Park Avenue (Book Six in the Fifth Avenue Series)

by Smith, Christopher

  “Recently, a host of people beyond Piggy French and all connected to one man, died.”

  “Which man?”

  “I’ll get to that”

  “So, it’s a mystery. At least for now. I devour mysteries. Who are these people?”

  “The Baron and Baroness of Dorchester, Piggy French, Peter Horrigan, Charles Stout, Florence Holt, and Rowena Clark.”

  “I know everyone but that last person. Why don’t I know that last person? How can it be that I don’t know that last person? I know everyone.”

  “I’m assuming it’s because she was a middle-class housewife who lived in Brooklyn.”

  “Did you just say ‘middle class’ in my home on Park Avenue?”

  “I did.”

  “Goodness. Did you also say....” He paused, and when he did, his lips drooped into a frown of distaste. “Did you also say, uh, Brooklyn?”

  “That’s right.”

  Fitzy rolled his eyes. “Then I wouldn’t know her. Unless she was a maid, or something. Otherwise, no chance. But the others, I knew. Especially the baron and baroness, obviously Piggy, Charles Stout and Florence Holt, and I met Horrigan at a few dinner parties. All of them died recently. I’m aware of that.” He gestured around the room. “As you can see, I read the papers.”

  “I do see. You read so much.”

  “Information is key.”

  “Did you ever meet Louis Ryan?”

  “Oh,” Fitzy said. “Is that what this is about? That abhorrent little troglodyte? Yes, between us, I suppose I met him once. At that party where that cunt Piggy French let him have it. What she said to him became famous. How she called him out in front of everyone. It was in the Post. You might be aware of it.”

  “I am.”

  “What does Louis Ryan have to do with any of this?”

  Marty already knew the answer to his question before he asked it. “Would you find it strange if Ryan included them in his will as his beneficiaries? And that he left each five million dollars upon his death?”

  “He what?”

  “He left them five million dollars.”

  “He left them what?”

  “Five million dollars. Each.”

  “I heard you the first time, I just can’t believe you.”

  “He did.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “I’ve read his will.”

  “Who is the executor?”

  “James Cullen.”

  “Cullen? You’re joking.”

  “They went to Yale together. Roomed together and struck up a friendship together. Now, Cullen is the chief shareholder of Manhattan Enterprises.”

  “Everything always has worked out for that son of a bitch, with the exception of his bum leg, which he hauls around as if it’s a cement cylinder. I can’t even look at him when he walks. Or when he tries to walk, rather. It’s embarrassing. He drags that thing around like an annoying toddler at parties, always reminding everyone that he lost it to cancer, as if anyone gives a Goddamn. So, now he’s wealthy beyond comprehension. Great. Now, he’s going to be even more of a nightmare to deal with. Just watch. He’ll start demanding the best seating placements; then we’re all screwed. Because of him, I’ll probably be made to sit next to that awful Tootie Staunton-Miller and her recently scandalized horse-hung gay husband, Addy, who got a blowjob at one of Fondaras’ recent parties. Or it could be worse. If she’s still on the list—which I have to question at this point even if she does have his old millions—some of us might have to sit next to that ridiculous Epifania Zapopa, the worrisome whore Charles Stout married. She had been his maid, but after his wife caught them having sex doggy-style on her great-grandfather’s priceless Aubusson rug, he divorced his wife and married her. God, I can’t stand her. She always sounds to me like she wants to sell me a taco. Or a bean burrito. Or a chalupa. Or whatever her kind eats. Probably refried beans.” He lowered his voice. “Or maybe even dog. You know how her kind is. They’re not even above road kill.”

  In the face of such racism, Marty only said, “That’s quite a commentary.”

  “It’s all in the memoir. It’s why people will flock to it.”

  “Do you know if Ryan was friends with any of them? Obviously, he wasn’t with Piggy French. But what of the others? Do you know if any of them were close with Ryan?”

  “Are you serious? Not one of them could stand Louis Ryan, which is why I still can’t believe—or understand, for that matter—why he left them five million dollars each. They were horrible to him. Awful. Not that he didn’t deserve it, that little upstart pisher. He tried to force himself upon all of us. He used Cullen time and again to get himself into the baron and baroness’ infamous dinner parties, but he was blacklisted from them. No one would have anything to do with him. Stout and Holt sat on his board only for the money. In private, they said the worst things about him, which generally delighted me. I like that kind of gossip, especially when it has to do with someone as reprehensible as Louis Ryan. And that plot he had against the Redmans?” Fitzy said, now so fully worked up that his caftan was fluttering as he moved his arms. “Unbelievable. I don’t like George Redman, though I thought his daughter, Celina, was pleasant enough before Ryan had her murdered. Same for his wife, Elizabeth, before it was revealed that she was a cold-blooded killer—she came off well in public. I never met their other daughter—whatshername—but I hear she’s about to open a big hotel on Park with Harold Baines’ money.”

  Fitzy leaned forward and lowered his voice to a hush. “Baines was a compulsive cocksucker, you know? Married, sure—but he was a closet queen of the highest order. Running around town haunting his favorite sex clubs. I heard he was into fisting, and by that, I mean that he was on the receiving end of it. Can you imagine? Taking a fist? It makes me want to blush just saying it, but it’s the truth. God only knows what else he did.” He winked at Marty. “Unless, of course, you read my memoir.”

  “I plan on reading it, though hopefully not too soon.”

  Fitzy smiled at that.

  Marty went in for the kill. “If you were in my position, what would you make of all this?”

  “Simple. None of it makes sense.”

  “I interviewed James Cullen. He also wasn’t sure why Ryan left them the money, though he presumed that at some point, they might have gone into business ventures with him.”

  “No way.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because these are the things of which I know. It’s why your ex-wife sent you to me. It’s why I think so much of Gloria—she may not be an insider, but she gets it and she knows her place. I admire her for that. There’s nothing I don’t know about our set, Mr. Spellman, and that’s why I can confidently say that there is no way that any of the men and women who have recently died were involved on any level with Ryan. Leaving out Clark, whom I didn’t know for obvious reasons, and with the exceptions of Horrigan and Holt, no one else would have had their names attached to him, privately or publicly, because eventually word would have gotten out. Holt and Horrigan were known and well liked in our circle, even if they weren’t in the book. My set was kind to them because they knew their place. They didn’t try to become one of us, because they knew they couldn’t. They were smart that way. They respected it. Ryan never did. He felt that his billions alone allowed him entree. But it didn’t. He felt betrayed by us.”

  “That’s a strong word.”

  “Betrayed is the right word.”

  “What do you know about Cullen?”

  “Enough to know that the man is a snake in the grass. But I could say that about any number of people in our set, especially that duplicitous Tootie Staunton-Miller. Still, despite how he presents, I’ve learned never to trust him.”

  “You have a history together?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far. But there was a time, long ago, when we were friendly. Once, I needed his assistance to get out of a pickle, which he helped to dig me out of. But after he did, he told everyone how crunch
y that pickle was. For a while, he ruined my reputation, but I fought to bring it back. In the end, he didn’t win, and I could tell how much that disappointed him.”

  “When I spoke to him, he said he was afraid for his life.”

  “What would you say if you were somehow involved in this? If he is, he could be afraid that you’ve come sniffing around. Maybe he’s just trying to throw you off.” He shrugged. “On the other hand, he might not be involved at all. He could be telling you the truth, regardless of how suspicious it sounds.”

  Marty rose to leave.

  “I can’t thank you enough for your time.”

  “You’re leaving? Have I helped?”

  “More than you know,” Marty said. “No need to get up. I’ll find my own way out. Thank you, Fitzy.”

  Fitzy shook Marty’s hand, and slowly released it. When he did, he looked Marty in the eyes, then looked at his chest, and finally at his crotch. “Tell Gloria for me that she has good taste in men.”

  * * *

  When he was on the street, Marty pulled out his cell and called his old friend, Detective Mike Hines, who was assigned to the murders of Florence Holt and Charles Stout on Anastassios Fondaras’ yacht.

  “Mike,” Marty said when the man answered.

  “What’s up, buddy? How was Vegas?”

  He had no time for small talk. “Good, good. Listen, I’ve got some information that could help you.”

  “With what?”

  “Holt and Stout.”

  “I’m listening.”

  Marty told him everything he knew. He told him about his conversations with James Cullen and Fitzy Fertzbergen, and about the beneficiaries listed in Louis Ryan’s will, and how all of them were recently dead.

  “Sound suspicious?”

  “Sounds loaded. You said the executor of Ryan’s will is who again?”

  “James Cullen.”

  “Where can I find him?”

  “At Manhattan Enterprises.”

  “Isn’t that—?”

  “That’s right. Louis left him all his shares. He has an office there. Sits on the board. He and Louis were very close.”

  “How close?”

  “After looking into this and thinking about it? I’d say closer than anyone knew. You’ll talk to him?”

  “I need to be in court today. I’ll call him tomorrow.”

  “Work fast, Mike. I have a feeling that others will die soon.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

  The next day, Anastassios Fondaras sat in his office on his yacht, troubled by what was happening to him and what eventually would happen to Leana because of him. He felt a start when the phone dedicated only to Sean Scott buzzed to life beside him. It was a satellite phone and couldn’t be traced or tapped. He answered it.

  “Sean.”

  “Mr. Fondaras.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  “Pepper Redman.”

  “What about her?”

  “You remember the photographs I had taken of her going into that building on Fifth?”

  “I remember. She went in with a briefcase, and came out without one. I believe she told Leana that she went to see her doctor that day. Did she?”

  “She may have. We learned that doctors do have offices there, but there is someone else in that building she likely saw instead.”

  “Who?”

  “Gordon Elling.”

  “I don’t know the name.”

  “He’s a businessman.”

  “What sort of business?”

  “He hires out assassins for people who need them.”

  Fondaras turned in his chair and faced the windows behind him. Outside, the river gleamed bright, but to him, it might as well have been gray. “So, you know of him?”

  “I do.”

  “Do you know him personally?”

  “I met him once. He courted me when I left the Marines. I told him I don’t kill people for a living—I protect them. That’s when I started my own business.”

  “Sean, I’m sorry I’ve put you in this position. I know it goes against everything you’re about.”

  “I’ve come to like Leana very much.”

  “She’s like a daughter to me. I’ve never cowered to anyone, but how else am I supposed to handle the situation I’ve been given? I’ve tried to work through the angles. I’ve looked for a way out. But you know what he did to my daughter. She nearly died because of what he did to her. You also know that De Cicco will go through with his threat. He’s that powerful.”

  “So are you.”

  “I understand the power I have, but he has a network available to him that trumps mine. He’s the Mob. I want to take him out. I want to put an end to this so I can protect Leana and my family, but if I do, his people will know. The Family will organize, and they will take action.”

  “You’re not the only person who would like to see Antonio De Cicco dead, Mr. Fondaras. At this point in his life, I’d imagine there are dozens who would like to see him in the ground. I also doubt that you’re the only person he’s threatening right now. There are ways around this. It doesn’t have to be this way.”

  “I can’t risk my family.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “How can you promise me that?”

  “I have a plan. It isn’t just Pepper Redman I’ve had my team follow, but also Antonio De Cicco.”

  Alarmed, Anastassios said, “Why would you do that? If anyone is sensitive to being followed, it’s De Cicco. He’s no fool, Sean. He knows the Feds are on his ass all the time. He expects to be followed. He looks for it, as do those around him.”

  “Neither he nor his men have been aware of us.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because I’d know.”

  “I don’t like this.”

  “I know you’re worried about your family. I get it.”

  “That, and I’m sick to my stomach over Leana.”

  “Then let me help. There are ways. I told you, we already have a plan.”

  “What’s the plan?”

  Sean told him.

  “That literally could backfire in your face.”

  “But it won’t.”

  “It’s too risky.”

  “Everything comes with a risk. I’m not going to remain in your employ if you continue to go forward with this. I will not be part of Leana Redman’s death. It’s this, or I’m out. And if I’m out, I’ll take care of De Cicco myself. Same goes for Gordon Elling. I’m not going to let her die.”

  “Where is Leana now?”

  “She’s here today. For some reason, she didn’t come in yesterday. She directed us from home. When I picked her up this morning, she was different with me. Wary. She asked me again if her father hired one of my men. And again I lied to her, which makes me sick.” He paused. “You know I ruined her relationship with her father, don’t you? I killed that for her. He did call and hire one of my men to watch over her. I’m responsible for not coming clean with that information, but I’m not going to be responsible for anymore of this. I’m out.”

  “Is Sam with her now?”

  “He is.”

  “Will she be safe with him for the next couple of hours?”

  “Sam is one of my best men. She’ll be fine with him. Why?”

  “Because I want you to come here. I need you to map out this plan of yours for me. I need to hear in detail how it will go down, and why you think it will work.”

  “I can do that.”

  “I’ve let De Cicco get to me through my daughter. He rattled me with his threats—I admit it. But fuck him. I agree with you. We need to collaborate on this while I consider other avenues on my own.”

  “What other avenues?”

  “I have an idea I’m working with. It’s complicated. When I figure out if I can make it happen, you’ll know. Either way, we can try to kill Antonio De Cicco, and hopefully other core members of the Family, but we need to be ready for the repercussions if we fail. I could l
ose everyone who matters to me if we do, including Leana.”

  “That won’t happen.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “There was a time when I was in a real war, Mr. Fondaras.”

  “I know you were. Afghanistan.”

  “Then what you need to know is that I’ve done this before. I didn’t fail then, and I don’t intend to fail now.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

  James Cullen hung up the phone from a conversation with Detective Mike Hines, and called Spocatti.

  “The police are coming to question me,” he said.

  “What happened?” Spocatti asked.

  “I think Marty Spellman went to them. He obviously has his share of suspicions. The detective who is coming here didn’t tell me why he’s coming, just that he’d like to have a chat. In their world, a chat is an interrogation. We both know what this is about.”

  “You sound calm enough.”

  “I am calm, because you’re right—nobody can pin this on me. Ryan put his beneficiaries in his will, not me. He’s the one who gave them five million each, not me. He simply made me the executor of his estate, which was a surprise since my friendship with Louis had waned over the years. Friends of mine can and will confirm that. Since Louis directed me privately to take out those people with the help of an overseas account, there is no paper trail linking me to any of this. You noted that. Unless I’m missing something here, which is why I’m calling you, I don’t think I have any reason to be concerned.”

  “Your story is solid. But when he arrives, you need to deliver a performance. He can’t get a whiff that you might somehow be involved.”

  “He won’t. From me, he’ll hear that I’m afraid for my own life, but that I haven’t reached out to anyone because I don’t know whether I’m being monitored. I’m terrified that I might be next, which is something I shared with Spellman, who will confirm my concerns. I have no idea what’s going on, but I can’t ignore that my own death is at hand. It’s why I have security, which I do.”

  “You have security?”

  “Of course, I do, Vincent. They’re always with me.”