Once a Crooked Man (4 page)

Through an open window directly above his head he became aware of the voices of the men inside who had just told him to fuck off. At first he thought they were talking about the plot of a new action movie. Then he realized that these guys were the real deal. They were talking cold, hard facts. The prudent thing to do would be to leave. Quickly and quietly. But he didn't.

Curiosity overcame good sense.

Harry Murphy stayed perfectly still and listened to every fascinating word.

 

9

“That ‘smart-ass moneyman,' as you call him,” said Max, “doesn't know about any of this.”

“Bastard will be pleased,” said Enzo. “Carter's wanted out ever since we nailed him.”

Max gathered up all the papers. “We got enough ready cash to keep us fat and happy until we're too old to care.” He put them back in his briefcase. “Your great-grandkids will be able to buy all the candy bars they can stuff down their throats. Our legit businesses can provide jobs for every cousin and nephew we got.” He snapped the case shut.

“More important, we stay clean. There is no record anywhere that links us to illegal activity of any kind. If we get out now and stay legit, we'll never have to worry about asshole cops busting down the front door at five o'clock in the morning.”

As if to emphasize his point a police siren wailed past outside.

Enzo frowned. “You know we've never been on that side of the fence,” he said. “It's not gonna be that easy.”

“Give me a break,” said Max. “We got ninety-three percent on that side of the fence. Shut down the cash pickups, the adult merchandise, and we're one hundred percent clear. Everything else is nickel-and-dime operations, favors for old friends that don't mean shit.”

“How long ago was it?” asked Enzo suddenly. “How long's Carter been with us?”

“Fourteen … no, his little girl's gotta be fourteen … what's her name?”

“Amanda.”

“Right, so it's sixteen years now.”

“And he's done quite a job,” added Max. “The Feds begin an investigation tomorrow, by the time they fumble their way through the files, like I say, we'll be drooling in our oatmeal.”

“What about your pal Julian in the Channel Islands?” persisted Enzo. “You really think he'll keep his mouth shut?”

“Of course he will. He'll just make a few changes in the bank books. Go on about his other business.”

“Basically, we got three things to deal with,” said Max. “First is the Colombians. Shouldn't be a problem. We're not the only ones doing business for them in the Northeast, so they'll find a replacement real easy. Then there's the adult merchandise. Not a problem. I know someone who'll take over the whole operation.”

“Who?” asked Sal.

“Ramon Rivas,” replied Max.

“Rivas?” Sal raised an eyebrow. “That Latino cunt? You sure?”

“He's an ambitious bastard and he already controls a major part of what's sold on the East Coast.”

“He'd pay cash?” asked Enzo.

“You have to ask?” said Max, and he sat back down. “That leaves the guys in London. We have to give Santiago and Colonel Villiers their marching orders. I figure if we give them generous severance pay, they won't give us any trouble.”

“We never talked about Cora and the girls,” said Sal, pouring himself another shot. “You gonna close Mazaras?”

“What the hell for?” replied Max. “Nobody gets arrested for fucking.”

“What are we gonna tell Rodrigo?” said Enzo. “We've been doing business for fourteen years. Those guys don't take kindly to change.”

“I'll go down to Bogotá and meet with him,” said Max. “Face-to-face.”

“When?”

“I haven't figured that out yet.”

Enzo hesitated for a moment and then asked, “What about Vic and his computer business?”

“They'll have to pack it up too,” replied Max. “He's your son, Sal. You want to tell him or shall I?”

“You.” Sal took a drink. “He listens to you.”

Enzo asked, “How much are you going to give Villiers and Santiago?”

“The Colonel picked up a shipment in Canada this morning,” said Max. “Close to a million and a half. I'll get a message to him not to make the usual delivery. I'll tell him to keep it with him and wait for instructions.”

Enzo was unconvinced. “Won't he be curious?”

“About what?”

“Where the money's going.”

“Give him a reason. Make one up. You don't have to be specific. Keep it vague. Tell him we have to take care of some strategic planning at the airport; he'll believe that.”

“Okay,” said Enzo. “But what about all the guys who work for us here in New York? What are you gonna do with them? Give them a fucking reference?”

“They don't work for us, Enzo,” replied Sal. “They work for a guy who hires them with a cellphone. No names and no connection to us. Remember, we always picked good people. They won't have trouble finding jobs.”

Enzo shook his head. “We made a lot of enemies over the years. You think they forget? Soon as the word gets around we gone soft they'll come running.”

“Most of them have quit, are dead or inside,” said Sal and he began to laugh.

“What's so funny?” said Max.

“I was just thinking about Papa Aldo,” Sal explained. “What he'd say if he was here now.”

Max grinned. “Yeah. He wouldn't know what the fuck we were talking about. We'd have to sit him down and give him … what was the name of that drink he liked?”

“
Fernet Branca
,” replied Enzo. “Battery acid.”

Sal gave a throaty grunt. “Yeah, that was it. His
aperitivo
!”

All three men smiled at the memory.

Sal leaned back in the booth. “Hey, Max,” he said, “remember when the big boys tried to put Papa out of business? There was no
amici degli amici
for him. He did it alone. Beat the bastards at their own game. It took him years, but he did it. Our name meant quality.”

“Quality! Give me a break, Sal,” said Enzo. “Our old man established power by terror and intimidation. He wouldn't survive five minutes in today's world.”

“So what do you say, little brother? Are you with us?” said Max. “Tell us what you're thinking.”

Enzo just gave a shrug.

“It's time we got out,” said Sal assertively. “Okay?”

“Okay,” said Enzo. “I agree.”

Sal delved inside his sweatshirt and pulled out a fresh cigar and cutter. He nipped off the end, carefully lit it until it was glowing red. Then he stood up and walked over to the curtain.

“Hey! You two. Get the fuck outside,” he said. “Like now!”

The cook and waiter shuffled out through the front door as Sal came back and stood beside the table.

“When Papa died he put me in charge,” he said. “Right?”

“Right,” agreed Max and Enzo in unison.

“There is a conception I don't take much interest in the business. Some people even think I'm getting senile. And that's good. Keeps them off my back.” He blew a huge cloud of smoke into the air. “We gotta move fast, Max. We ain't gonna get no second chances. We gotta do it right the first time.”

He pointed his cigar at Max. “You go to South America right away. Meet with Rodrigo. You can work out what you're gonna tell him on the plane. Send Rocco to London tonight. He should keep in touch same way as usual through that same Internet café in Kensington.

“I'm sorry, Max, but I don't agree with giving Santiago and Villiers severance. They know too much. Tell Rocco to get rid of them both. Permanently.”

Max hesitated before asking, “Dead meat? Both of them?”

Enzo shook his head. “Santiago has been our point man in Europe for a very long time. He's proved himself to be extremely useful. When the Colonel's needed help moving the cash, he's been right there. He's never let us down. He's reliable. Aren't we better off with him alive rather than dead?”

“Enzo's right,” added Max. “Shouldn't we wait…”

“
Madonna!
Are you both deaf? No fucking delay!” said Sal vehemently. “We got no choice if we're going to sleep nights.”

He put a hand on Max's shoulder. “Tell Villiers we're sending someone to the Mews to pick up the million and a half. Don't tell him it's Rocco. We don't want him to get suspicious. The fewer people that know Rocco's there, the better. Go ahead with Rivas. Work fast, but get the best price you can. Then you send the girls packing. Shut Mazaras down.”

“No need to shut the place down,” said Max. “We'll just run it as a restaurant. Family-style.”

“Okay, if that's what you want,” replied Sal, and he flicked the ash off his cigar. “Enzo. You take care of all the little jobs we got going. Do what you gotta do to get rid of them all. Call me when you're done.”

“All of them?” asked Enzo.

Sal nodded and banged his glass down. “Meeting adjourned,” he said, and dropped two twenties on the table. “Now let's get out of here. I hate this place. I don't know why the fuck we ever bought it.”

 

10

Amidst the garbage, Harry stared at the little screen on his cellphone. Soon after he had begun listening under the window he had quietly retrieved it from his pocket, turned on the Notepad app and tapped out names and phrases as he had heard them.

A good five minutes passed before he ventured back to the sidewalk. To regain his composure he began to walk. After a few blocks he came across a coffee shop. In a booth by the window he ordered a bagel with a side order of bacon and a cup of coffee. Switching on his cellphone he read through the list.

One thing was clear. Someone in London was about to be terminated, someone with the name Villiers. Presumably by an assassin named Rocky.

The waitress came back with his order. Harry added some cream and sugar to the steaming mug of coffee.

Had he got it all wrong? Could it be a hoax? Or a stupid television game show of some sort? Who were these guys? Who was Villiers? And what had the poor man done to deserve being turned into dead meat? And what the fuck did it have to do with Harry anyway?

He balanced some bacon on the bagel and took a big bite. As he munched away he gazed once more at the list and came to the sad conclusion that there wasn't much an out-of-work actor in New York could do to help a doomed bastard on the far side of the Atlantic.

 

11

Max settled back into the soft worn leather seat of the Town Car. “Can you believe that Sal!” he said. “The old bastard can't wait to take on the whole fucking world! Still gets a buzz out of killing.”

“It's ironic.” Enzo shook his head from side to side. “Furella managed to change everyone but her own husband.”

Max smiled. “Yeah. I never thought of it like that.”

“
Dio ce la mandi buona!
” exclaimed Enzo. “We're quitting!”

Max put an arm around his younger brother's shoulder and pulled him close. “Sorry I kept you in the dark.”

“No, you were right,” replied Enzo. “
Come sempre.
Keep the surprise. Quick and clean. The fewer who know what we're doing the better.” He leaned forward and opened the liquor cabinet. “I had the impression that you were in favor of payoffs.” Ice cubes clinked into a crystal tumbler.

“I am,” replied Max. “I figured it would be easier to deal with Carter if we didn't have too many bodies lying around.”

Bourbon flowed over the ice. “I suppose if we don't take them out we take a big risk.”

“Killing isn't risk-free either. But Rocco will take care of it. He's a pro.”

As Enzo took a drink, Max asked, “You got a phone with you?”

“Sure.”

Enzo reached in his pocket and pulled out a disposable phone. Max dialed Continental Airlines Reservations, where he was put on hold.

“The new guys gonna use our stash houses?” asked Enzo, taking a big drink. “Cash comes in every day. Piles up pretty damn quick.”

“How many apartments we got?” asked Max.

“Four.”

“Four? I thought we only had two.”

“We just signed leases on two midtown, one east, one west. I was going to get rid of the others at the end of the month.”

“Let's decide when I get back,” said Max. “By then I'll know who's taking over.”

“What do you know! No more hassle with bagmen,” Enzo mused. “You know I'm not gonna be able to make the changes overnight.”

“How long do you need?” said Max.

“I dunno. A week. Two maybe.”

An agent answered and Max checked on available space on flights to Bogotá. Turning off the phone, he handed it back.

“As soon as you get home,” he said, “call Rocco and tell him to go to London. Tell him what Sal said.”

“Okay.” Enzo sipped his drink. “You meeting with Carter in his office?”

“No way. Carnegie Deli.”

“How d'you get him to see you there?”

“I told him he had no choice,” replied Max with a grin. “I think I scared him.”

“You gonna tell him Sal is, shall we say, cleaning house?”

“No fucking way,” snorted Max. “I'm only gonna tell him we're making changes.”

“He's bound to find out,” warned Enzo.

“He'll find out when they're dead.
Tutti morti.
That's when I'll take him into a quiet corner and explain the facts of life.”

 

12

Carter Allinson II was in fine spirits. At the office he had met with a group of investors from Europe and persuaded them to put their financial future in his capable hands. If all went according to plan, this acquisition would substantially increase his personal wealth.