Fifth Avenue wst-1

by Christopher Smith

  She handed the check to Mario. “Tonight, I saw a woman whose sole possessions were her three hungry children and a few torn garbage bags filled with God knows what. I might be leaving my home tonight, but I’m leaving to move into another home that will keep me warm and dry. That woman and her children should be so lucky.”

  She nodded toward the check. “Would you donate that to the shelter and see to it that it’s put to good use?”

  Mario looked touched. “Of course, I will.”

  “I start work soon,” she said, and saw by the change in Mario’s expression that he knew nothing about this. “We haven’t discussed that yet,” she said. “I was going to tell you about it over dinner that night-but you didn’t show. Where were you, anyway?”

  He was about to tell her the truth, but then decided now wasn’t the time to tell her about the threat against Lucia’s life. “I told you I was with Lucia,” he said. “It was her birthday.”

  Leana shook her head in disappointment. “No, it wasn’t, Mario. Lucia’s birthday is a week after my own. I haven’t forgotten that. So, why the lie?”

  He was surprised she remembered. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t want to, but there’s a reason for it. Something happened at home.”

  “What’s happened at home?”

  “I’ll tell you later. Right now, I want to know about this job.”

  Leana stilled the wave of stubbornness that rose within her. He was helping her now. She decided to answer the question. “Louis Ryan asked me to manage his new hotel. I start next week.”

  “Louis Ryan?” Mario said. “The developer?”

  “Yes,” Leana said. “The developer.”

  “But the man’s a crook,” Mario said. “Everyone knows that. And your father hates him.” His last words lingered in the air. “Which is why you took the job.”

  “Maybe,” Leana said. “But the job also is a great opportunity. It was Harold who suggested it, Mario.”

  “Your father’s own best friend suggested this?”

  “He set up the appointment.”

  Mario was incredulous. “Something isn’t right here, Leana. You’ve got to see that.”

  “Everything’s perfectly right,” she said. “Harold wouldn’t have suggested that I meet Louis if it wasn’t. Now, look. I don’t want to discuss this now. If you want to do so later, fine. What’s more important is that soon I’ll have an income of my own. I’ll finally be independent. That’s a big step for me, Mario. Don’t ruin it.”

  Mario tried to accept what she’d just told him-but he couldn’t. He couldn’t believe she was going to work for Louis Ryan. Did the woman have no sense? All of Manhattan knew how Louis Ryan and George Redman felt about each other. He knew that if Leana took this job, sooner or later she would take the brunt of that hatred.

  So, we’ll talk later, he thought.

  When they left the apartment, they walked swiftly to Mario’s car. It was parked at the curbside, perhaps 500 feet away. In the distance, the Washington Arch glowed and the faint sounds of a reggae band carried in the breeze.

  They had just reached the car when someone called out Leana’s name from across the street. Leana turned and glimpsed the person at the same moment Mario opened the car’s rear passenger door and shoved her inside.

  She slid across shiny black vinyl.

  Her head struck the driver’s side headrest and she was aware of a sharp pain in her left shoulder.

  Mario withdrew his gun, leaned into position.

  His men followed suit.

  Someone on the sidewalk-a woman-screamed at the sight of the drawn guns.

  Leana lifted her head and looked out the side window.

  Standing frozen in the middle of Fifth Avenue, traffic curling to a stop around him, was Michael Archer.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  At midnight that evening, Louis Ryan left the party on Anastassios Fondaras’ yacht, returned to his office at Manhattan Enterprises and locked in a wall safe the DVD Fondaras gave him upon leaving the ship.

  He fixed himself a drink, finished it and fixed himself another.

  He walked the few steps to his desk and sat. He stared at the glittering facade of the Redman International Building and sipped.

  He waited.

  The knock came at twelve-thirty. Ryan glanced at his watch. It was about time Spocatti showed. Louis hadn’t seen or heard from him all day.

  “Come in,” he called.

  The door swung open and Spocatti stepped inside. He approached Louis’ desk.

  During the weeks they had come to know each other, a deep respect had grown between the two men. While Louis admired Spocatti’s mind and intellect, Spocatti felt a strong sense of camaraderie toward Louis. As far as he was concerned, anyone who could make his own son believe that a person by the name of Stephano Santiago actually existed deserved respect.

  “I assume everything went well,” Louis said.

  Spocatti stopped fifteen feet before reaching Louis’ desk. Instinct made him move left while he stared at the floor-to-ceiling windows behind Ryan.

  “There were a few problems,” he said. “And I’ll tell you about them when you either move away from the windows, or close the drapes.”

  Louis wrinkled his brow. “You think I’m at risk?’

  “Anyone who has wealth and power is at risk, Louis. Especially those as hated as you. Why open yourself to a potential sniper when you can prevent it?”

  “Because I happen to like the view,” Louis said, but he opened a desk drawer and flipped a switch, anyway. The curtains whispered shut. “Now that I’m safe from predators, tell me what happened.”

  “Cain and his men are dead.”

  Louis sat motionless. Vincent told him everything-about the chase, the cab driver, Michael’s manuscript, the fire.

  “Michael had a gun?”

  “Hidden beneath his bed.”

  “And he shot Cain?”

  “He killed Cain-at the same moment I killed the man who was blocking the doorway to his apartment. I told you we couldn’t trust Cain, Louis. I warned you not to use him. The man made his own rules, would kill for the hell of it. If I hadn’t gone on a hunch to Michael’s apartment, your son would be dead. I saved his life after Cain burned the manuscript Michael was working on. By the time I reached him, the apartment was in flames and Michael had passed out from the smoke in the room. I had to carry him out of the building.”

  Things were moving too quickly. Louis only hired Cain to frighten Michael, to strengthen his belief in a man called Stephano Santiago. None of this was supposed to have happened.

  “Did anyone see you carry him out of the building?”

  “Lot’s of people saw me. Some wanted to help.”

  “Did anyone recognize Michael?”

  “I can’t be sure of that. There was too much confusion.”

  “Where did you bring him?”

  “To my apartment. I tried to reach you but you were out. Where were you tonight?”

  “Doesn’t matter. How long did Michael stay with you?”

  “Until his lungs cleared. They were filled with smoke.”

  There wasn’t a trace of concern on Louis’ face. Michael was alive. That’s what mattered.

  “Where is he now?”

  “On a plane headed to Europe with Leana.”

  “And?”

  “Michael is scared. He needs the money and he’s ready to marry. Leana’s the challenge.”

  “She’ll marry him,” Louis said. “She has to.”

  Although Spocatti had wondered for weeks why this marriage was so important to Ryan, he decided not to ask why.

  “What about Mario De Cicco?” Louis asked.

  “He’s going to be a problem.”

  “How much of a problem?”

  Spocatti shrugged. “Depends on how much you wanted to use Eric Parker. Next time you send him roses, it might be to his grave.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It mean
s that Parker went through with his threat. He had a contract put out on Leana Redman.”

  “He did what?”

  “Relax,” Spocatti said. “De Cicco found out about it. He’ll use his contacts to have it canceled, he’ll track down Parker and he’ll kill him himself.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “Technology is a wonderful thing, Louis.”

  “What else have you heard?”

  “Plenty. Seems De Cicco’s concerned about you. He doesn’t like the fact that you’re going to be Leana’s new employer. He’s angry about it and told his men to get a complete rundown on you and Michael by the end of the week.”

  “He doesn’t know Michael’s my son, does he?”

  “Not now,” Spocatti said. “But if his men dig deep enough, he will. Right now, he’s more concerned with the reason Harold Baines sent Leana to you. He knows Harold is George Redman’s best friend. He knows something isn’t right. He’s a smart man.”

  “Not as smart as me.”

  “That remains to be seen.”

  “Don’t forget,” Louis said, “I’ve got you.”

  “And he’s got the Mafia. Things are changing, Louis. Things aren’t as simple as they once were. Things are getting serious.”

  “It’s nothing we can’t handle.”

  “We’re talking about the Mafia, Louis.”

  “And I’m talking about an extra $10 million if you stay with me. That’s over and above the money I’ve already offered you. Half will be in your Swiss account by the end of next week. You’ll get the other half when Redman is dead.”

  There was a silence.

  “You said you were the best, Vincent.”

  “I am, Louis-but the best are never fools, not even for money.” He corrected himself. “Especially not for money.”

  “I need to know if you’re still in,” Louis said.

  Spocatti weighed the situation, had a few ideas and then he nodded. “I want that money in my account by tomorrow morning. Not next week.”

  “Done.”

  “And from now on, we do things my way.”

  “I can’t agree to that.”

  “Then we compromise. It’s my ass out there. I’m not losing it for you.”

  “No one’s asked you to.”

  Spocatti laughed. “Right,” he said. “So, what do you want me to do next?”

  Louis told him.

  From the doorway of her husband’s study, Elizabeth Redman stood removing her jewelry while George, standing at the far right wall of windows, finished the last of his Scotch.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  It was a moment before he turned to her. “Not really.”

  She walked over to where he was standing and put her arms around him. “You can talk to me,” she said. “You know I'm here for you.”

  “I know you are.” He kissed the back of her hand. "Why else would you throw a drink in Ryan's face?"

  "That was a mistake," she said. "But I have to admit it felt good."

  "You're human, Elizabeth. And remember-nobody likes Ryan. He provoked us. They'll side with you."

  "Can I ask you a question?"

  "Of course."

  “Last night, in your sleep, you said Leana’s name twice. You’re worried about her, aren’t you?”

  George nodded.

  “Do you think it’s true what Louis said about her tonight?”

  “I don’t know,” George said. “But I was planning on finding out when you came in.” He released himself from the embrace and walked to his desk. He picked up a phone and started dialing.

  Elizabeth stepped to his side. “Who are you calling?”

  “Who do you think?”

  “Don’t you think it’s a little late to call? Helen might be in bed. You’ll disturb them.”

  “I don’t care if I disturb them. If Harold’s been speaking to Louis Ryan about my daughter, I want to know about it.”

  “You know you can’t believe a word Ryan says.”

  “I understand that,” he said. “But I also know my daughter. And you’ve seen how Harold’s been acting lately. There’s a reason behind it and this might be it.”

  “Why didn’t you just confront him about it on the ship?” she said. “We could be beyond this now.”

  The line started ringing. “Because I was too angry,” George said. “And making one scene was enough.”

  “You’re not angry now?”

  George shot her a look. The line clicked and Harold answered the phone. “It’s George. Can you come to my office? I need to see you. Yes, tonight.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  George turned in his chair and looked across his office at Harold Baines, who had just stepped inside and now was standing in shadow.

  “I’m not sure,” he said. “But I think you can help me figure it out.” He motioned toward the chair opposite his desk. “Why don’t you have a seat? We have a lot to talk about.”

  Harold hesitated for a moment, but then came across the room.

  “Want a drink?”

  As he sat, Harold looked at George. Although he was nervous, a part of him even frightened of this meeting, he somehow managed to keep his features neutral. “Are you having one?”

  “I’ve already had several. One more isn’t going to kill me. What do you want?”

  “What you’re having.”

  George crossed to the bar.

  Harold turned in his chair. He looked at his best friend and wondered if Jack Douglas told him what he’d seen on Anastassios Fondaras’ ship.

  He was frightened. He wasn’t sure how he would handle the situation if it arose. Never had Harold been confronted with his homosexuality. Never had anyone called him on his drug problem. He always was discreet, careful. But recently, he had been preoccupied, forgetful. Sometimes, he felt as if he were losing control of his life. The deals with WestTex and Iran, his increasing dependency on heroin and coke, all were devouring what little structure and routine he once had.

  For years he had been living a lie. For years he had been miserable because of it. The drugs and the sex were an escape from a life he was becoming convinced was no longer worth living. He did not love his wife or his children because he barely knew them. The only people he cared about were the people who had never let him down-George and Leana. And now he couldn’t face them because he had betrayed them both. What kind of a man was he?

  “We’ve been friends too long for bullshit,” George said from the bar. “So, I’ll just get to it. I spoke to Louis Ryan tonight-or, rather, he spoke to me. He told me something I’m not sure I believe.”

  Harold sat motionless in his chair. In the windows before him, the city gleamed.

  George walked over with the drinks. “He said you two have become friendly. He said that, thanks to you, Leana’s going to be running his new hotel for him.” George stopped beside Harold and handed him his martini. “I want to know if that’s true.”

  Harold put his glass down on the table beside him. If he lied to George now, he knew that it would destroy what had taken thirty years to build.

  “Obviously, it’s not true.”

  George sat in his chair. He leaned toward his desk and rested his head in his hands. He felt drained, exhausted-but relieved, as well.

  “I didn’t think you had,” he said, straightening. “But I had to ask. I hope I didn’t offend you.”

  “You didn’t offend me,” Harold said.

  “I had to know.”

  “I understand.”

  There was a silence while the two men drank.

  Harold returned his gaze to the view out the windows. As he sat there, numb, he watched two helicopters sail over a city he was beginning to hate. It was a city that, like so many other things in his life, held little appeal for him anymore.

  He looked at George and knew that nothing could ever assuage the guilt he felt for having betrayed him and his family. Nothing could fill the deep emptiness that had be
come his life-not friendship, not love, not truth.

  He wondered how much longer he could live a lie. He wondered at what point his world would begin to crumble.

  “This takeover has been difficult on you, hasn’t it?” George said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve lost weight,” George said. “A lot of weight. Helen tells Elizabeth that you’re not eating well. I noticed that at tonight’s dinner. You hardly touched the food on your plate. Is there something wrong? Are you not well?”

  “It’s just my ulcers,” Harold said. “I admit I’ll feel better once this takeover is complete.”

  “You’re sure there’s nothing else?”

  “Nothing I can’t handle with a little thought,” Harold said.

  George leaned back in his chair, curious to know what Harold meant by that. He decided to let it pass. “I met with Frostman today,” he said.

  Harold looked surprised-and then perhaps a little vulnerable. “I didn’t miss a meeting, did I?”

  “This time you didn’t. I met with him alone.” He finished his drink and stood. “Chase is onboard, but they’ve struck a tough deal. But so have I. I think it’s one I can live with. One we all can live with.”

  “What’s their money going to cost?”

  “Eight percent.”

  Harold raised an eyebrow. “Not bad. Who gets senior debt?”

  “We do,” George said. “But for that, they’ll end up with a thirty-five percent share of WestTex.”

  Harold shook his head. “You’re going to have a hard a time getting board approval on that.”

  “I know,” George said. “But that’s their deal and we’re running out of time. The board will have to accept it-or we lose billions.”

  “What if this falls through?” Harold asked.

  George seemed almost defeated when he said, “I guess we approach someone else.”

  Later, when Harold left Redman International, the black Mercedes limousine that had been waiting on 50th Street started its engine, cut into traffic and cruised to a stop beside him.

  Harold stepped away from the curb at the same moment the limousine’s rear door shot open and Vincent Spocatti stepped out.