Enzo stood up. “Well, if that’s what you want, let’s get on with it.”
71
Harry lay on the floor of the big safe with a lumpy bundle of cash under his head as a pillow. The Stygian darkness helped him to focus his mind. The bad guys thought he was an accomplished smuggler. If he was going to save Lizzie he couldn’t disappoint them.
The last time he had skillfully hidden the notes in camera cases and that had worked well. Why not simply do it again with different cases? They would have to be carried for a specific purpose and whoever went with them would have to be associated with that purpose. All he needed was an agenda that would fill these parameters. The rest would be a matter of logistics.
There was an odd noise above his head. The dials on the door were turning. As it swung open, Harry blinked at the sudden light.
A man stood in the doorway.
“My name is Rocco,” he began. “And I’m here to help.”
“Great!” said Harry, getting up. “Right now I need a bottle of red wine, preferably Italian. Shouldn’t be too hard around here. After I’ve had a drink I am going to sit and think. If I fall asleep, wake me at five exactly. Bring me a razor and soap and some clean clothes. Mine are in the trunk of a rented Ford Escape that’s parked across the road. The keys are in the ignition. Move it to the garage upstairs and bring my stuff down here. Got it?”
“Got it,” said Rocco. As he went out of the basement, Benny the driver came down and sat strategically at the foot of the stairs. The man seemed totally unconcerned that moments earlier he had killed the man in the gray suit. The man they had called Carter.
72
Lizzie couldn’t help but relax on the soft warm surface. For a while she dozed off. The door opening woke her. Max came over and began to undo the straps that bound her wrists and ankles.
“That wasn’t a ghost, was it? Harry’s still alive, isn’t he?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“You told me he drowned.”
“I lied.”
“Why?”
Before he could answer her, Cora came in with a dress draped over her arm and a pair of panties. “Jesus, Max!” she cried. “What the hell did you do to her?”
“It was your idea,” said Max with a grin. “And it succeeded.”
Lizzie sat up. “You got a smoke?” she asked Cora.
“Sure, honey.” Cora pulled out a packet of Marlboros and lit one. Lizzie’s hand trembled slightly as she took it from her. She took a long drag, let the smoke trickle out slowly and then slid to the edge of the bed to put on the panties.
“What did you mean, ‘it succeeded’?” she asked.
“Thanks to you,” replied Max, “your boyfriend now works for us.”
Lizzie picked up the dress and pulled it over her head. “Doing what?”
“Doing what you said he does well,” said Max. “Moving money.”
“How come he agreed?”
“I told him I’m using you as security,” replied Max.
Lizzie looked around for her shoes and slid her feet into them. She picked up her purse and slowly used her lipstick.
All was not lost. Harry was still alive. How long he would remain that way was another matter. Once again he had managed to get himself into a dangerous situation, and this time there was very little she could do to help him.
“You need me anymore, Max?” Cora asked. “I have calls to make.”
“No,” he replied. “Let me know if anything comes up. I’ll be upstairs.”
As soon as they were alone, Lizzie said, “Upstairs?”
“Where I live when I’m not at home,” said Max. “Come on; I’ll show you.”
Following Max up to the top floor, Lizzie realized that everything had changed. The worst thing she could do was escape. Now she needed to stay close to Max. That way she might be able to find out what was happening to Harry.
As they came into the apartment she asked, “What are the chances he could get caught?”
“That’s a risk I’m prepared to take.”
“He’s not a cat, you know. He doesn’t have nine lives.”
“He did it once; he can do it again,” said Max.
“How much is he smuggling for you?” she asked.
“A lot.”
“What makes you think he can do it?” she persisted. “What if he just got lucky the first time? You stand to lose a bundle of cash. And then what?”
“We move to plan B.”
“Yeah? And where does that leave Harry?”
“You ask too many questions.”
Lizzie smiled. “Always do,” she said. “It’s a habit of mine I learned when I was very young.”
She walked over and into the bedroom and was surprised to see that the walls were white and bare. An ugly prosaic light fitting hung in the middle of the ceiling. The bed was simply sheets and a blanket. The floor was bare polished wood. Incongruously under the window were unpainted shelves that overflowed with books. Most of them new.
“What’s all those?” she asked as he followed her in.
“I like to read in bed. It’s a habit of mine,” he replied.
She pointed at the door in the far wall. “Is that the bathroom?”
“Yes.”
“I need to pee.”
“Go ahead,” replied Max.
Moments later Lizzie called out, “You don’t have a tub, do you, just this bleedin’ shower?”
“I only take showers,” he replied.
“Mind if I use it? I had a nasty experience earlier and I’d like to wash it off.”
“Sure,” he said. “Be my guest.”
Lizzie was soaping her hair and her eyes were closed when he slipped in behind her. She tried hard to push him away and upturned her face under the cascading water to get the suds off.
“Time for another nasty experience,” he said, and reached over for the soap. Working up a lather, he washed her back and shoulders. She gave a slight cry of protest and tried to get past him to the door. Max put his arms around her and massaged her breasts and abdomen. With her arms stretched high over her head and with her body pinned against the tiles he took her from behind. As he moved, their well-lubricated bodies slapped noisily together. Max held back for as long as he could and then drove hard into her and exploded. They both slid down and sat on the floor with the water falling like autumn rain.
“You are a randy old bugger, aren’t you?” said Lizzie, holding her mouth open to drink the warm water. “You feed me, fill me with wine, tie me up, rape and ravish me twice in a few hours. Do you treat all your lady friends like this or am I getting the special?”
Max looked intensely at her and said, “I like you, Liz. I like the way you talk.”
“So you said.”
“Yes. But I also like the way your mind works.”
Lizzie gazed hard at him for a moment and then said, “I’m getting all wrinkly.”
Max stood up, turned off the water and opened the door. As she got out he handed her a robe.
“You’re right about Harry,” Max said, toweling himself off. “I don’t care what happens to him. I know what I want, and I know how to get it. When I’m through with people it’s as if they never existed.”
“That’s not very nice, if I may say so.”
“Maybe. I get the feeling you’re the same. You know what you want and you know how to get it.”
Lizzie wrapped a towel from the rail around her head and they moved back into the main room. Max retrieved his pants and put them on. Lizzie sat down at the table as he poured them coffee.
Lizzie curled her legs beneath her on the sofa. “So tell me. What are you planning to do with your life? Or not to do?”
“No idea,” he said.
“Where would you go?”
“Somewhere far away where it’s warm and the living is easy.”
“And you’d sit on the beach sipping Mint Juleps, or whatever you Americans drink, and watch the world go by?”
Max walked over to his desk and pulled out a framed photograph from the bottom drawer.
“My father Aldo,” he said, sitting beside her. “With one of his trucks. He used to make a big deal about Fate.”
“Fate?”
Max nodded. “He told me when you make a choice you make a deal with Fate. He said that Fate is never on your side, so you have to constantly fight to succeed. I realized early on that he was right. I also remember him telling me there is one choice no one ever makes for themselves.”
“And what’s that?” she asked, a little puzzled.
“He said it all depends on who gets their hands on you first. Where they live, how much money they have, what they do to survive day to day…”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m telling you the first six years of your life determine what kind of a person you are. And you have no choice over those.”
He leaned back “I read a book called Angela’s Ashes and it made me think about how I was raised. How my dad and mom set me up. How I found myself living a life I never chose for myself. It also made me realize I could change. All I had to do was to step out of one story and into another.”
“That is your conscience talking, Max.”
“No, it’s me and the time I have left to me in this life.” An odd look crossed Lizzie’s face and he shook his head and smiled. “Do you have any idea what I’m talking about?”
“Of course I do,” she said. “It’s exactly what happened to me.”
“To you?”
“Yes. I changed. I got out.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Not now, Max. One day maybe. Right now I want to hear all about you.”
73
Closely watched by Rocco, Harry went up to the kitchen and scrambled himself some eggs, nuked six rashers of bacon, toasted two slices of whole-wheat bread and helped himself to coffee. Back down by the vault he sat munching at the old poker table. In turn, the salt, the caffeine and the fat each hit his system. Blood flowed to his brain and gave him the glimmer of an idea.
“I may have come up with a solution, Rocco,” he announced to his minder. “And to make it work I’m going to need someone to go to my apartment and bring back my address book. When I left, it was in the bedroom. Probably by the bed.”
Rocco reached into an inside pocket and produced Harry’s Filofax.
Harry looked at it in surprise. “Where did you get that?” Then he remembered. “You’re the one who trashed my place, right?”
Rocco handed it over.
“I’m also going to need access to a phone,” said Harry.
Rocco reached in another pocket and produced two burn phones and said, “When you’ve done with these give them back to me.”
With the little silver pencil from his Filofax, Harry made a short list of actors who had the talents to help him with his scheme. As the cellular signal was low in the basement, he told Rocco he had to go upstairs. As they walked, Rocco took him by the arm and Harry roughly shook him off. “You don’t have to do that. Just lead the way. I’m in no mood for heroics.”
Up in the dining room a lone figure sat at a table with a bottle of Tequila and a glass in front of him. Harry recognized him right away. It was the man from the warehouse. As he had just tried to kill him, Harry decided this was not the moment for explanations and chose a table in the opposite corner, where he opened up his address book. Rocco stood in the doorway and both men watched him as he made his calls.
“Travis? Harry Murphy. Yes, it has, hasn’t it? Yes, I’m very well, thank you. Working? Not right now, but I have a gig I thought might interest you. I won’t bother you with it if you’re busy. When? Next few days. It’s for cable. You are. Great! Right now I have to put a couple of things together and I’ll call you back within an hour. On your cellphone? Great. Give me the number.”
Harry repeated this offer to another ten candidates. When he had finished he had narrowed the possibles down to eight. Next he made a list of the tools he would need to do the job. As he wrote he gave Rocco instructions.
“Tell Max we need only new bills. Used ones take up too much space. Preferably hundreds. I don’t care how you do it but…”
“No problem,” said Rocco. “What else?”
Harry was impressed. The man had missed his calling. He would have made a great production manager. Tearing off the list, Harry handed it over. “That’s what I’m going to need, and by this afternoon. I suggest you go to Home Depot at Fifty-ninth and Third.”
As he wrote down another list, Harry continued. “These will require you to use a little ingenuity. I need three guitars with amplifiers and a drum set. A while back we could have gone down to Forty-eighth and picked it all up at Manny’s or someplace like it, but maybe they’ve all closed up shop. Wherever you do find them, be prepared to put down a pretty hefty deposit. We’ll need them for one week. Don’t take any substitutes. Get exactly what I’ve written. If there’s a problem call me.”
“I may be able to help you there,” said the man quietly from across the room. “One of the guys that works for me collects guitars. For a price he’d lend them to me.”
Harry took a moment to process this new information and then said, “I was sorry to hear about your buddy.”
Vic stared at him for a moment and then said, “In a way he killed himself.”
Harry couldn’t help asking, “How did you get out?”
Vic gave a helpless shrug. “The stairs were burning, but we found a rope in the end room. Toshi and I managed to climb to the roof. If Jack hadn’t been so out of shape we could have pulled him up and saved him too. He was just too heavy.”
Harry asked, “What were all those laptops and projectors for?”
“You saw them?”
“Yes. From above. Also the big machine. What was it all for?”
Vic smiled before he spoke. “My name is Vic, but they call me ‘Ali Baba,’ as it is rumored I employ forty people. Among other things, I’m an identity thief. And a good one too. Business was going great. That machine you saw spits out new credit cards.”
“And the computers?”
“Those were processing the culmination of three and a half years of intensive and brilliant work that began way back in my college days. I had patiently hacked my way through a maze of European databases to access information that many people would pay a fortune for. All that has just gone up in smoke. My work is what you really killed.” Vic raised his glass. “And that’s why I’m here drowning my sorrows.”
“Didn’t you have it all backed up?”
“No. And to explain why would take more time than you have right now. So why don’t you just tell me what you need.”
Harry gave the list to Rocco who took it over to Vic. Once again Benny came in from the kitchen to keep watch on him as Rocco left. Harry began his calls.
“Trav! You’ll never guess what’s happened. The network just called back to tell me the project has been given the okay. Yes! Just like that. But it presents me with a bit of a problem. Time is now very short. Could you come over right now? We need to talk. It’s a restaurant called Mazaras.”
Harry looked over at Vic and mouthed, Where are we?
Vic came over and wrote out the address with the pencil. Harry read it out and then added, “It’s in the middle of the block. Yes. Italian. Great. See you soon.”
“Why did you do it?” Vic asked quietly when Harry hung up. “The fire, I mean.”
Harry looked him in the eye. “To explain that would take more time than you have right now. Maybe when this is all over we can meet for dinner. It seems you and I got a lot to straighten out.”
Vic pulled a wry face, turned away and pulled out his phone. Harry headed back down to the basement.
74
In his career, Harry had worked with a countless number of actors and actresses. Most of these encounters were uneventful and quickly faded into oblivion. But there were a few exceptions where frie
ndships flourished and often lasted for years. In his first and only Broadway musical Harry had made the acquaintance of a flamboyant thespian by the name of Travis Cornelius Atwell.
Travis always dressed the same: a white shirt and discreet tie under a pinstriped suit with a red rose in the lapel. He boasted that he had more original cast recordings than any of his peers. Most of these were done before the introduction of microphones and amplification and as a result his voice was resonant and perfect for commercial voice-overs. These made him extremely wealthy.
Cora ushered Travis down and as she turned to leave he kissed her hand and bid her adieu.
“Good morning, my lad,” he intoned to Harry. “You’re up bright and early. Looking a little the worse for wear, if I may say so. Tell me, why are we operating from a dank and dusty cellar? Have you been evicted from your apartment?”
“Interesting you should say that,” replied Harry, picking up his cue. “Work has been a bit scarce lately. Not critical, but enough to make me realize I had to find a way to generate additional income.”
Travis laughed and pulled out a chair and sat down. “I used to go through that ritual once a week in the old days. Usually on Sunday. Never did find the answer. I take it you have.”
“Yes,” said Harry. “Cable television. Someone once told me you can sell anything to cable. With that in mind I looked around for a suitable story. I couldn’t find one, so I made one up. These days there are so many channels and so many hours to fill it didn’t take me long to find a network.”
“Capital!” said Travis enthusiastically. “Tell me more.”
“I told them that I’d heard about these four middle-aged men from a small town called Stroudsburg.”
“I know it. A few miles south of Scranton?”
“The very one. As kids they went to a Beatles concert, got hooked and formed a cover band. They called themselves the ‘Jersey Jumpers.’ They’ve played ever since at local gigs for fun and amusement. Strictly amateur and always Beatles music. As the lead guitar is about to turn fifty, the others decided to give him a special birthday present. They made arrangements for the group to perform at the Cavern in Liverpool, England.”
Once a Crooked Man Page 29