealer, instead of doing it ourselves. That way, nobody wonders about the cards he gets.”

“Yeah, Sean,” Al said, “it was you who introduced the ringer.”

“Ringer?” Sean licked his lips.

“The mechanic. I been in enough poker games to know who’s dealing off the top and who isn’t. I reckon the two of you were setting me up for the kill by letting me win a few hands. And your guy was prepared to back his play with a gun, if the going got tough for him and somebody squawked about the cards he was getting. Of course, I had no squawk, since I was getting aces.”

“Now, wait a minute, guys,” Sean said, “you all know me.”

“Yeah, Sean,” Merv said, “we all know you.” Merv just let that lie there. Everybody had gotten very quiet. “Tell us about the ringer—who was he?”

“Just a good cardplayer I know, used to work the Vegas casinos.”

“Is that where he learned to deal off the bottom?” Al asked.

—

I
t was at that moment in time when Ryan and Vinny walked into Sean Finn’s liquor store out of a steady rain outside, their yellow raincoats and hats glistening, droplets hanging from their false beards. The two men who had delivered the bank bags had left, and there were no customers in the store.

“Put your hands on the counter and keep them there,” Ryan said, producing a shotgun on a shoulder strap from under his raincoat.

Vinny held his shotgun in one hand and vaulted over the counter with the other. He pushed the two men along the counter, away from the cash register. “Look what we got here,” he said, taking two handguns from under the counter and emptying them, then tossing them into the wine department. He found the three bank bags, too, and put them on the counter.

Ryan grabbed all three handles in one hand and kept the shotgun leveled with the other.

Vinny vaulted back over the counter and stood by the door. “Go ahead, partner, and start the car. I’ll be right behind you.”

“Don’t do anything crazy,” Ryan said. He turned to the two victims. “He gets crazy when people don’t do what he tells them. You don’t want that.”

“We’re not going to give you any problem,” the older of the two men said. “It’s not our money.”

Vinny grabbed the phone on the counter and yanked the cord free of its connection, then threw it into a display of bottles, knocking over a few. “Wait five minutes, then do your duty,” he said. The car pulled up, and Vinny backed out the door of the store and got in.