The Predators (40 page)

“Yes,” I said. “The man who wanted my life, whatever I did. If he thinks that I have to sell Plescassier to him, he’ll be in heaven.”

“Who is he?” J. P. asked. “And does he have the money?”

“He is my uncle, who screwed me out of my father’s life savings that he left for me,” I said. “He is a real millionaire and a partner in the biggest bottling plant on the East Coast of the United States with the Carlino family. One of the five important Sicilian Mafia families in the United States.”

“And how do you know about all of this?” J. P. asked.

“I started working for him selling carbonated water over the counter before the’ war,” I answered.

He sat there silently again for a moment, then nodded. “You do it,” he said. “I will be behind you all the way.”

“Thank you,” I said.

He laughed. “Don’t thank me. Just have dinner tonight with the four musketeers. Jack, Paul, you, and me. And believe me, we’ll pour you on the plane for your return trip to the States in the morning. You still have a lot of work to do.”

22

It was snowing in New York when I landed at Idlewild Airport just before noon. I took a cab to the Plaza. I checked into a room and fell into bed and slept. I couldn’t handle the nightlife with the Frenchmen. I couldn’t keep up. J. P., Paul, Jack, and I had gone into every cabaret in Paris and Dom Pérignon never stopped being poured. J. P. was right, they did pour me onto my flight to New York. But I had to sleep now because I was supposed to meet Buddy at eight o’clock for dinner.

I was rested, shaved, showered, and waiting for him when he arrived. “Let’s go to the Palms on Second Avenue for dinner,” I said. “I’ve been waiting for a good sirloin steak for a long time.”

Buddy looked at me. “How can you be hungry with all the shit that’s flying around?”

“We’ll make it,” I said. “Where’s Ulla and the kids?”

“I left them in L.A. I put a blanket around the house,” he said. “Nobody’s going to get near them.”

I called the Palms and we went downstairs to get a cab. On the way, I filled him in on my talk with J. P. and I leaned back in the dirty cab and looked at him. “Now you’ve got to make a connection that can take me to Uncle Harry and at the same time get me next to one of the capos in the Carlino family to straighten everything out.”

Buddy looked at me. “And when do you expect me to do all that?”

“By tomorrow morning,” I said as we walked into the restaurant.

The steaks were great. You didn’t get steaks like this anywhere except New York. In California, they call them New Yorks, but they don’t compare. Charolais in France are too soft and mushy. Black Angus out of Scotland are not too bad. But this is New York. The sirloin top of the world.

Buddy wiped his mouth when he finished his steak. “You’re right,” he said. “I really prefer barbecued ribs, but this is something else.”

“Where are you staying?” I asked. “Just in case I have to get you in the morning.”

“I’ll be in the St. Therese on St. Nicholas Avenue in Harlem. I’ll be getting up early in the morning. I have to catch some of my old policy books so they can give me all the lowdown on Uncle Harry.”

I stared at him. “How will they know about him now? He’s a rich man.”

“Your Uncle Harry may be seventy-two years old, but he’s never changed. He still likes a bit of black ass every now and then.” He laughed. “Still the same old prick.”

I shook my head. “But what about Kitty?”

“She’s running his business. She’s got him, not only by his balls, she’s also got him by his bank accounts.”

We both laughed.

*   *   *

It was eleven in the morning that Buddy called me for the first meeting. He said it would be in an Italian restaurant on Lexington Avenue, not far from Bloomingdale’s. I didn’t know then, but that was the midtown meeting place for all the families. Our meeting was with a capo from the Carlino family and a wiseguy from the Colombo family.

But this was not the important meeting. This was an “arrange the important meeting” meeting. It was decided at this meeting that I would meet with Frank Costello in the corner of the Norse Room of the Waldorf-Astoria for lunch at twelve-thirty the next day. Costello had his own table every day at lunch in the far corner from the entrance. There would be only one person seated at the table with him. Miss LaJunta White, a friend of Mr. Costello. And I was supposed to go alone. No Buddy, no niggers with me. I was also supposed to explain the deal in detail to Mr. Costello and show him the agreements, proving that I was legitimate.

Lunch this time was linguine with fresh clams. Dessert was cannolis and espresso. And for the first time, I had the feeling that the whole deal was going to work, because the wiseguy picked up the check.

The Norse Room in the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel was a very large, high-ceiling dining room whose thin tall windows looked onto Lexington Avenue. The maître d’ held a pen in his hand and pointed to me.

“I’m Mr. Cooper,” I said. “I have an—”

The maître d’ nodded quickly, interrupting me. “I know, sir,” he said. “Please follow me.”

He took me to the table in the far corner. Costello was not a very tall man. He had a nice golden suntan and black hair with gray at the temples. Miss White was an attractive lady with platinum blond hair and a bright smile. She had a glass of champagne in front of her; he had red wine, and I ordered a beer. Mr. Costello came right to the point. “Miss White is my friend and a confidante. You can speak freely in front of her.”

I nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Costello looked at me. “You are the president of Plescassier Water America,” he said. “You have the rights to sell Plescassier in the States by contracts and partnership with the original company in France.”

“That’s right,” I said.

“Then, what do you want from me?” he asked directly.

I looked at him. “A few days ago in Los Angeles, a man tried to shoot me, but he missed and lost one of his balls in consequence.”

Mr. Costello and Miss White looked at each other and began to laugh. “I’ve heard about that,” Costello said.

“On this same day, a number of goons entered my distributors’ businesses and removed Plescassier from their shelves and replaced them with another supposedly Italian water. Which we have since found out was simply Brooklyn tap water. I arranged immediately for my people to get rid of the phony water and put our water back in place.” I looked at him and took a breath. “This bullshit operation ended up costing me over one hundred thousand dollars.”

Mr. Costello looked at me casually. “Do you know who was behind this?”

“The police told me the wiseguy that shot at me came from the Carlino family in New York. I was able, by another source, to find out that the phony bottled water came from a bottling plant owned by a relative of mine who has a number of partnerships with the Carlino family.” I looked at Miss White. “May I smoke?”

“Be my guest.” She smiled.

I lit up a Lucky. Mr. Costello thought for a moment. “You haven’t ordered lunch yet.”

“I was waiting for you, sir,” I answered.

“Miss White and I usually have Caesar salads and that’s all,” he said.

“Fine.” I smiled. “I’ll just have ham and eggs.”

The service was special. Apparently everyone there knew Frank Costello. They didn’t want any problems. We ate quickly. He didn’t talk very much. She did most of the talking. She spoke mostly about President Kennedy and the First Lady, Jacqueline. By the time she finished I knew everything about the Kennedys. The only thing Costello said about the president was that he knew his father had been in the liquor business in Canada. I told them he was a Democrat and that was fine with me.

Then lunch was over and Mr. Costello spoke up again. “I notice you have brought a briefcase.”

“Yes,” I answered. “I have all the contracts and agreements we need to complete the deal. All I need is someone to take the papers and make the deal.”

“How much are you asking for it?” he asked.

“Two million dollars to me for Plescassier America,” I answered.

“Does that include the contracts for the water from the French company?” he asked.

“That, too, is signed and sealed,” I replied.

He nodded. “Just turn them over to me. I’ll get in touch with you as soon as I find out if they like the deal.”

I picked up the briefcase and gave it to him. “Everything’s in there. All you have to do is call me and I’ll sign the papers.”

He looked at me. “Do you have an attorney here?”

“Yes,” I said. “Former Judge Eugene Winick.”

Miss White laughed. “You may not know it,” she told me in confidence. “Most of Frank’s associates call him ‘the Judge.’”

“I can appreciate that,” I said. “He said that Mr. Costello would have a real grasp of this situation.” I got up. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Miss White, and thank you for lunch, Mr. Costello. You can reach me at the Plaza Hotel. I will be waiting for your call.”

*   *   *

They didn’t call him “the Judge” for nothing. The word around town was that the families used him to straighten up any of their problems that could be negotiated. Apparently, it also was true with the Carlinos and the Colombos. It was only two days later that I was called to Uncle Harry’s bottling company offices on Madison Avenue. I was told to bring Judge Winick.

Uncle Harry was in his seventies now, but he seemed to be exactly the same. Kitty was sitting off to the side. I looked at her. She seemed to look a lot older. She had lines around her mouth that made her look very hard. She would not meet my eyes.

We said hello, but we did not shake hands. Uncle Harry smiled at me. “How are you? Feeling well?”

“I’m okay,” I answered.

He kept rattling. “Kitty and I have two sons. They’re bright, both going to college,” he said.

“That’s great,” I said agreeably. “Who do they look like, you or Kitty?”

“It’s funny,” Harry said. “They don’t look like either of us. Our oldest looks more like your mother, but that doesn’t make any sense.”

“Nothing makes any sense, Uncle Harry.” I looked at Kitty, and for one tiny second our eyes met. I knew. Kitty was fucking me just before they got married.

“My lawyer is waiting for us,” Harry said. “What do you say we get this thing done?”

“I’m ready,” I said. “I want Buddy to come in here while the papers are being signed. He can be one of the witnesses when we sign.”

Harry looked at Buddy as he walked into the room. “You never change,” he said.

“Some things never do.” Buddy laughed.

Then the two lawyers spread out the papers and we signed them all and it was all over except for one thing. Harry had to hand me the check.

I looked at the check in my hand. It was a cashier’s check for two million dollars payable to me. I looked at him and suddenly I began to laugh.

“Thank you, Uncle Harry!” I said, my eyes tearing with laughter. “Thank you for everything!”

“Robbins’s dialogue is moving.… His people have the warmth of life.”

—
The New York Times

“Robbins’s books are packed with action, sustained by a strong narrative drive, and given vitality by his own colorful life.”

—
The Wall Street Journal

“Robbins has the ability to hold his readers absorbed.”

—
Chicago Tribune

“His characters are compelling, his dialogue is dramatic, and his style is simple and straightforward.”

—
Los Angeles Times

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

THE PREDATORS

Copyright © 1998 by the Estate of Harold Robbins

All rights reserved.

A Forge Book

Published by Tom Doherty Associates, Inc.

175 Fifth Avenue

New York, NY 10010

Forge
®
is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, Inc.

ISBN: 0-812-57178-9

Library of Congress Card Catalog Number: 98-5553

First edition: May 1998

First international mass market edition: November 1998

First mass market edition: April 1999

eISBN 9781466833760

First eBook edition: November 2012