No One Rides For Free - Larry Beinhart (27 page)

"Yeah, but what did you feel? What did you
think?"

Goreman shrugged.

"When you started Over & East you had to
choose an attorney. Here was a lawyer who was well connected; he knew
the banks, he knew everyone on Wall Street. He was tied into all the
powers. You didn't choose him. Why not?"

"I did not like the man."
 

26
LOVE
IN VAIN

THE SEAPLANE TOOK
us back
to Manhattan early Sunday afternoon.

"I have done a lot of thinking," Christina
told me. "I think I've come to terms with 'us.' I know that in
the long run it would never work out. We're just too different. And
there's the money problem. Traveling is very important to me, and
living in a certain . . . style."

"What are you talking about?"

"When this is all over, I would like to go to
Greece, or maybe Ibiza. For the winter. Can you afford that, Tony? Or
would you go with me on my money? Could you handle that? I don't know
if I could. Eventually I'm going to get married, and I have to marry
someone who . . . who has more money than you do. Otherwise it
wouldn't work out. Now that I understand that, I can relax and enjoy
us. Just be good friends who happen to have the world's hottest sex.
I can handle it on that level."

If only it were on that level, I thought, then I
wouldn't have to have it at all. Life would re-stabilize.

I spent the rest of the afternoon with Wayne, bike
riding and squash playing.

On Monday, I called a shyster named Carmine DeSalvo,
one of the nastiest people I know, specializing in those aspects of
the law that verge on blackmail. Tuesday, I took Christina to see
him, to represent her interest in the estate, charging Choate,
Winkler's trust department with conflict of interest. I didn't need
him to win, just to keep them off balance enough that they would be
afraid to shut me down.

Since I had once seen Carmine make a perfectly
inoffensive nun, wearing her habit on the stand, appear to be a
sleaze-monger, I was reasonably confident that he could do the job.
After the meeting, I offered to escort Christina home, my mind full
of lust-tinted pictures of romance, or vice versa.

"Go home to Glenda and Wayne. That's the best
thing you can do for all of us."

"Christina . . ."

"Don't say anything. Don't even look at me. You
have honey on your tongue and the eyes of an angel. This weekend was
all I thought it was going to be. It was heaven and you were my
angel. I cried Sunday night. I woke up Monday morning so lonely I
cried again. I didn't eat all day and I cried myself to sleep. This
morning I woke up, and all I wanted to do was cry, because . . . I
refuse to keep hurting myself this way."

"I love you," I said.

"I believe you. That's what's wrong. If you just
wanted to fuck me I could live with that. Or maybe I couldn't. But I
could throw you out and make it stick. I wouldn't keep coming back
for more misery. "

"What do you want me to do?" I said
stupidly.

"Go home. Stay out of my life. Stay out of my
bed. Don't even call me unless it's . . . don't talk to me at all
unless it's to say who killed Daddy."

"I'm going to have to talk to you."

"Have that partner of yours do it. The one who
doesn't approve of me." There were tears in her eyes. She
whirled away from me toward the curb and waved for a cab. A dent
exhibition slewed to a stop on uneven brakes and she jumped in. She
sat there and dug a tissue out of her purse. "Where we going?"
the driver asked. She wiped her eyes. Then she leaned out the open
window.

"There's one, one other thing you can call me to
say. You can call me to say, 'Meet me at the airport, let's go on the
flight to Rio.' "

The cab drove off.

I trudged back to the office. The whole thing could
only end in court, with Carmine DeSalvo pioneering the revolutionary
legal concept of emotional whiplash. Christina could countersue on
the same basis.

When the phone rang I was sure it was her, but it was
a muffled male voice asking for me.

"Mr. Cassella," the voice said, "we
met at a party .... "

"0K. And you are?"

"If there was anyone that Wood could blow the
whistle on, my bet would be Marlowe," the voice told me.

"Oh. And why is that, Mr .... ?"

"Head of acquisitions. He knows where things are
going to go, and when, long before anyone else. Smarter men than he
are going to prison for insider trading these days."

"That is real nonspecific."

"Perhaps it is, but if someone were to add up
his houses, his limousines, his cars plus the boat, plus that woman
's apartment at Sixty-fifth and Park, plus the money he drops at
Tahoe, someone might come up with an outgo that exceeds reported
income."

"
That could be said of a lot of people, maybe
most people in his position."

"You're supposed to be the bloodhound. All I can
do is show you where the trail starts. Good luck, Cassella." He
hung up.

It sounded like Diller. I wondered how long it would
take for Marlowe to finger Klughorn, then for Klughorn to complete
the daisy chain.

I called Chip and made a squash date. I was still
stiff and sore, far from at my best. Still, I enjoyed beating up a
little black ball that hardly ever hit back. I lost, and Chip was
excessively pleased with himself.

"Angry at something?" he asked in the
steamroom.

"Women trouble," I muttered.

"If you have to have trouble, that, I'm told, is
the best kind."

"You're told? Never had any yourself?"

"Never."

"Why is that?"

"My approach to sex is rather clinical and
cold," he said.

"What surprises me is that it is successful.
More and more women seem to like it that way. I think my style might
be the coming thing."

My reply was a grunt.

"
You, on the other hand, are probably very
passionate, all that Mediterranean blood. Just the way you played
squash today, and see where it got you."

"Chip, I have a favor to ask you."

"Sure. You want me to cover for you?"

"No. Listen. Feel free to say no, but I want
your word that whether you say yes or no, you're not going to tell
anyone about it. Anyone at all."

"My word is my bond. Or, if you prefer, my
debenture."

"I'm serious," I said sternly.

"OK, OK, seriously. What is it?"

"Absolute secrecy. What I want to do is wait
'til we get out of here, then I'll give you a hundred bucks and
consult you as an attorney. Then you're bound by the attorney-client
privilege. OK?"

"Fine by me, buddy. I'm always glad to pick up a
hundred, but it's not necessary."

We found a coffee shop. I gave him the hundred and
made him write out a receipt. Then I told him what I wanted.

I wanted the records of Choate, Winkler, Higgiston,
Hahn & Moore relating to the takeover of LTI by Over & East.
I also wanted the records of any refugee funds that the firm had
handled from 1936 to 1952, most specifically a file on Itzhak
Oberetstock.

"You are kidding, of course," Chip said.

"No. There's something rotten, and I want to
find it ....What if I told you that Lawrence Choate Haven sold out
LTI to Charles Goreman?"

"Tony, you shouldn't even say things like that.
Even here, even to me. You're wide open to a slander suit. You can't
fool with guys like that."

"I have it on good authority."

"Yeah, well, maybe you do. Let them say it and
let them take the rap. I think somebody is lying to you."

"During the war, old W.W. II, some people ran a
racket. They handled refugee funds. A couple of senior partners up
there, Shaw and Haven to name two, were on various refugee
committees. Let's say they were sincere, why not?"

"How do you know that?"

"I spent Monday afternoon in the New York Public
Library. It's in the
Times
,
mostly in the Society pages. So-and-so throws a ball, proceeds to
charity, to help refugees, on the committee are, and then there's a
list. Simple."

"So they were good guys."

"But let's imagine what could have happened,"
I went on. "They not only helped people, they helped money
escape from Europe. Sometimes the people didn't follow the money.
It's 1945 and the American armies stumble over the death camps.
Suddenly we discover millions of people died. Entire families,
parents, children, cousins, uncles, aunts, the lot. Every possible
heir. And you are holding the funds .... Then what happens? Tempting,
isn't it?"

"
Tony. I don't want to hear any more. I don 't
know where you got the nerve to come to me with, with, allegations
like this .... "

"Wait, Chip, there's more."

By then he was standing and headed for the door. I
threw a five on the table to cover the $1.25 tab and ran after him. I
caught him trying to catch a cab.

"You've used up your retainer. Also our
friendship. Don't say anything more."

"Just one thing more. You do work for Ricky
Sams. Who in your office is connected with a Washington dope dealer
named Doc Wellby?"

A cab stopped. He jumped for the door and hauled it
open. "Because that's who had Edgar Wood murdered," I said
through the window as he rolled it up.

I had his solemn word that he would not tell anyone
what I told him. I was protected by the attorney-client privilege,
with a signed receipt to prove it.

As the cab disappeared I wondered if he was going
straight back to the office to bring my allegations to Choate Haven.
Or would he wait until morning?
 

27
BLAST
FROM THE PAST

I WAS JUST SHAKING
the
tree to make the nuts fall out. I used Ol' Chip, ol' squash buddy, to
give it one shake. Mel could give it another one for me.

I told Mel that he should look into the LTI takeover,
in particular the role that was played by the attorneys for LTI. I
passed along the tip on Marlowe, which Mel appreciated, since insider
trading was the offense that the SEC had the most success in
prosecuting.

"All I want in return," I said when he
thanked me, "is some instant noise."

"How instant?" he asked.

"Today."

"Gimme a break, Tony, what do you expect me to
do today?"

"Mel, you're a bright guy. You'll think of
something. Maybe you could just call up Over & East and say, 'Hi,
Over & East, get your paperwork in order 'cause I'm gonna start
prosecuting."

"What are you up to, Tony?"

"Think of it this way, Mel. If you can scare
them enough, they just might try to buy you off with a decent job."

"I'll do what I can," he said.

I called Marlowe. It took him a day to get back to
me. When he did, I explained that someone was pointing a finger at
him. I didn't see him as the killer, I claimed. But if it wasn't him,
who was it? He said he had no idea. I told him he better think about
it.

Klughorn was next. I asked him how come he had missed
Wood's embezzlement for all those years. He got huffy. I suggested
that if another problem turned up, and if he, as comptroller, had
missed that too, Over & East might start looking for replacement
parts.

I checked in with Diller, with Scott, Culligan and
Shaw. No one was particularly eager to speak to me, or even pleased
to hear from me.

I was wondering whether or not to call Goreman when
he called me.

"Young man," he said, "you are shaking
people up."

"Do you have a problem with that?"

"If it goes on too long, I will. In the short
run, it's interesting."

"
You set this game up with your party, your
introductions, your stories and confessions. What is your game?"

"I won't know until you play it out." Then
he said, "Good-bye," and hung up.

When I had Christina, it somehow made things work
better at home. I was happy and dealt with Glenda and Wayne from that
happiness. Without her, I grew restless and hungry. Glenda and I
began to fight. Maybe the waiting for something to happen was part of
it also. I'm not good at waiting. An argument over the profound
matter of who did more shopping found its way down the spiral of
every irritation we had ever felt. It ended with me storming out and
sleeping in the office for two nights. I avoided Glenda's calls as
Christina avoided mine.

Finally I called her back. She was ready to make
peace. She never did quarrel for the sake of fighting. She was a
fair  and generous fighter. She never held a grudge.

Friday morning I left home early, just to get out. I
went to the office. Joey D' was there, but there was nothing shaking.
I went over to the courts, played badly and didn't enjoy it. I worked
on the machines for a while. It hurt. I took a long steam bath and a
long shower. I went out, ate, drank a lot of coffee, did the
crossword. When I left the restaurant it was drizzling with gusting
winds. I decided to walk the forty blocks to the office with the
windy rain slapping my face, the cabs splashing me and the umbrella
wielders trying to put my eyes out.