by James Norton
“What kind of coins?”
John reached inside his coat for the list in the pocket next to where he normally would have kept a pistol, except he was in his sister’s house. He gave the paper to his nephew.
The boy studied it. “Is this for real?”
“So they tell me.”
“These are really cool coins. How much are they asking?”
“They’re looking to have some kind of auction.”
The kid nodded.
“What are they worth?”
“I’ve got some magazines in my room that can tell us what they sold for a few weeks ago.”
The capo was surprised by the excitement in his nephew’s voice. “Okay.”
“You wanna come up and see? You can have the prices right now.”
John wasn’t sure about that, then he remembered his position in the organization and that this was a fifteen year old kid. “Let’s go.”
To the uncle, his nephew’s room was a world of its own, with dirty laundry, posters of rock stars and sexy young women were taped to the walls, some sporting gear, and plastic models thrown in to boot. John knew that his mother would have skinned him if his room had looked like this. The thing that impressed John was the large number of books stacked all around and piled on the kid’s bed. He picked up a book - science fiction. “You read a lot?”
Tommy dug into a disorganized heap on a desk. “Yeah.”
“Anything special?”
“Na, just what gets my attention.”
John nodded. There just might be something to this nephew someday.
The kid flopped on the bed with a magazine, the list and a pen. He began turning pages and writing on the paper. When he stopped minutes later he offered the sheet to his uncle.
“You’re telling me these eight coins are worth a little over $58,000?”
With a tap on the magazine Tommy said, “That’s what it says in here. Though they didn’t have a price on the 1933 Double Eagle. I’ll have to ask around on that.”
This could be serious. John pursed his lips. “How do I know this stuff is on the up and up?”
“These coins are rare, but commonly traded.” The boy sat up straight on the bed. “You could be cheated, but there are some pretty easy ways to eliminate anything obvious. After that it would almost cost them as much to cheat you as it would to sell you the real thing.”
“Could you tell?”
The boy looked in the book. “I’ve never tried to buy anything this expensive, so I’ve never bothered. The tests are simple. Mostly high school physics and chemistry.” He looked his uncle in the eye. “Yeah, I could if I can get the right equipment.”
John smiled and put his hand on the kid’s shoulder. “You may just get a chance.”
Tommy smiled. “You want me to ask around about the 1933 twenty dollar gold piece?”
“If you want to, but this is good for now.”
“Actually, it may be the most important piece on this list.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, no offense, but why bring these to you?”
John frowned at the kid and sat on the bed. “Go on.”
“Like I said, all of the coins except the double eagle are listed in these trade magazines. Anyone who wants to buy or sell one could do it easily though a regular dealer.”
“Even if they’re hot?”
“It’s difficult to prove. Someone could say that their Aunt Bessie died and left them her husband’s coin collection.”
The capo stood. “So, if this other coin isn’t listed it could be rare.”
“Very rare.”
“Very valuable. And, maybe a fake.”
The kid stood. “Difficult to fake an expensive gold coin.”
“Okay, check it out and get back to me.”
The kid smiled broadly. “Right, Uncle John.”
The capo winked at his nephew as he opened the door and returned to a world his mother would have appreciated.
Chapter 84
There was a problem. Yesterday, Nick told Rhonda he didn’t want to offer the coin to any of his clients in person. He was anonymous to them and wanted to keep it that way. She knew he was afraid that they would beat the crap out of him. It sounded reasonable to her. And then, nobody in their right mind would send Stan or Leon to the store to get a can of peas let alone handle an arrangement like this.
Today, the question remained the same. Who to send? Rhonda sat at the restaurant overlooking the Veterans Memorial on Lake Michigan and smoothed out the white tablecloth in front of her with both hands. Nick worked on a highball while Bernie looked out the windows. She knew that whatever they were going to do with the coin, they needed to move fast. The feds, the Organization and some gang of South American drug smugglers knew about the 1933 Double Eagle. Nobody felt comfortable about letting this auction drag on for a long time.
That left Bernie. This morning she saw that the bruises on his body were faded to yellow with a green cast. He could stand and move around for reasonable periods of time without needing several hours of bed rest. He wasn’t great, but he was it. She wasn’t thrilled.
“That’s four plane trips in five days,” Rhonda said and pressed her hands into the tabletop. “Bernie, I don’t think you’re up to it right now.”
Nick said, “Hmm.”
Rhonda sat up straight. “Okay, change of plans. I’ll take the two women. Bernie takes the two men and makes three trips in two days.”
Bernie thought it was a good option. The four marks were a woman lawyer in Philadelphia, a widow in Omaha, a developer in Atlanta, and a Senator’s son in San Francisco. Airplane, hotel and rental car reservations were made. They would both fly out tomorrow morning. Stan and Leon would take turns watching the bank where Rhonda told them the coin was in a safe deposit box.
Chapter 85
At noon the next day Bernie walked into an office building forty minutes east of the Atlanta airport and two blocks off the freeway. Dallas Fanning’s headquarters occupied the fourteenth floor. Maybe it was Bernie’s imagination or regional prejudice, but the place smelled of fried chicken to him.
Fanning had a marked scowl and did not rise from his seat behind a large, dark wooden desk. He dressed in a conservative blue suit with a red tie held in place with a diamond tie tack. In his mid-fifties, he could stand to lose twenty pounds. An American flag stood behind the desk to the right with the Stars and Bars taking a similar place on the left. “You’ve got a lot of god damn nerve coming in here.”
Bernie dropped his carry-on bag at the door and took a seat in front of the desk without being asked. “Let me get right to the point.”
“Have you seen the movie that little shit is holdin’ over me?”
“No, what movie? What are you talking about?”
“She’s my only child and I will not have her humiliated. She was high on that marijuana crap when she did those things with those black bastards. If I ever catch those sons-a-bitches I’ll skin ‘em.” He pressed a button on his phone and two large men appeared in the doorway. They wore blue suits that seemed a size or two too small.
“The som-bitch is into me for forty grand.”
A bad feeling crept into Bernie’s stomach. “Are you being blackmailed?”
“Hell yes!”
“Like I said on the phone, there is a very rare piece of Americana that has come into our possession.” He was talking louder than he should. With a swallow, he readjusted his tone. “We’re just looking for interested buyers.” Bernie looked around and tried to stand up. “Mr. Fanning, I don’t know anything about this, ah, movie. And, I really don’t need to know.” The two men pushed him down into the chair.
“We’ll see about that,” Dallas said and nodded to his men.
They grabbed Bernie and slapped a piece of wide tape over his mouth before he could say anything else. His hands and feet were taped to the chair. They dragged him into a large bathroom behind the office.
Moments later
Fanning entered in his shirt sleeves carrying a long cylindrical tube. “Know what this is boy?”
Bernie had seen pictures of such devices and guessed it was a cattle prod. He said, “Mumph!” which was “Don’t!” for a guy with his mouth taped.
Fanning nodded at one of his storm troopers and he raised Bernie’s left pant leg. His tormenter stuck him with the business end of the prod. A scorching jolt went up his leg as he thrashed against his bonds.
He said, “Mumph!!” which was “Fuck!!” for a guy with his mouth taped and thought Fanning must have put new batteries in the damn thing. Someone ripped the tape from his face and he winced in pain.
“Now boy” Fanning said. “You gonna tell me who the little shit is who’s blackmailin’ me?”
Bernie took a deep breath. “Blackmail, I thought the little turd just made porno. Hell, it’s Knickerbocker Smith.”
The three guys in the bathroom with him looked down at their captive in disbelief. Fanning stuck him again.
The pain was just as extreme as the first time. “Mother Fuck! What the hell you doin’? I just told you the guy’s name!”
Fanning scowled. “Well, you told it awful quick, boy. Hard to believe that you’d turn over your partner that fast.”
“I can’t stand the guy. I’d have told you five minutes ago if you’d have asked.”
The trio stood there silently for a moment.
“Oh,” Fanning said. “Turn him loose, boys.”
The two minions helped Bernie back into the office because his leg was asleep and wasn’t working well. It was “Sorry about that and all” and “Would you like a drink?” Bernie took the large bourbon and sat on a leather couch as he pulled his thoughts together.
Fanning sat on the corner of his desk across from Bernie. “Ya see son, those cock-suckers got her buck naked …”
“Mr. Fanning, I don’t know anything about that and I don’t want to know.” Bernie drank with one hand and rubbed the injured leg with the other. “So could we get down to the business that brought me here and let it go at that?”
Fanning nodded and Bernie began his story about the coin auction. Half way through Fanning held up a right hand. “You got anything in writing on this?”
“Mr. Fanning …”
“Call me Dallas.”
After the trip to the bathroom with him, Bernie would have called him the Queen-of-the-May if he’d have requested it.
“Sure. Dallas, it’s illegal to own this coin inside the US and its other jurisdictions. We haven’t written much down. I would suggest you contact an expert of your own.” Bernie reached into his suit coat pocket and took out an envelope, which he gave to Fanning. “That is a picture of the coin and copies of documents received with it.”
Fanning looked them over. “It talks about coins. Are there more than one?”
The four burns on his left calf began to throb. “Not that I’m aware of. We’re dealing with a single item.”
“How much are we talking about?”
“I don’t know. That’s why we’re having an auction.”
Fanning frowned.
“You ever heard of King Farouk?” Bernie asked.
“That some blues singer down in New Orleans?”
“No, he was the last king of Egypt.”
“So?”
“His estate has the only recognized copy of that coin. Bought it in the late ‘30’s.”
Fanning looked at the papers in his hand.
“Ask an expert. If you want to participate in the bidding let me know by next Monday.” Bernie handed him his business card.
“When can I see the coin?”
“At the auction, a week from Tuesday in Chicago.”
He waved the papers at Bernie. “And the originals?”
“Same time.”
He nodded and shuffled the papers. “If I buy your coin, what about my daughter’s movie?”
“If you pay enough, we’ll throw it in.” Bernie didn’t know where Knickerbocker stashed the film, but he’d have a good time beating it out of the little asshole.
“What’s enough?”
“We’ll let you know.”
“For the moment you can count me in. Ah, what if I just turn you over to the cops?”
“Well, apparently, we still have some interesting pictures and a very fine quality film.” Bernie’s leg throbbed as he got up and headed for the door.
“My boys can be pretty convincing.”
“Except I don’t know where any of that stuff is.” He stepped through and closed the door. Nick set him up. Screw ‘em both.
Bernie bought some ointment at a pharmacy on the first floor of Fanning’s office building and applied it to the burns on his calf during his cab ride to the airport. Pornographer and a blackmailer, he was gonna rip the dwarf’s gonads off and jam them down his throat. There was a three-hour wait for the flight to Denver where he would catch a plane to San Francisco and a morning meeting with the senator’s creepy son. What sort of crooked deal was Nick working with this kid?
Chapter 86
The experience in Atlanta didn’t make Bernie feel any better about keeping the 10:30 appointment at a dim sum restaurant in San Francisco’s financial district. Nevertheless, he got there ten minutes before ten and waited.
A petite Chinese woman in a white uniform opened the door for him. “Mr. Cranberry says you should go right back.” She spoke with a New England accent as she pointed to a door in the rear of the main dining room.
Bernie started through the spare seating area of white walls and blonde furniture. It looked Swedish. There was a room beyond the door with three small tables.
Andrew Cranberry, Jr., the heir apparent to the Cranberry shipping dynasty, lounged in the far chair under a high window. “Come in. Would you care for some tea?” He gestured toward an ornately painted pot with a long left hand. Andy was dressed in a blue broadcloth shirt, khaki pants and oxblood penny loafers, no socks.
Bernie nodded as he took the seat at the corner. His host poured tea into a handleless cup while Bernie glanced around for sugar and milk. There wasn’t any.
“Green,” Andy said.
“Hmm?”
“The tea, it’s green.”
“Ah.” Bernie sipped the hot liquid gingerly.
Andy raised his cup and spoke over the rim before he drank. “An investment of mine. The Chow’s were cooks for my parents and I stole them away to run a chain of these little stores. It’s a good place and time to discuss unsavory topics.” He drank again. “What can you do for me, Mr. Keagan?”
Bernie gave him the pitch about the coin. Cranberry nodded and looked at his cup in silence. Andy was either playing some sort of head game or giving his proposal deep consideration.
“You came to me through the man who’s blackmailing my father,” he said.
“That’s true, but I was unaware until yesterday.”
“I keep telling the ol’ man not to pay. I’m not going to reform.”
Bernie’s face betrayed his surprise.
“I spend most of my time outside the US - Thailand, Costa Rica, India, some such place.” Andy waved to someone behind Bernie.
The Chinese woman appeared with another pot of tea. The pot was pure white. “More?” she asked.
Cranberry nodded and she poured. They drank their tea silently.
When he finished, Andy said, “I like your little situation. And, you didn’t insult me by offering the pictures as a sweetener. Give me your documents and I’ll let you know in two or three days.”
The Senator’s son took the same document packet that Bernie passed on to the asshole in Atlanta. Andy remained so quiet and smooth about the entire thing Bernie was hard pressed to think of him as the predatory pedophile.
Back outside the shop it dawned on Bernie that he should expect a child molester to have a winning personality. As he walked around the corner, two large men in black suits grabbed him and tossed him into the back of a limo waiting at the curb. From
the floor he looked up at a pair of shapely legs, crossed at the ankles.
“Mr. Keagan, the senator does not want you to have any further contact with his son,” a youthful female voice said from above him.
Bernie raised himself on his elbows and saw a good looking blonde in a severe black business suit. “Don’t you think he’s old enough to decide for himself?”
The woman placed her high-heeled shoe across his throat and pushed his head to the floor. “I was afraid that you wouldn’t understand.” She pressed hard and Bernie began to choke. “If you understand now, I won’t have to ask Mr. Culpepper and Mr. Hathaway to exert themselves clarifying the message for you. Do you get my meaning, you blackmailing little shit?” She pressed harder. Bernie tapped the woman on her stockinged calf and she let up.
“Got it,” he croaked.
“I hope so.” She rapped on the car window with her left knuckles.
Bernie rubbed his neck. “I’m not a blackmailer.”
“Tell someone who gives a damn.”
The two gorillas retrieved him from the limo’s floor and stood him back on the street. One guy hit him in the chest, then the other struck him in the stomach twice.
“That’s enough,” the female voice from the limo said as Bernie crumpled to his knees on the sidewalk.
In seconds, the car was out of sight, leaving him to wonder exactly what happened and curse Smith, again.
Chapter 87
Nick lurched out of the chair to answer the phone. The voice of the Columbian raised such a clear image in Nick’s head he could smell Lucerio’s tobacco. “Surprised you called,” Nick said.
“Really?”
“Well, you usually stop by.”
“I’m not in town.”
Nick relaxed. “Where are you?”
“LA, meeting with your business partners.”
He wasn’t surprised, but still Nick tensed. “So what do they say?”
“Should you acquire the coin for us, we will consider our business transaction terminated successfully.”