To Save a Son (11 page)

Franks supposed the man was being honest and genuine now, but he still couldn't find any compassion or forgiveness. Nicky wasn't sorry for entrapping him. The weak, vacillating bastard was sorry that it had been discovered and there was a risk of everything coming out. If the FBI hadn't come the previous day, Nicky would have gone on being the shoulder-slapping, bonhomie-filled brother figure who would have always kept the private file in his bottom drawer and laughed to himself all the time how easy it had been to con the supposedly big-time operator.

And it had been easy. It had been easy because despite all the bullshit about personal control and attention to every detail that Franks boasted about, he'd taken Nicky's word and accepted Pascara and Dukes and Flamini as business partners. He hadn't run any sort of independent check—the sort of independent check they'd clearly run on him and which he should have run on them if he purported to be half as good a businessman as he thought he was—which might have warned him. A credit survey would have been enough, because credit surveys threw up criminal convictions. He wouldn't have considered tying himself to anyone with a criminal conviction, no matter how many years ago it had occurred.

The anger now wasn't so much directed toward the lawyer as to himself. Maybe Nicky had set him up, but Franks recognized that he only had himself to blame. He could have backed out from the preliminary meeting. And he could have backed out after the charade that they'd staged in the islands, even though he hadn't known what sort of charade it was at the time. The anger wasn't just at recognizing how ineptly he'd behaved. It was at remembering that he'd actually
known
, at the time, that he wasn't being properly businesslike. And still going on! He was physically hot, flushed, and didn't care that Nicky would see it. Weak, vacillating bastard, he thought again.

But he wasn't. He hadn't shown himself to be much of a businessman so far in his involvement with them, but now was the time to start;
the
way to start if he was to minimize the damage. He'd been stupid, but so had they, in their eagerness to make him a puppet. He knew the way the strings worked now. So they could dance to his manipulation.

“I'm the controlling stockholder,” he said, making it an announcement.

“Yes,” agreed Nicky, doubtful at Franks' sudden forcefulness.

“So I'm going to summon a board meeting.”

“What!” demanded the lawyer.

“I want to dissolve both companies,” said Franks. “There's a formation clause about impropriety?”

“It's standard,” agreed Nicky.

“I'm not satisfied about the propriety of my fellow directors—and I'm going to find out more that will make me become even more dissatisfied—and I have the power as controlling stockholder, with Tina's vote, to dissolve the companies. Which is what I intend to do.”

“The investigators said …”

“I don't give a damn what the investigators said! At the moment I'm provably fronting for men involved in God knows what. If there is a prosecution and we've disposed of the companies, then we've shown some responsibility. Distanced ourselves.”

“Eddie,” said Nicky, empty-voiced, “I don't want to confront Pascara and the others.”

“You don't have to,” said Franks. “I do.”

13

Having made the decision—and fueled by anger at his own stupidity and their use of him—Franks' impulse was to summon the meeting immediately to get rid of them. It was the same anger that enabled him to control the impulse. An investigation was just that, an inquiry that might prove nothing, leaving only the suspicion. Recognizing that he needed more, Franks initiated the sort of credit surveys he should have commissioned at the beginning. Through a separate legal firm in Chicago and another in Houston he asked for personal checks on all three men. When he faced them, he was determined there would be no way they could rebut the propriety clause.

There was an inexplicable discomfort at Tina being so far away. The same night as his disclosure meeting with Nicky, Franks booked into the Plaza—impatient at the commuting delays that would have arisen if he'd opened up the Scarsdale house—and called Tina in England. As reluctant as Nicky had been during his telephone conversation, Franks refused to go into any details. He said there was a serious problem—the most serious that he'd ever had to confront—but he thought that there might be a way to limit the damage. It meant her vote and he wanted her with him, not thousands of miles away. She agreed to fly out the following day and asked whether she should bring Gabriella. Franks hesitated, and then said the child should remain at home in the care of Elizabeth.

He met Tina at Kennedy Airport but refused to talk in the car, within the hearing of the driver, so by the time they reached their suite Tina was positively irritated, imagining Franks was being overly dramatic. The attitude leaked away as he told her what had happened. When he finished she said, “Oh, God! Oh my God!”

“We haven't done anything wrong,” insisted Franks. “I've been tricked, and I was stupid, but stupidity isn't a crime.”

“You think the courts will see it that way?”

“I don't know how American courts work,” said Franks. “I don't know how English courts work, for that matter. What I do know is that going ahead as I am now shows proper business responsibility.”

“Nicky trapped you?” she demanded, working through what Franks had said.

“Yes.”

“The little bastard.”

“I've said it all.”

“Have you spoken to Poppa? He knew, as well.”

“There hasn't been time.”

“Aren't you going to?”

Franks had avoided thinking about it. He could hardly wait for the confrontation with Pascara and Dukes and Flamini. But not with Enrico. Franks despised Nicky because Nicky had actively, knowingly involved him. But Enrico hadn't. Franks supposed Enrico had some guilt, but it was guilt of omission—of omitting to warn him—not his true son's guilt of commission. He would face the old man, but he didn't think it would be in anger, even though he might try to indicate the feeling. Toward Enrico he felt only disappointment. Despite all the bombast and the bullying and the competition-setting, Franks had trusted the old man. Trusted and respected and admired him. Loved him, Franks supposed, forcing the admission from himself. But Enrico couldn't have loved him, to let happen what had happened. To Tina, Franks said, “Of course I'm going to talk to him. But not yet. There's too much to do here yet.”

“I want to see Nicky,” she demanded.

“I've got to see him,” said Franks. “I've left him setting up the inquiries, in Chicago and Houston.”

“I want to come, too.”

Tina actually entered her brother's office suite ahead of Franks when they got there, in the afternoon, stopping in the middle of the big room with her hands on her hips and yelling, “What the fuck do you think you've done!”

“We've been through it all,” said Nicky wearily, nodding beyond his sister to Franks. “There isn't anything else left to say.”

“Oh yes there is,” insisted the woman. “I want to hear you tell me, personally, why you thought nothing of getting us involved with mobsters. In the middle of some fucking FBI investigation. Don't you know what you've done?”

“Of course I know what I've done. And I'm sorry.” Nicky was as disheveled as he had been the previous day, pouch-eyed with fatigue.

“Sorry!”

“Tina,” intruded Franks from behind, “we've had the recriminations. I want to know what the other lawyers have said; how long they think things will take.”

“Not yet.” Tina went farther toward her brother. She stopped at the edge of the huge desk, staring down at the man. “I think you're a bastard,” she said. “I think you're scum. You used us. Not just in the business. You cheated us in that, but you cheated us as friends as well. How the hell could you and Maria get as close to us as you did when you still knew what you were doing!”

“Maria didn't know; doesn't know. I haven't told her anything.”

“You don't care who you cheat and lie to, do you!”

Nicky shrugged, with no defense.

“You've broken up the family, Nicky,” she said. “We're going to be together in the next few days because that's how it's got to be, to try to salvage something. But when it's over—however it finishes—I never want to see you again. I never want to speak to you or hear from you. I hope you rot in hell. And I don't know how I feel about Poppa, either. He knew; maybe not everything, but he knew and he could have prevented it if he'd wanted to. I don't think I want to see or speak to him again, either.”

The lawyer sat with his head cupped in his hands under the onslaught, refusing to look up at his sister. Tina was right, thought Franks. Whatever the outcome, things were going to be very much different for all of them. He supposed Tina would suffer more from the break than he would; Maria had been her closest friend, and any continuing relationship between the two women would be difficult now. Did Tina really mean that she never wanted to see her father again? Whether or not she meant it, Franks realized he wouldn't want to spend any more time in the old man's company. Not just the end of a close relationship, then. The end of the Westchester visits and the wet-eyed sentimentality. Would they even need the Scarsdale house, now that the companies were being dissolved? There had been as much family as business reason for buying, and neither were going to exist anymore. Certainly the running of the cruise liner didn't necessitate a place here. Franks stopped the reflection. He was running ahead of himself, far ahead of himself. He reached out, pulling the furious Tina away from the desk, feeling the anger vibrating through her, and seated her in the same chair into which he'd slumped in the first moment of shock the previous day. Turning back to the lawyer, Franks said, “Okay, so what about the surveys and the checks?”

Nicky brought his head up, appearing reluctant to look at anyone. “They didn't think it would take too long,” he said.

“
How
long?” insisted Franks. Common sense dictated that he didn't go into any meeting with the three men inadequately prepared, but he was reluctant to allow too much time. Getting out was the only consideration now.

Nicky turned away once more, awkwardly. “Seems Pascara's quite well known. By reputation at least. They thought some sort of preliminary report might be available in a couple of days.”

“You made it clear what we want? Something provable! Recorded!”

Nicky sighed at the unremitting pressure. “You set it all out last night! Sat here while I wrote it out!”

And I'm glad I did, thought Franks. He was worried—was worried to hell—but he wasn't giving up. He was fighting back and he was going to win, although he wasn't precisely sure what winning was going to be. Nicky seemed to have given up at the very first indication of trouble. Franks said, “I don't want any mistakes.” He paused and added, “Any more mistakes.”

“I still don't think we should do this,” said Nicky.

“Do what?” demanded Tina, coming into the conversation.

“Face them down.”

“Jesus, Nicky. You make me sick!” she said.

“You should know what it's like, better than Eddie,” said the lawyer.

“I told you he thinks it might be physically dangerous,” Franks reminded his wife.

“Do you
really
think that?” said Tina.

“It could be a possibility.”

“I think we should talk to Poppa about it,” said Tina. “He's involved, after all. Knew Pascara a long time ago, according to what you say. He'd know if there was any danger.”

Franks supposed there would have to be a meeting between them sometime. It might as well be now—almost immediately—as later. And Tina was right. Enrico had known Pascara in the early days. So he might know something that he could use against the man at the dissolution meeting. He said, “Don't you think Maria should hear about it, too?”

“Yes,” said Tina, in immediate agreement. “I think that's exactly what we should have. A family meeting. The last.”

Nicky nodded uncertainly. “I suppose we should,” he said. Seemingly reminded, he looked to Franks and said, “Have you finished with the folder?”

“What folder?” interrupted Tina again.

“I told you about it,” said Franks. “The records that Nicky kept, of the offshore accounts and some of the formation details.” It hadn't taken him very long to read, the previous night at the Plaza. According to the file, Pascara had separate investments totaling nearly two million dollars, spread throughout America, in addition to the hotels and casino stock.

“I'd like it back,” Nicky said.

“So you could destroy it?” Franks asked at once. Because he'd gone out to meet Tina's Concorde flight there had not been time to go to a bank, so at the moment Franks had it in a safe-deposit box at the hotel. But he
would
put it into the bank, he decided, staring at the sweating lawyer and remembering his earlier thoughts about the man's collapse. Nicky didn't think there should be any confrontation, and he was already running scared. Franks wasn't sure there was any protective value in what little documentation Nicky had retained, but he was damned sure he didn't want it burned or shredded. Just as he was damned sure that's exactly what Nicky would do if he returned it.

“It's my property!” insisted the lawyer desperately.

“It's company property,” Franks said, the argument already prepared. “The property of a company which belongs to me and of which you're a servant, as secretary. I've every right to it; I had every right to it a long time ago.”

“Please!” Nicky's desperation was worsening. “You're being stupid!”