by E. J. Simon
“What do you mean?”
“They were different colors; one a pale blue, the other a deep dark black. They were deep set. I can’t quite put my finger on it except that he seemed to lower the temperature in the bar by ten degrees; that’s how cold he appeared.”
“Do you think it was just a coincidence that he was there?” Michael asked.
“Two things you should know. I don’t believe in coincidences, and I will never forget those eyes.”
Chapter 15
Queens Village, New York
John Rizzo didn’t like losing, especially when it came to his money. Today he had a plan to make it back.
Rizzo, a former cop, and Fat Lester, an old family friend of Alex’s and now one of Michael’s trusted bet-takers and collector, sat at the soda fountain counter of Irving’s Luncheonette, drinking their morning coffee and watching while Irving Friedman waited on the morning’s neighborhood customers.
Rizzo had just handed Fat Lester a wad of bills that Lester quickly counted and placed in his pants pocket, his large 250-pound frame perched uneasily on the luncheonette stool.
“That should even us up, Lester. Those fuckin’ Mets are killin’ me. By the way, how’s Michael doing? I haven’t spoken to him since that party you guys had last month.” Rizzo suspected that Michael didn’t like him. He didn’t know why exactly, it was just a feeling but he knew his instincts were usually correct.
“He’s good, man. He’s good,” Fat Lester said. But Rizzo could see that Fat Lester was not himself, he looked nervous, perspiring despite the unusual coolness of the summer morning.
“John, I want to ask you for a favor.”
Before even hearing the request, Rizzo sensed an opportunity for himself. It was a sixth sense he had fine-tuned over the years while he was on the beat as a cop. He knew vulnerability when he saw it.
“Hey, sure, you name it.”
“Nothing man, never mind.”
Rizzo could see that Lester wasn’t looking him in the eye but instead was glancing somewhere else, at the pinball machine over to his right.
Rizzo took his time, looking around also. He knew how to play people in need.
“You know, Lester, Irving’s is one of the last of the city’s luncheonettes. Remember, we used to call them ‘candy stores’ when we were kids? There used to be one on every corner. Not anymore. It’s hard to even find a place to get an egg cream anymore.” As he said it, Rizzo found himself with an urge for one of the unique New York City drinks, a concoction of chocolate syrup, milk and seltzer water from the soda fountain, briskly stirred until a perfect one-inch creamy head formed at the top.
Rizzo had been a cop; he knew when someone needed to talk.
“Lester, we’ve known each other for a lot of fuckin’ years. I know you, buddy. You can trust me.”
“Oh man, I can’t go to Michael with this. He’s OK, but he won’t be able to understand this situation, this problem I got.”
Rizzo put his hand on Lester’s shoulder. It was his “good cop” routine.
“What ‘situation?’ What can I do? What do you need, my friend?”
“Listen, I’m gonna pay you. I don’t want anything for nothing. I need to score some H.”
Rizzo looked up and around, suddenly concerned that anyone overheard their conversation.
“Heroin?” Rizzo asked. Lester lowered his eyes and nodded.
“Jesus, pal, I thought you were clean.”
“Listen,” Lester quickly added, “Never mind. I haven’t done anything in years. I don’t know what I’m saying, you know?”
Rizzo looked at him. He knew already that he was about to “own” Fat Lester.
“Yeah, I know.” Rizzo let several seconds go by, just enough, he thought, to make Lester sweat a little more. Make him wonder if he’ll help him. Then he began again.
“Listen, maybe we can help each other. You know, so maybe you won’t feel like you owe me or anything, or like you’re indebted to me.”
For just a moment, Lester’s face appeared to loosen up. “What do you mean?”
“I mean we all have fuckin’ problems. Nobody’s perfect. You know what I’m saying?”
“I dunno, I dunno what you’re saying. I dunno even know what I’m saying.”
“Listen to me. You’re gonna to be alright, OK? Listen to me. I got problems too, you understand what I’m saying? Since I’ve been off the force, it’s been tough, the money. I mean I’m almost living off my damn pension. We can help each other out here.”
“What are you talkin’ about, what do you mean?”
“Lester, I can get you whatever the fuck you need. Let’s start with that. But, here’s the good part. Here’s the fuckin’ best part. You don’t have to pay me for it. You just do me some favors. You know? Just some help.”
“John, what are we talking about here? “
“It’d just be for a short time. Maybe just a couple of deals, you know?”
“No, I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. What do I need to do?”
“Let’s say I make some bets, you know. But maybe you don’t put all of them in. You understand?”
“I’m not sure …”
“OK, let’s say I place four bets. Let’s say I call you in the morning with bets on four teams, the Yanks, Phillies, whatever, it doesn’t fuckin’ matter, OK?”
“Yeah, so what, what then?”
“So,” Rizzo continued, “maybe you don’t give ’em to Michael until later in the day —after the games are over or maybe sometime after they’re going. And maybe if the Phillies are losing, maybe you get rid of that bet. You just drop it; you forget that I made it. You understand what I’m saying here?”
“Shit. You mean ‘past posting’—on Michael?”
“Yeah, whatever you want to call it. What difference does it make? Listen, you’re confused. The way I see it, Alex was our friend, God rest his fuckin’ soul. But you don’t really know Michael. He’s a suit trying to play Alex. You can’t trust him, Lester. You understand that, don’t you? Yeah, it’s ‘past posting’ or whatever you want to call it, but, you know, you get what you need and I get what I want. Nobody loses.”
“I can’t do that. I just can’t.”
Rizzo didn’t like that. He looked at Lester, “Then I can’t fuckin’ help you. I can’t fuckin’ help you, unless you’re willing here to help yourself.”
Lester was silent for a time. He looked away again. Rizzo looked also looked away. He knew that Lester would be the first one to break the silence. He’d been there before. The addict always gives in.
“I’ll never get away with it.” Lester looked even more nervous now, beads of perspiration formed on his forehead and under his nose, just above his upper lip. Rizzo noticed that Lester’s hand was shaking.
Rizzo smiled. “If the only question is now whether you can get away with it, then we can do it, buddy. I’m tellin’ you, we can do this. Just a few times, that’s it. I get a little money. You get your dope. Then, we go back to the way things were and nobody knows from nothin’. That’s it. It’s not a forever thing. We both then forget about it. It never happened. You understand what I’m sayin’?”
Lester took a deep breath.
Rizzo continued, “And nobody, and I mean no-fuckin’-body knows about it except you and me. Not your skinny cousin. Nobody. You understand? That’s the only way I’m in. It’s the only way I’m doin’ this for you.”
Lester sat silent and finally shook his head.
Rizzo felt a familiar feeling of satisfaction. It was just like old times, and in a candy store, no less. He saw Irving looking up behind the counter.
“Irving, how about an egg cream—and one for my friend here. I think he needs a drink.”
Chapter 16
New York City
“Michael, I know it’s short notice, but why don’t you join us for dinner at the Four Seasons?”
Michael and Sindy Steele were casually walking down Park Avenue on
their way to their own private dinner at Fiorini’s on East Fifty-Sixth Street when Michael answered his cell phone without checking who was calling. Annoyed and initially reluctant, he accepted the invitation after Steele’s whispered insistence that it would be a good idea. “Michael, you have to do it. I’ll have a drink by myself and take off.”
Now he wished he was anywhere else but in the exclusive Pool Room of the Four Seasons restaurant. As though choreographed, Michael sipped his Blue Sapphire martini, Perkins his Knob Creek bourbon on the rocks, Hightower his Chivas Regal scotch and Bishop McCarthy his Chianti. It was an unlikely assembly of disparate characters made possible by Perkins’ impromptu cell phone call ten minutes earlier.
From a table in an obscure corner of the restaurant with a partially obstructed line of sight, Michael could see Sindy, sitting alone, watching the four men.
“Michael, I’m glad this dinner worked out at the last minute. Sorry for the short notice.” Perkins clearly had an agenda to discuss with Michael.
“This was actually good timing, Richard. I had just finished my meeting and happened to be only a few blocks away when you called. I’m staying in the city tonight and I didn’t have any firm dinner plans, so this worked out well.”
Perkins looked around the table, seemingly comfortable with the apparent goodwill all around.
“Michael, things are moving quickly on our merger plan. Cartan has agreed to replace two of its board members with the bishop here—and myself—after the merger. John will continue in his current role reporting to me and we should soon have a confirmation on an expanded role for you—along with significant compensation bumps and parachutes for all of us. This is going to be a good deal for each of us and most of the Gibraltar executives.”
Michael felt like an outsider. He couldn’t tell whether this dinner was a carefully orchestrated attempt to persuade him to enthusiastically support the apparently preordained merger or whether Perkins was simply hoping to engender friendly camaraderie by bringing him together with his more trusted allies—or, perhaps more accurately, conspirators. He glanced slightly to his right. His eyes met Sindy’s as she finished her cocktail.
He sensed the others were waiting for him to speak. “Well, this all sounds good. I must admit, you are obviously closer to this situation than I am. Fortunately, none of this has leaked out anywhere. I’m just trying to run the company, produce results and keep our people focused on their jobs.”
John Hightower took this as his cue for what appeared to be a question he had been waiting to ask. “Speaking of our human capital, Michael, how are we doing on the headcount reduction plan?”
Michael fought the urge to attack, took another sip of his martini and decided to attack anyway. “First, John, you know I don’t use this bureaucratic doubletalk. I don’t care what all the HR gurus call it today. It’s not ‘human capital’—it’s people. Good ol’ employees.”
Hightower jumped in quickly, “Michael, the term human capital is being used to show that people are, just like our other assets, valuable and worth protecting. They need to show up on a balance sheet like a building or—”
Michael interrupted him. “Don’t give me that crap, John. The part you like about making people an asset is that assets depreciate over time and then they’re worth less so we can just get rid of them.”
Bishop McCarthy and Hightower exchanged glances. Michael looked carefully at Perkins to see if, he too, had knowingly locked eyes but he didn’t see anything that suggested such an obvious agreement. Instead, Perkins tried to calm things down, to play mediator.
“Michael, John, I don’t care what we call it. People, human capital, employees, personnel. We just have to bring the numbers into line before this merger can get done,” Perkins said.
Michael knew he had played his hand as long as he could without jeopardizing his own job. If persisted any further, he’d be gone and Perkins would replace him with someone who’d be happy to implement the carnage in return for a CEO position, a few million in salary and even more in stock options.
Ignoring Hightower and directing his words to Perkins, he retreated. “Richard, you know I’m not naive. I know what needs to happen. At the same time, I need to make sure I can keep things stable—”
Never one to want to hear a balanced discussion of pros and cons, Richard Perkins cut him off. “Michael, there’s no ‘at the same time’—you need to get this done. Get me the list of terminations and the effective dates. Have it to me within the week.”
Michael knew the discussion was over. The issue was closed. Just as he looked over again at Sindy, a small team of servers converged on their table carrying plates covered with silver domes. As the dome was lifted off his plate, Michael gazed at the filet of bison with foie gras and Perigord black truffles. On any other night, with any other company, he would salivate over the prospect of the first bite. Not tonight. He knew Sindy was having a better time, alone.
As they began to bite into their entrees, Richard broke the silence. “I do have some good news, Michael. Something that I think will ease your qualms.” Then, looking at Bishop McCarthy, he added, “Perhaps, Bishop, you’d like to break the news?”
Bishop McCarthy swallowed hard on his bite of well-done filet mignon while a tiny amount of its yellow béarnaise sauce seeped out of the corner of his mouth. After two or three seconds, he recovered and picked up on Perkins’ cue. “Yes, Michael. We are very excited about this. And, I agree with Richard, it will ease some of your concerns regarding how we treat your employees or, as I suggest we call them, ‘the Lord’s assets.’ ”
Michael looked over at Sindy’s table, wishing he was sitting in the empty seat facing her and enjoying his tender buffalo steak. Instead, he knew he was trapped in enemy territory. He looked at the bishop, trying to conceal the sarcasm that he feared was betraying him. “I can’t wait to hear.”
McCarthy was anxious to speak. “As you may know, Gibraltar was going to make a modest contribution to St. Joseph’s School here in the Bronx, my parish. Instead, in a bold gesture of genius, John came up with an even better approach. One that not only helps our underprivileged Catholic school children but will also improve the perception of our new, post-merger organization. At the same time as the merger is announced, we will disclose an even larger contribution—ten million dollars—by Cartan Holdings and Gibraltar Financial to build a new church and school on the lot adjacent to our rectory. So, you see, Michael, while we may have some negative publicity regarding the layoffs, many more needy children and parishioners will benefit from your generosity.”
Michael was tempted to ask him right then and there about the dead kids, but he knew he couldn’t prove anything and would only wind up prematurely revealing his hand—and his plan to bring an end to everything threatening him and his family.
Thankfully, the waiter approached the table. Looking at Michael he asked, “How is everything so far this evening?”
Looking around at the table, Michael simply smiled and said, “Everything is perfect, thank you.”
He looked for Sindy, but her table had already been cleared.
Chapter 17
New York City
It didn’t take long for Michael to explain everything that had gone on at dinner. After all, Sindy observed most of it, and even though she couldn’t hear the conversation, by closely watching the four men, their body language, their facial expressions, the glances exchanged and ignored, the food devoured or left in disgust, she had an excellent idea of everything that had transpired.
After several after-dinner drinks that Michael served in the living room of his St. Regis suite, they resumed their talk while sitting up, half-naked, against the large down pillows on the plush king-sized bed. Although he was feeling the limoncellos, he was still wired from the dinner discussions. He reached over to the side of the bed and, touching the control panel, dimmed the lights to create a soothing atmosphere.
“I’ve got a plan. Have you ever been to Rome?”
> “Yes, a number of years ago. What’s the plan and how soon do we leave?”
“I’m not sure yet. Originally, I was going to have Richard Perkins or some others use their connections to make some introductions for me with a cardinal and his aide, a monsignor; they’re the ones protecting Sharkey. It was to be under the guise of a Gibraltar initiative. But I realize now that I’ve got to get higher, above them.”
“Did you ever think that maybe you’re being too slow, too corporate in how you’re approaching this?”
“I don’t have everything I need yet to go. Don’t worry. I have someone watching them in Rome. I know more than they think.”
“Who?”
“Let’s just say someone I trust. I can’t tell you yet and—I promise you—you don’t want to know. “
“And what about Hightower and McCarthy over here? Not to mention this Frank—we don’t even know what he looks like. They’ve got plans for you and they don’t involve you sitting behind a mahogany desk. Actually, they may be thinking mahogany but as in a casket.”
“Isn’t your job to protect me from them?”
“As long as I’m with you, no one’s going to get to you. You can relax.”
“Thanks. I needed that.”
“I have something else I think you need even more.”
Loosening her bra and leaving it to hang loosely, unfastened, she pulled down her black lace bikini panties and turned over on her stomach. She turned her head back and, looking at Michael, said “Why don’t you do something to me we’ve never done before? Maybe something that hurts.”
Chapter 18
Greenwich, Connecticut
As she drove up the quarter-mile stone driveway to John Hightower’s mansion, Sindy Steele could hear the tortured erratic breathing coming from the plastic wrapped and duct-taped parcel in the back of her FedEx truck.
His house sat atop a hill on a perfectly manicured lawn surrounded by tall trees. Steele knew that Hightower lived alone and that no one in Greenwich was likely to notice when commonly accepted delivery vehicles entered their neighbor’s property. In any case, this driveway was hidden from any neighbor’s view. So she felt assured that no one took note of the white FedEx truck with New York license plates making a late-afternoon delivery.