“Conductor!” he yelled, over and over. Then the door behind him opened.
“Mr. Ryan,” the conductor said, “someone jammed your door with a wedge. Are you all right?” The train began moving again, gaining speed quickly.
Ryan started to tell him, then stopped. What if they caught her? How could he explain what was in the suitcase?
“What station was that?” he asked.
“Charleston, South Carolina,” the conductor replied.
“What’s the next stop?”
“Norfolk, Virginia.”
“Thank you, I’m fine.” As soon as the conductor was gone, he went into the john and vomited again.
Stone got a call from Dino on Wednesday morning.
“Hey,” Dino said.
“You sound better.”
“I’m fine, pal, and the best part is that Viv never knew I wasn’t.”
“Are you at home?”
“No, I’m at the office—I told you I’m fine.”
“Not tired anymore?”
“I’m just fine, trust me!”
“Okay, you’re fine. Any news on Ryan?”
“Yeah, Harrigan finally figured out that he has a cell phone. We checked his calls, but he hasn’t made any for a while.”
“What’s the billing address?”
“His old place, in Queens.”
“I don’t know why it’s so hard to find a guy who doesn’t seem to be hiding.”
“Neither do I, believe me.”
“What’s his cell phone number?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“I just want to know, okay? Maybe I’ll call him, and we’ll chat.”
Dino gave him the number. “Don’t call it,” he said, “you’ll just fuck things up, and Harrigan would love to have somebody to blame.”
Stone ignored that. “When are you going to feel like having dinner?”
“I feel like it right now!” Dino yelled. “Can’t you get it into your head that I’m fine?”
“Great, then call Viv, and let’s go to Patroon tonight.”
“Viv’s back in Chicago, this time overnight.”
“See you there at seven-thirty.”
“Right.” Dino hung up and so did Stone.
Stone called Bob Cantor, his general all-around tech guy.
“How you doing?” Bob asked.
“Just fine,” Stone replied. “I’ve got a little thing for you.”
“What do you need?”
Stone gave him Ryan’s cell number. “I need to find the owner of that cell number. His name is Gene Ryan. It’s still listed under his old address, but he’s moved to New Jersey.”
“I’ll see what I can do. You want to know about his calls?”
“Sure, anything you can learn about the guy.”
“I’ll get back to you.”
—
The Silver Meteor pulled into Pennsylvania Station on time. Ryan, out of an abundance of caution, didn’t get off until there were a lot of people on the platform. He’d managed to keep some soup down at lunch, and he was getting hungry, which he regarded as a good sign. What had that bitch put in his drink?
He joined the crowd on the platform, burdened only by his small suitcase. He was about to look for a cab when he realized he had no money. He found an ATM and got five hundred, then he succumbed to hunger and went into a fast-food restaurant and got a burger. He was standing at a tall table, taking his first bite, when he noticed two men walking quickly toward his train. They were clearly looking for somebody, and they didn’t act like cops. They were burly, wearing suits but no ties, and one of them had a bulge under his left armpit. They walked on toward the train.
Ryan began to wonder if he’d waited too long to throw away the throwaway cell phone. They’d have found Charlie’s, and his number would have been in that, and they might have traced it to the moving train before he pulled the SIM card and dumped it.
He reluctantly left the burger and began walking toward the exit where the cab stand was, still chewing. He was unarmed, not having taken anything to Florida, and he had dumped the bank guard’s Glock. He felt vulnerable.
There was a line at the cab stand, and he waited impatiently. He was almost at the front when the two men emerged from the station and began looking around. He turned his back to them and moved up one more place. He was almost into a cab when he heard somebody shout, “Hey, you!” A cab pulled up, and he dived into it. “Lincoln Tunnel!” he said to the cabbie. “I’ll direct you from there.” He looked over his shoulder and saw the two men standing in the road. One of them was writing down something, probably the cab’s plate number.
“Never mind the tunnel,” he said, “just drop me at the Port Authority bus terminal.”
“Make up your mind,” the driver muttered.
At the terminal, he found another cab. “Through the tunnel,” he said, “then take 3 West and 17 North.”
“Teterboro?”
“Near there. I’ll direct you.”
He had the driver drop him a block from his apartment house and walked the rest of the way, checking constantly for tails. He approached the building carefully but saw no threats. Once inside his apartment he called the neighborhood joint and ordered a pizza. He was still ravenous, and he unpacked and turned on the TV while he waited, sucking on a beer from the fridge.
He paid for the pizza and ate straight from the box, wolfing down two slices before he slowed down. Just when he was beginning to relax there was a hammering on his door. He put the pizza box aside and checked the peephole. UPS. He opened the door. “Mr. Ryan?”
“Yes.”
“Sign here.”
He signed; it was a pretty big box, and he kicked it inside. He had to get a knife to open the thing, and when he did, he found his suitcase inside. He set it on the coffee table and opened it. Inside was some of his cash and a note written with marker on a shirt cardboard:
You seemed like a nice guy, so I only took half. You made my year! Love, S.
Ryan was flabbergasted. He counted the banded cash, and there was a hundred thousand there. He sat down on the sofa and cried.
Stone was about to leave the house to meet Dino for dinner when the phone rang. “Hello?”
“It’s Cantor.”
“Hey, Bob.”
“Looks like I found your guy.”
“Already? You’re kidding.”
“Why would I kid you?”
“The NYPD has been looking for him for two, three weeks, and you found him in a few hours?”
“Actually, it only took me twenty minutes, but I screwed around most of the day and didn’t start until twenty minutes ago.”
“What did you find out?”
“Well, I think I can tell you where he is and what he’s doing right now.”
“How can you do that?”
“After all these years, you doubt me? That really hurts, Stone.”
“Okay, where is he and what is he doing?”
Cantor gave him an address and he wrote it down. “Oh, and it’s Apartment 1B.”
“And what’s he doing right now?”
“He’s eating a pizza.”
“Come on, Bob.”
“It’s a large pepperoni and sausage.”
“Bob, I’m dazzled.”
“It wasn’t that hard, really.”
“Then how did you get it?”
“I hacked into that phone company file that lets him look at his account on a real-time basis and discovered that he had made a phone call about forty minutes ago, then I checked the reverse directory and found out the number belongs to a pizza parlor in Jersey. Then I hacked into the pizza joint’s computer and found out a guy name Ryan had ordered a large pepperoni and sausage, and the address and apartment number it
was delivered to. He got the pizza about ten minutes ago, so I guess he’s still eating it.”
“Bob, I can’t thank you enough. Send me a bill.”
“I didn’t even spend half an hour on it, Stone. I can’t send you a bill for half an hour.”
“Then I’ll surprise you with something.”
“I love surprises, especially if they’re very expensive scotch.”
“Done. I gotta run, I’m meeting Dino.”
“See ya.”
—
Stone walked into Patroon and found Dino sipping his first drink. As soon as he sat down, somebody put a Knob Creek on the rocks before him.
“Hey,” Dino said. “What’s new?”
“I found Ryan.”
Dino choked on his scotch. “What?”
“He’s at an apartment building in Jersey, eating a pizza.”
“What the hell?”
“A large pepperoni and sausage.” Stone looked at his watch. “He’s just finished all he can eat, and he’s saving the rest for tomorrow.”
“Have you got a bug in his refrigerator?”
Stone ran Bob Cantor’s story down for him. “And he only started on it this afternoon? Amazing.”
“He started on it about forty-five minutes ago.”
“And my people have been looking for him for weeks!”
“Of course, they couldn’t illegally hack into the phone company’s accounts, or into a pizza joint’s computer. You see how nice life could be if you didn’t have to worry about search warrants and all that?”
“It would be heaven on earth,” Dino admitted, “but if you ever tell anybody I said that, I’ll call you a liar on television.”
“Why don’t you call Harrigan and tell him to call the Jersey cops and go get the guy?”
“I’ve got a better idea,” Dino said.
“What?”
“Let’s you and me go get the guy.”
“An ex-cop and the police commissioner of New York City have a couple of drinks, then drive to another state and bring back a guy without benefit of an extradition warrant?”
“Something like that.”
“How many scotches have you had?”
Dino drained his glass and set it down. “That was my second one.” He signaled a waiter for a third, and the waiter brought them both another one.
Stone drank half his first one. “I’ve gotta catch up.”
“Not going to happen.” Dino started on his third. “This is the first drink I’ve had in ten days, you know.”
“No, it’s the third drink you’ve had in ten days, or maybe ten minutes.”
“You have a point,” Dino admitted.
“I do.”
“What’s your point?”
“I think we’d better get some food into you, then discuss this further.”
“You think I’d make a wiser decision with something in my belly to mix with the scotch?”
“Dino, I don’t want to have to send you home in an ambulance.”
Dino thought about that. “You know, it might be a nice way to get there. If Viv didn’t find out.”
Stone rode home with Dino in his SUV. Dino was dozing off, then snapping to again. “Are we going to Jersey?” he asked.
“Not tonight,” Stone replied. “You have to go home and work on your story.”
“What story?”
“The story about why you’re waking up with a hangover tomorrow morning.”
“Oh, that story.”
“Right.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because she won’t be home from Chicago until tomorrow night, and by then I won’t have a hangover anymore.”
“I wouldn’t count on that.”
“How about you?”
“What about me?”
“What’s your story about why you wake up with a hangover?”
“I don’t need a story, I’m sleeping alone.”
“So am I.”
“Also, I had two less drinks than you did. Wisely.”
“That was wise,” Dino admitted. “I could sleep right here.”
The car stopped at the awning. “You don’t have to, you’re home. Come on, I’ll walk you upstairs.”
“Would you like me to wait for you, Mr. Barrington?”
“You wait for him,” Dino said.
“Yes, sir.”
Stone took Dino’s arm and walked him through the lobby to the elevator. The doorman was on the phone and didn’t seem to notice them. Upstairs, Stone hung Dino’s coat in the hall closet, walked him to his bedroom, and rummaged in his dressing room until he found a pair of pajamas. He got Dino to undress and put them on, then tucked him in and hung up his clothes.
“Good night,” Stone said, switching off the lights.
“Good night,” Dino said. “We’ll go get him in Jersey tomorrow.”
“Right,” Stone said, then walked to the front door, switching off lights as he went. Dino’s driver delivered Stone to his house, and soon he was in bed and as out as Dino.
—
Half a large pepperoni and sausage pizza and four beers later, Ryan was getting into bed when his cell phone rang. Nobody had called him on the iPhone for weeks, since Jerry Brubeck had fired him. Must be a wrong number, he thought. He didn’t recognize the area code the call was coming from. “Hello?”
“Hi, sweetie, did you get your package?”
“Sylvia? How the hell did you get this number? How’d you get my address?”
“There was a card in your pocket with the name of the building, and you wrote your apartment number on the back. The phone was easy: while you were in the toilet, I just turned it on, went to Settings, and tapped Phone. I’ve got an iPhone, too. Are you mad at me?”
“I don’t know. I sure was at first, but now not so much.”
“You should be grateful to me—I had it all, you know, and I didn’t have to give it back.”
“I know. Why did you?”
“I told you, because you seem like a nice guy. Also, we’re kind of in the same business, so we’re colleagues, in a way.”
“Why do you think we’re in the same business?”
“Because nobody has two hundred grand, cash, in a suitcase that he earned honestly. I mean, does he?”
Ryan had to laugh.
“And you don’t win that big in a poker game or on a horse. What’d you do, rob a bank?”
“You really think I’m a bank robber?”
“Well, it was the great bank robber Willie Sutton who said, ‘That’s where the money is.’”
“He had a point.”
“So you went to Florida to knock over a bank? I’m impressed.”
“Nah, I just did a favor for a friend. It was supposed to be a horse parlor, but the cops beat us to it. The bank was an afterthought.”
“And you got out alive, too!”
“It didn’t go so well—we were set up, and I was the only one who got out.”
“Wow, set up twice in one day!”
He laughed.
“That’s a nice noise you make.”
“What did you put in my drink?”
“Nothing that would harm you. I mean, permanently. I’ll bet you slept well, didn’t you?”
“Once I had puked my guts out, yes.”
“A girl in my game has to be careful.”
“I guess so. Do you work that train all the time?”
“Goodness no—a girl who looks like I do would get recognized by the conductor and end up getting picked up by the cops.”
“Does that happen to you often?”
“Never. The marks are too embarrassed. Also, I never get as much as I got from you. It’s usually a few hundred. I c
an spot the guys who carry a wad. Not as big a wad as you, though. I saw all those hundreds at the table, but boy, was I surprised when I opened that suitcase! Sorry I had to take the bag, but I couldn’t get all that into my purse.”
“I guess not. What made you call me?”
“Even a grifter can get horny,” she said. “Anyhow, you have a way with a girl’s nipple. If I hadn’t already slipped you the mickey at that point, I’d have had you in the sack in no time.”
“Where are you?”
“That would be telling.”
“I can look up the area code of your phone.”
“Okay, I’m in Charleston, where I live. I work up and down the coast, but home is here, and I don’t foul my own nest.”
“What did you do with the money?”
“That hundred grand? It’s already in the stock market. My broker doesn’t mind cash.”
“You ever get to New York?”
“Sometimes. I like New York, there are lots of elegant bars where a girl can get bought a drink and make a score, and there are so many ways to get out of town in a hurry, if it becomes necessary.”
“Why don’t you come up tomorrow for a couple days? I’ll get us a nice hotel suite.”
“Really?”
“I still haven’t worked the other nipple.”
“Oh, you know how to get a girl wet, don’t you?”
“How about it?”
“You’re sure you’re not still mad at me?”
“Nah. I’ll tell you the whole story about the bank.”
“Do I get to pick the hotel?”
“Sure.”
“The Four Seasons,” she said. “I’ve always wanted to stay there.”
“Done. I’ll meet you there tomorrow. What time?”
“Well, let’s see, there’s a plane midafternoon, plus cab time. Say, six o’clock in the bar?”
“You’re on.”
“I’ve got your number—you want mine?”
“It’s in my phone now.”
“Night-night, sweetie. Dream about me.” She hung up.
Naked Greed Page 20