The Collectibles

by James J. Kaufman

  Barrymore’s consisted of three large rooms with a fourth private room in the back. The décor was heavy English, a lot of wood, gas lights behind stained glass, white tablecloths, heavy china. As the maître d’ took Preston to his table in the second large room to the left, he told Preston over his shoulder, “I think it was a wise decision for you to go to your table now if you are expecting Mr. Greco. He customarily arrives a little late.”

  He was right. Preston sat in the restaurant for forty minutes, munching on bread. When Tommy finally arrived, he appeared to do it in a burst, coming out of nowhere, walking in and sitting down all in one motion. Wearing black slacks, a black belt with a silver buckle, and a black shirt, open at the top, he seemed to have no chin. And no apology for being late.

  “So you’re Wilson.”

  Preston stood up and extended his arm. “I am. Please call me Preston, Mr. Greco. It’s good to meet you.” Tommy shook his hand with an iron grip.

  “Pleased to meet you, too,” Tommy said. At that point, a tall, thin waiter who looked like he had been on Social Security for a while came to take their drink orders.

  “Would you like some wine?” Preston asked.

  “I’ll just have a beer,” Tommy said. “You go ahead.”

  Preston ordered a bottle of Merlot. Tommy seemed to change his mind and ordered Chianti. “So, Preston, what’s the deal? What’s going on? I don’t have a problem with you buying me dinner, but tell me, what’s going on?”

  “We have a mutual friend, it seems. Joe Hart. He’s the one who suggested that I meet with you.”

  “You know Joe?”

  “Yes,” Preston replied, his legs bobbing.

  “How do you know Joe?”

  “I first met him years ago when I was a kid up in the Adirondack Mountains. More recently, actually a month ago or so, I asked Joe to do some work for my company, Wilson Holdings.”

  “What kind of work?”

  “My company owns several large automobile dealerships around the country. A few of the dealerships had developed some financial difficulties with the banks providing them floor plan financing and loans . . . ”

  Their conversation was interrupted by the waiter, who had brought their drinks and now wanted to take their order: two eighteen-ounce New York strip sirloins, Preston’s well done, Tommy’s rare.

  “And so your guys went SOT,” Tommy asked, “and put you in jeopardation?”

  “Actually, that’s just what happened,” Preston said after waiting a beat and suppressing a laugh. “I was in serious financial trouble, a lot of zeroes behind the numbers. I asked Joe to help me out of it, although I had real doubts that anything could be done. Joe figured out a way to turn it all around. He met with the lead bank. It was amazing. I still can’t believe it.”

  “Yeah. Joe could do that. So Joe asked you to look me up?” Tommy tore into his steak with a large, black-handled steak knife. Holding the knife up in his beefy right hand, he looked at Preston and said, “I love these fuckin’ things.”

  “Yes. He asked me to find you and get to know you.”

  “Why? If Joe needed me for something, he’d just call me.”

  “No, it’s not Joe needing you for anything. It’s that Joe thought I should meet you. That I should get to know you, and vice versa, as he put it. May I call you Tom?” Preston asked.

  “No. Tommy. So you flew all the way out here because Joe thought it would be good if you met me?”

  “That’s right,” Preston replied. “And so you could get to know me, too.”

  “You sure you’re leveling with me?” Tommy said. “You’re not looking for money, some financing to help with them car dealerships? I know people with money, you know. I can be a facilitational guy.”

  “Actually, my meeting you has nothing to do with money. Thanks to Joe, the banks are restructuring our debt and providing the flooring plans we need. Our workout is on track, actually better than I expected. What are you doing here, Tommy? Can you tell me a little bit about you?”

  “I’m a businessman here in Vegas. I . . . ”

  Tommy’s answer was interrupted by Preston’s cell phone. Preston looked at it and was about to shut it off when he noticed that it was Missy’s number.

  “Tommy, I’ve got to take this,” he said. Tommy nodded, picked up his steak knife, lavished a huge piece of butter on the last piece of bread in the basket, shoved the bread and butter in his mouth, and ordered more.

  “What? Missy. Are you all right? What?” Preston could hardly hear her soft voice, which sounded as if she were crying. He heard enough to know she was in trouble. “Where are you? Where is that?” Preston said, asking Tommy if he had a pen. Tommy nodded and reached in the side pocket of his trousers. Preston grabbed it and wrote on a napkin. “I’ll be there shortly,” he said and hung up.

  “Who’s Missy?”

  “She’s another friend of Joe’s that I met just this afternoon. She sounds like she’s in trouble.”

  “We’re out of here,” Tommy said, getting up from the table and motioning to the waiter for a check. The waiter rushed it over, handing the bill to Tommy. Tommy glanced at it and handed it to Preston.

  “Here, pay it in cash and let’s go,” Tommy said.

  Preston, glancing at the check, left a $100 bill on the table. Tommy reached in his pocket and matched Preston’s bill. Then they left.

  Outside the restaurant, Preston started to look for a taxi, but Tommy told him to get in the black limousine, which Preston hadn’t noticed.

  “Is this yours?” Preston asked as they got in.

  “It’s a convenience that is appropriated to me on certain occasions,” Tommy said. “Give me the napkin.”

  Tommy gave the driver the address and told him to step on it. The limousine took off, and within fifteen minutes they found themselves in a quiet neighborhood of inexpensive townhouses close together, all looking alike. Preston knocked on the hollow sounding door. Missy opened it slightly, and then, seeing Preston, took off the chain and motioned him in. Tommy followed.

  “This is Tommy Greco, Missy. Tommy, Missy Scarlatti. Tommy is a friend of Joe’s, as well. He and I were having dinner when you called. I hope you don’t mind my being here with him, but the way you sounded, I really thought I should come right over.”

  “Tommy Greco!” Missy said, as she motioned for the two men to sit on the couch in her small living room. She was wearing sunglasses and her hands were shaking as she lowered herself into the chair next to the couch. “Joe mentioned your name to me, said I ought to meet you some time. It’s good to meet you, Tommy. I didn’t mean to interrupt your dinner.” She lowered her voice. “I just wanted to call and cancel tomorrow’s lunch. I’m not going in to work in the morning.”

  “What happened? Are you all right?”

  “I’m all right,” Missy said, rising to get a drink of water. “Can I get you guys anything?”

  “No, nothing,” Tommy said. “Preston here just bought me a big dinner. I can’t believe you and I live in the same town and both know Joe and don’t know each other. What a coincidental. Anyway, any friend of Joe’s is a friend of mine, and I’m pleased to meet you.”

  “Missy. Please call me Missy. I agree with you; us living here, both knowing Joe. We should know each other. Preston, too. I spent some time getting to know him this afternoon. I enjoyed the talk, but I apparently spent a little too much time.”

  “Did he see us talking?”

  “Who?” Tommy asked.

  “My ex,” Missy said.

  “Okay, I get it,” Tommy said. “Take the shades off.”

  Missy shook her head no. “There’s nothing we can do. If I call the police and tell them that he’s violated the protective order, they can arrest him. Then he’ll get out, then he’ll find me again. Then . . . it’ll be worse.”

  “There’s got to
be something that can be done, Missy. Obviously, you’ve got a lawyer. Can you call your lawyer and see what he recommends?”

  “It’s a she,” Missy said. “And I know what she recommends. She wants me to leave town, go hide, just like I did the last time this happened. I went all the way to New York and hid in a motel up in the mountains, a place that Joe owns. He looked after me all that time. I could have stayed there, but I wanted to come back. I dreamed about being a showgirl out here, a dancer, and for a while, and with a lot of hard work, I made my dream come true. Like I told you this afternoon, Preston, if I leave here, I’ll never get back in the show. If I don’t . . . ”

  “I think we should call the police,” Preston said.

  “I don’t,” Tommy said. “Missy, what’s your ex-husband’s name?”

  “Sam O’Brien,” Missy said in a whisper.

  “This prick’s Irish?” Tommy asked. “And you’re using your maiden name?”

  “Yes to both,” Missy said. “I’m from Lyons, New York, originally.”

  “I know Lyons,” Tommy said. “Small little town between Buffalo and Syracuse, right? I knew some vending machine guys up there. Also, a great area for . . . well, a lot of book comes from up there. Good to know you, Scarlatti.” Tommy smiled. “So where’s Sammy the Prick work?”

  “He used to work as a stagehand for the show at the Aladdin. Now he works for some company that does stage management for different shows on the strip. I haven’t talked with him in a long time, tried not to, and I don’t really know where he’s working now.”

  “What’s he look like?” Tommy said. “Got a picture of him?”

  “I burned the pictures,” Missy said, looking down as if she were trying not to cry. “But he has to have an ID picture on file somewhere.”

  “What’s his birth date?” Preston asked, wishing he were more involved in the conversation and feeling useless.

  “December 4, 1974.”

  Tommy took a small piece of white paper from his shirt pocket and jotted down the date.

  “Do you mind taking them glasses off, Missy, so we can see what it looks like and whether we can get you something to make it easier?”

  “Yes, I do, Tommy, but thanks. I know the drill. All too well. I’ve got a compress, I’ve got medicine, I’ll take care of it. Thanks.”

  “Okay,” Tommy said. “We’ll leave you alone. You get some rest.” Tommy wrote a number on a card and gave it to her. “Stay in tonight and tomorrow. Keep the door locked. He shows up tonight, and you have any more trouble, you call me at this number. It was good to meet you.”

  “Again, thank you. I can’t believe you’re helping me like this, Tommy,” Missy said.

  “No problem,” Tommy said. “I’m from Niagara Falls, our side. I know what it’s like to have people after you, mistreating you . . . in a lot of ways. My father knocked me around a lot, and my brother . . . well, he became an abuser in a different way. I also know what it feels like to try to make a life for yourself; try to improve . . . like reach another level . . . and then things keep holding you back. I’m a little rough, Missy, in my presentation. I’m working on it. I think you’re a first class lady. To be honest with you, I hope we can see more of each other, and I mean that in a respectful way. Like I said, you’ve got my number.”

  “You know where to reach me as well,” Preston interjected and handed her his card. “I would appreciate it if you could call me tomorrow on my cell and tell me how you’re doing.”

  With that, Preston and Tommy stood and headed to the door. Missy touched Preston’s arm lightly. “Thank you for coming over, Preston. You, too, Tommy. You guys didn’t have to do that.” Her eyes sharply focused on each of them.

  Preston and Tommy left the apartment and walked to the waiting limo. Tommy asked Preston where he wanted to go.

  “Frontier,” Preston answered. Tommy leaned forward to the driver.

  “I really feel awful about Missy,” Preston said. “Her ex-husband is insanely jealous and can’t stand to see her talk with another man, or even be looked at or admired on the stage. She told me about it this afternoon. He’s been haunting her for a long time. Apparently, the law is of no help in a situation like this. I wish I wasn’t the one she had been seen talking to. What a mess.”

  “It ain’t about you. It wouldn’t have mattered whether she was seen with you or some other guy. This guy’s a prick. He needs an educational. Don’t worry about Missy. She ain’t gonna be bothered anymore by this guy.”

  Preston didn’t know what to say to that, so they rode along in silence for a while. At the Frontier, Tommy turned to him and asked, “You shoot, Preston?”

  Again, Preston didn’t know what to say.

  “Hey, I’m talking to you,” Tommy said, whacking Preston in the arm. “You play craps?”

  “No, I don’t know how to play craps. Anyway, I don’t gamble.”

  “You shittin’ me? You a car guy, you gamble. How about cigars? You smoke cigars?”

  “No, but I like the smell of them.”

  Tommy told the driver to hand him the box of cigars in the front seat. He grabbed a handful. Then he told the driver to wait. He turned to Preston and showed him the cigars.

  “If you like the smell of cigars, trust me, you’re gonna love the smell of these babies, and the taste. And it’s time you learned to shoot craps. We’ll start here at the Frontier, but we’ll probably end up at Caesar’s. You go in and get comfortable, whatever. I’ve got a few phone calls I’ve gotta make. I’ll meet you at the crap tables in a half an hour.”

  Chapter 40

  Preston reached for his watch. He looked at it and then looked again. It was noon. He couldn’t remember what time he’d finally gotten back to his room, but he knew it was early in the morning. He had met Tommy at the tables at the Frontier, where Tommy took him to a crap table not in use and explained the game. He told Preston where and how to bet and which numbers on the table to stay away from. He advised him to bet “right way” with three chips on the pass line, and then to keep it simple, depending on the number, back them up with three chips more for a 4 or 10, four chips for a 5 or 9, and three chips for a 6 or 8. He showed him how to bet all the numbers and how to take odds on them. Preston was ready, surprising Tommy with how fast he was picking it up. Tommy took him down to the end of a table with a $25 minimum, and they began to play. Preston was leery at first, but it didn’t take long, when the shooter made his point, for Preston to like the payoff on the odds and the amount he won. Besides, he loved Tommy’s lingo and style at the tables, and got a kick out of the other players, too.

  For several hours, Preston forgot about automobile dealerships, Missy, or any other problem. He wished Marcia could see him now, shooting craps and smoking cigars with Tommy Greco. He wondered what she would think. They kept at it way into the night, leaving the Frontier for the Mirage, and then ending up at Caesar’s. Preston vaguely remembered Tommy’s limo dropping him at the Frontier. He did remember, at the end of the evening, Tommy telling him that, for a shithead, he was an okay guy.

  Preston’s message light was not on, and his cell phone showed no messages. He shaved and showered, wondering about Missy. Why didn’t she call? He made a reservation for a San Francisco flight, called Alex, checked out, and called Tommy to thank him, and let him know where he could be reached. Tommy asked if Missy had called.

  At the airport, before Preston boarded, he tried Missy, relieved when she answered.

  “How are you doing? I was worried when you didn’t call this morning.”

  “I’m a lot better today. Thanks. Took some Tylenol PM, slept late, then got something to eat. I’m doing a lot better, I really am. And it’s been quiet here. No problems last night and none today. Like I told Tommy when he called, I’ll take it a day at a time, but I am going back to work.”

  Preston said he’d be in touch, and made sure s
he had all of his numbers. “By the way, I want to thank you for the conversation you had with me yesterday afternoon. I’m sorry that talking to me got you into all of this. I got a lot out of our conversation, particularly the conversation about Marcia. You helped me, Missy. Thank you.”

  “I didn’t do anything, really. And don’t worry about my talking to you. Wouldn’t have mattered whether it was you or some other guy.”

  “That’s what Tommy said. My plane’s being called; I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Talk to you, Preston. Have a good flight. I hope you find her.”

  It was a short flight to San Francisco and Alex was waiting out front in a new Cadillac Escalade.

  “How you doing?” Alex said, shaking his hand as Preston climbed in the front seat. “Good to see you.”

  “You, too.”

  “Where you been?” Alex asked as he drove them to the dealership.

  “I was coming straight out, but I stopped in Vegas on the way.”

  “No kidding? I didn’t know you were a Vegas guy.”

  “I didn’t either,” Preston said. “I’ve been to Vegas a few times for conventions, and put a couple of quarters in a slot machine every now and then, seen some shows. But this trip was different; I really enjoyed it. Got a lot out of it.”

  “That mean you won, got lucky, or both?”

  “I won a little money, but the good part was seeing some friends. Tell me about the dealership. How are we doing? Give me the details.”

  They talked business the rest of the day. Alex took him on a tour, introducing him to each employee, pointing with obvious pride to all the improvements these people had made. Although he had been there before on several occasions, it was as if Preston were seeing his own dealership for the first time. He could feel the respect that the managers, salesmen, and other employees had for Alex, and he admired Alex’s easy but in-control manner. When he got to the financial department, he was surprised to see Casey, working alongside the bookkeeper and controller.