Naked Greed

by Woods, Stuart

  “What brings you to New York, Ian?” Bill Eggers asked.

  “Oh, a bit of housekeeping at our UN embassy,” Ian replied smoothly. “Very boring, but periodically necessary.”

  “You’re with the Foreign Office, then?”

  “For my sins.”

  That received a chuckle, and no one probed further.

  “Holly, what’s your excuse to get out of Washington?” Eggers’s most recent wife, Eleanora, asked.

  “I’m speaking at a luncheon tomorrow at the Foreign Policy Association.”

  “And your subject?”

  “The Middle East, what else?”

  “Are you for it or against it?” Stone asked.

  “You’ll have to sit through a rubber chicken lunch to find out,” she replied, then turned to Dino. “Dino, I hear that you somehow were recently appointed police commissioner, or is that just an ill-founded rumor?”

  “I’m afraid it is so,” Dino said.

  “Next, you’ll be running for president.”

  “If that should ever happen, Stone has promised to shoot me.”

  “And I will keep that promise,” Stone said.

  “Dino,” Herbie said, “you’ve been getting remarkably good press since you moved into One Police Plaza. How do you do that?”

  “By keeping my mouth shut,” Dino replied. “If you don’t say anything, they can’t quote you.”

  “I’ve been telling him to shut up for years,” Stone said.

  The dinner moved from a foie gras course, through a duck course and a soufflé course to a cheese course. Fred had decanted two bottles of port Stone had been saving for a special occasion, and a perfect Stilton was served with it.

  “My God,” Ian exclaimed after tasting the wine. “What is this?”

  “It’s a Quinta do Noval Nacional ’61.”

  “I know Noval, but what is Nacional?”

  “It’s a tiny area in the Noval vineyard, planted with ungrafted, pre-phylloxera vines, and virtually unobtainable, unless you know somebody. Fortunately, I know Marcel du Bois, our French partner in the Arrington hotels, who gave me four bottles for Christmas last year.”

  “This wine is older than my parents!” Heather said, getting a laugh.

  When the guests moved to leave, not a drop of the port had been wasted.

  —

  When the last guest had left, Stone invited Ian into his study and gave him a glass of very old Armagnac.

  “That was a perfect dinner,” Ian said. “I didn’t know California wines could be that good, and the port, of course, was nothing short of sensational.”

  “We try to keep our royalist cousins entertained when they cross the pond,” Stone said. “Especially when they’re chased across the pond.”

  “Holly explained, did she?”

  “She did. How does it feel to be quarry?”

  “Hot. Their first attempt was a car bomb that killed a parking attendant. The second was a silenced bullet through a sixteenth-century glass pane at a country house during dinner. That last one put the wind up Dame Felicity. I mean, it was supposed to be a safe house, you know?”

  “Holly says Felicity is sparing no effort in her investigation. She compared it to the Philby foofaraw.”

  “Oh, that was an aggravated case of old-boyism. They couldn’t believe that someone of their own class could be working for the opposition. In this case, well, I’m a military brat—no family connections. The culprit will probably turn out to be a cleaning lady or a driver, or some such person, no doubt for money.”

  “I don’t know much about Dahai.”

  Ian shrugged. “It’s a sultan’s palace perched on a lake of oil, not much else.”

  “And why do they think Millie Martindale is in no danger?”

  “Oh, greater London has a large Middle Eastern immigrant population that can conceal an operative. Washington doesn’t. They’d have to go at her through the Dahai embassy there, and since the outing of their chargé d’affaires, they can’t operate quite so freely. In fact, I’m surprised the State Department hasn’t shut them down and shipped them home. That’s what our Foreign Office did.”

  “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’m a bit of a target myself, at the present time.” Stone told him about the Perado affair and Gino Parisi’s hoods.

  Ian raised his glass. “Brothers in arms,” he said.

  Stone drank to that.

  Ian yawned. “I think I’d better go fight the jet lag,” he said, setting his glass down.

  “Of course,” Stone said, rising and shaking his hand. “Sleep well.” He had seen Caroline slip into the elevator.

  Dino called the following morning to thank Stone for dinner. “The port was fantastic.”

  “Way too good for you,” Stone replied.

  “I hesitate to bring this up,” Dino said, “but I believe Caroline and the Brit were hatching something.”

  “They were indeed,” Stone said. “I heard her slip out at six AM.”

  “And you’re okay with that?”

  “I discovered I’m not very good at sprinting over distance, and Caroline is indefatigable.”

  “So you planned that?”

  “Let’s just say I thought seating them together was a good idea. And speaking of ideas, I’ve had a thought about resolving the Gino Parisi thing.”

  “You’re going to kill him?”

  “Certainly not. Tell me this: Does your department have somebody undercover who might deliver a little message to Frank and Charlie?”

  “Maybe. What kind of message?”

  “I’d like for them to hear that Gino wants to get rid of them.”

  “You want them to hear that Gino is firing them?”

  “No, I want them to hear that Gino thinks they’re too expensive, that it’s cheaper for him to hire someone else to, ah, fire them.”

  “That’s a dirty, rotten thing to do to anybody,” Dino said. “I love it.”

  “I thought you might.”

  “Let me see what I can do. This would have to happen very subtly.”

  “I thought your fine Italian hand could manage that.”

  “I’ll get back to you.” Dino hung up.

  Joan came into the office. “The two goons are back—the real goons, not the ersatz ones.”

  “Tell you what,” Stone said, “ask Fred to take them some coffee and Danish. Maybe they haven’t had breakfast yet.”

  “Now, why would you want to do that?”

  “I want them to think well of me.”

  She looked at him narrowly. “Why?”

  “Because if they think well of me they might be a little less interested in causing me harm.”

  “You think you can buy off a pair of pro goons with coffee and Danish?”

  “It can’t hurt to try. And do it every morning. I want them to get used to it.”

  There was a rap on the back door to Stone’s office.

  “Come in!”

  Ian Rattle let himself in from the kitchen. “Good morning.”

  “Come in and have a seat, Ian. This is my secretary, Joan Robertson. Joan, our houseguest, Major Ian Rattle.”

  Joan shook his hand.

  “I think you have a delivery to arrange,” Stone said to her.

  Joan left, shaking her head.

  “I wanted to thank you again for last evening,” Ian said.

  “Did you enjoy your second dessert?”

  Ian seemed surprised. “Did you arrange that?”

  “No, Caroline arranged it. All I did was give her the opportunity.”

  “The generosity of Americans never ceases to amaze me!”

  “Really, it was less an act of generosity than self-preservation. Are you comfortable in your suite?”

  “It’s blo
ody marvelous,” Ian replied. “Better than my London flat.”

  “Peter did a nice job on it, I thought. He’s left a DVD collection of old films. You’re welcome to sample them.”

  “I love good movies. He’s a film buff, is he?”

  “He’s a film director, and a very good one. My library is available, too, if you want to read. I don’t want you to start getting cabin fever.”

  “Frankly, I could use the rest, if I can have an occasional visit from Caroline.”

  “If that’s what you think of as rest, go right ahead. Does she understand that you’re not really here?”

  “We discussed that.”

  “Invite anyone you like, as long as you trust them.”

  “My orders are to have no one in, unless they’ve been approved by my service.”

  “I see. We can call Caroline my guest, then.”

  “Thank you. Holly said that the Agency had taken special security precautions here. What sort of precautions?”

  “They removed the brick veneer from the front and rear of the house, put up half-inch steel plating, then replaced the brick. They also replaced all the windows in the house with armored glass in steel frames. You won’t have that problem with the windowpanes that you did in your so-called safe house.”

  “That’s a relief. I’ve been instinctively staying away from windows ever since.”

  “I’ll see you at lunchtime in the kitchen,” Stone said, and Ian went upstairs.

  Arnie Jacobs tended bar at a joint downtown, and he had a very nice sideline in snitching for the NYPD. Bartenders were invisible to a lot of people, who would talk freely while he was standing there, polishing glasses. Now he had new instructions from a detective in the Organized Crime Division, and he was polishing glasses and thinking about how he was going to reverse the process when Frank Russo came in with his buddy Charlie Carney. He poured them both their usual without being asked.

  “Hey, Arnie,” Frank said.

  “Hey, Frank.” Arnie leaned in. “I picked up a little something yesterday, might interest you.”

  “I’m all ears, Arnie.”

  “Coupla guys I didn’t know came in yesterday, ordered beers and started gabbin’. Lotsa people think bartenders don’t got ears, y’know?”

  “Okay.”

  “I hear your name mentioned.”

  “How mentioned?”

  Arnie looked carefully around. “Not so good.”

  “Then I better hear it.”

  “They’re talking about some guy named Gino. I didn’t get his other name.”

  “Yeah? I know a Gino or two.”

  “This one owes you money.”

  “Oh, that Gino.”

  “I guess. Problem is, he doesn’t wanta pay.”

  “I tell ya, Arnie, nobody wants to pay.”

  “This one thinks it’s maybe cheaper to take you out. Charlie, too.”

  Frank froze. “Tell me exactly how he said it.”

  “One guy says, ‘Gino wants to hire us to take out Frank and Charlie, says it’s cheaper than payin’ him.’”

  “Exactly like that?”

  “Exactly.”

  “No doubt in your mind?”

  “Not a one.”

  Frank tossed off his drink and put a hundred on the bar. “Thanks, Arnie.”

  Arnie made the hundred disappear. “Always a pleasure, Frank.”

  “C’mon, Charlie,” Frank said, standing up. “We got a collection call to make. You drive.”

  —

  In the car Frank produced a nicely made silencer and screwed it into the barrel of his little 9mm, then tucked it into his belt.

  “You gonna off ’im?” Charlie asked.

  “Depends,” Frank said, getting out his cell phone. “Gino? Frank. I gotta see you right now. Yeah, I know it’s quitting time, but it’s important. I’ll be there in ten.” He hung up.

  They parked in the garage next door to Gino’s office building. “C’mon,” Frank said. Charlie followed him next door and inside. On Gino’s floor, Frank said, “Stay by the door, don’t let nobody in.”

  Charlie nodded and took up his station. Frank went in and found Gino at his desk.

  “What’s the problem, Frank?” Gino asked. “I’ll be late for dinner.”

  “Problem is, you owe me two grand,” Frank said. He tossed a list of his expenses on Gino’s desk.

  “You ain’t done nothing yet,” Gino said.

  “I got the better part of a week in this, and I got expenses, just like you.”

  Gino sighed. “My girl’s gone—she’ll give you a check tomorrow.”

  “I’ll need cash,” Frank said.

  “I don’t keep that much cash around,” Gino said.

  “Don’t start, Gino, I know you got it.” He unbuttoned his jacket and let the grip of the pistol show.

  “You strong-arming me?” Gino asked.

  “If you insist.”

  Gino glared at him, then he went to a safe across the room, opened it, and took out a stack of cash and counted out some hundreds.

  Frank watched, counting with him. Gino got to twenty.

  Frank walked across the room and took the money, then stood over Gino, who was bending over to close the safe. Frank’s foot stopped the door. “Thanks, Gino,” Frank said, shooting him in the back of the head. When he was sprawled on the floor, Frank reached inside the safe and took the rest of the stack of cash, then closed the safe door and spun the dial. He shot Gino once more in the head for luck, then left.

  “How’d you do?” Charlie asked as he came out the door.

  “In the car,” Frank said. When they were back in the front seat, Frank took out the twenty hundreds Gino had given him and counted out half. He handed the money to Charlie. “He settled.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I settled him, the son-of-a-bitch cheapskate. We need a new gig.”

  —

  Farther downtown on the West Side a cop seven months away from handing in his papers sat in front of a collection of screens and recorders. He took off his headset and made a call. “Hey, it’s me. I think we got a murder at Gino Parisi’s office. Shooter used a silencer. Name of Frank.”

  —

  Stone was having an early-evening drink with Ian Rattle in his study when the phone rang. “Hello?”

  “It’s Dino, with news.”

  “I love news, if it’s good.”

  “It’s double good. Frank Russo offed Gino Parisi.”

  “Wow! How about that! Frankly, I didn’t expect such decisive results.”

  “Nice thing is, we got the preceding conversation recorded, so not only is Gino out of the way, but so are Frank and Charlie, or they will be as soon as we find them.”

  “A triple play. Wow.”

  “A good day’s work,” Dino said. “See ya.”

  Stone hung up.

  “Good news?” Ian asked.

  “It seems I’m no longer confined to quarters,” Stone said.

  Frank was a block from dropping off Charlie at his house when his cell rang. “Yeah?”

  It was his wife. “Don’t come home.”

  “Why not—you couldn’t get your lover out of the house soon enough?” He laughed at his own joke, so she would know he was kidding.

  “Two detectives were just here. They left, but they’re sitting outside waiting for you.”

  “Okay, I’m gonna go to that place. Call Charlie’s house and ask if they been there.” Frank hung up and made a U-turn.

  “What’s up?” Charlie asked.

  “The cops were just at my house. They’re still there, waiting outside.” Frank’s phone rang again. “Yeah?”

  “There’s two of them at Charlie’s, too.”

  “Talk to you later.” He
hung up. “They’re at your place, too.”

  “They can’t know nothing, it’s not an hour yet. Well, almost an hour.”

  “Yeah, creepy, ain’t it?”

  “It must be some other beef.”

  Frank thought about it. “What if Gino’s place was wired?”

  “Oh, shit,” Charlie said. “You think?”

  “We can go to the apartment,” Frank said. He had a little studio apartment for occasions just like this.

  “Yeah, let’s do that.”

  “You got any cash stashed?”

  “Yeah, at home.”

  “At home. Swell.”

  “I see your point.”

  “Does your wife know where it is?”

  “Are you kidding? She’d be at Bloomingdale’s right now.”

  “I can let you have a thousand,” Frank said. “So you won’t have to go back.”

  “What’ve you got in mind, Frank?”

  “I think we should be on a plane. Right now. Separate planes.”

  “Where?”

  “It’s better we don’t know each other’s plans. You got a place you can hole up?” He raised a hand. “Don’t tell me where.”

  “Yeah, I got a place.”

  Frank pulled up in front of his apartment building. “Ditch this car somewhere and take a cab back here,” he said. He got out, and Charlie drove off.

  Frank went into the building and to his apartment, which was at the rear of the building, next to a fire exit. He let himself in, went into the kitchen, knelt down and opened the cabinet under the kitchen sink. He removed half a dozen bottles of cleaners and some sponges, then he took out a Swiss Army knife he always carried and pried up a couple of floorboards. He reached into the hole and withdrew a plastic briefcase, then replaced the floorboards and the cleaning supplies and went into the living room.

  He opened the briefcase and took out four stacks of money, a new driver’s license, and a passport and burned his old ones in the kitchen sink and ran the ashes through the disposal. Then he went back to the living room and counted out a thousand—no, he thought, make it two thousand. He measured the height of the stack with his fingers and compared it to the rest. He reckoned he had close to a hundred grand. He put all but the two thousand back into the briefcase and packed some clothes into a large bag. The doorbell rang.