by Pierre Rey
"Yon gonna give me this silent treatment for long?" Lando asked. "I said something to you."
She poured her coffee and added a lump of sugar that she crushed with a spoon that had once belonged to the Hotel du Rhone. Just as the cup was about to meet her lips, Lando sent it flying with a swipe of the back of his hand. Despite the embarrassment he felt in her presence, he wasn't about to let her forget he still owned her. She took a sponge from the sink and got down on her hands and knees to wipe up the spot on the rug. Suddenly en raged, Lando grabbed her by the shoulders -and, forced her to her feet
"You want me to beat the shit out of you?"
She looked at him. He had no way of telling whether her look was one of contempt or indifference, and she sim ply muttered, "Bug off."
He snorted. "You oughta thank me for the fact you're still alive, instead of carrying on like this. If my friends didn't rub you out, if s only because of me’ You know "who Volpone is? Did you ever hear of the Syndicate? Well, that’s who I work for. They can smash me like a gnat!"
"That’s what you are—a gnat" But she spoke atonally, without aggressiveness.
"If you don't do exactly what you're told, I won’t be able to protect you. They can do anything, and they know everythmg. What are you complaining about? Because that fat slob put it to you a little? So what? You're no fuckin’ virgin, are you? You really ought a be kissing my hands for having kept Volpone from offing you the way he wanted to. No witnesses, he said. From now on, you got no choice. You gotta go along with us until they get what they want And then forget everything you saw and heard."
'‘I’ve already forgotten," she said.
"You're not out of the woods yet by a long shot" Lando spat at her furiously. "You know what you have to do this afternoon if they tell you to?"
"Yes."
"You gonna do it?" "Yes."
"Well, okay, then."
He moved toward her as if to hug her, but she pushed him away. "Don't come near mel"
"What?’
‘I’ll do whatever I'm told, but I won't let you come near me."
"Okay, okay," he snickered "Okay already. Just as long as you do as you're told I got to be going. You're a goner if you try to call the cops. And that goes for trying to get out of town too. First of all, you're being watched. And it wouldn't take them twenty-four hours to catch up with you and slice you into little pieces. Or splatter your pretty face with acid. Don't forget you were a witness and an accomplice in a double murder. You're the one who dug the grave for Zaza. Understand?"
"Yes."
"Ciao."
He had scarcely shut the door when she walked over and pasted her ear against it. She heard his steps fade on the stairs. She double-locked the bolt, went to the phone, and dialed the international code, then an area code and phone number in the United States.
Her little brother Rocky was seven foot two and weighed 290 pounds stripped. Before becoming one of the East Coast’s top basketball pros, he had been college decathlon champ, and he had won the Golden Gloves in the heavyweight category. Without even trying, like Inez's other seven brothers, Rocky was extremely lazy. How ever, in that family, one was more gifted than the other. And not only in athletics. Rocky was able to figure out the key to any kind of situation in a trice, no matter how complicated it might be. If there was one person in the world who could avenge her and get her out of the horn et's nest into which that dirty pimp of a Lando had got ten her, it was Rocky.
"Rocky?" she said "Is that you? It's Inez."
Captain Kirkpatrick was thoroughly disgusted. "How can you drink that stuff so early in the morn ing?"
"Your health!" Scott Dempsey saluted with an amused, smile.
He dipped his lips into the glass of Coke while Kirkpatrick downed his whiskey.
A small, jovial man, Dempsey was a member of the
Securities and Exchange Commission, capable of sowing terror among the toughest wheeler-dealers of the Syndi cate. He would stalk suspicious characters with infinite patience, waiting for the slightest slip, and his victims might well find themselves saddled with heavy fines or put behind bars for years.
"Well?" Kirkpatrick asked him greedily.
"You had it figured right. The dough slipped out right under our noses."
"Have you got anything on them?"
"I might, with your help. Provided they screw up the least bit.inZurich. Is there anything new?"
"Not yet. I have two men over there tailing Vol pone."
'‘I’ve checked out the investment accounts of all their foreign subsidiaries, their annual reports, and their audits. Believe me, that Yudelman is a sharp operator. Tops!"
Kirkpatrick and Scott Dempsey had been working to gether for the past decade, and the collaboration had been good for both their careers. The captain kept Demp sey informed of the movements of important members of the Syndicate, and the SEC man kept Kirkpatrick abreast of the mob's complicated financial structures.
"If my men report that Italo Volpone went to call on any of the banks, will that do?"
"Sorry, no. He could always say he just went in to use the crapper."
"What about the bankers?"
"Swiss bankers are tighter than clams. Even the new agreements we have with them haven't made them talk. It's not that they refuse to cooperate, but they stall around, and they insist on our showing them proofs. It's a vicious circle. Without proof, we can't get them to testify. And without them, how the hell can we get the proof?"
"One hell of a mess," Kirkpatrick agreed angrily. "All the loot from narcotics, prostitution, loan-sharking, and gunrunning gets processed through Geneva or Zurich."
"Oh, if they didn't have Switzerland, they'd find an other place," said Dempsey. "It used to be Lebanon; and there's always Bermuda; Cyprus, Costa Rica, Monaco, Panama, and the New Hebrides. When Hong Kong gets taken over by the Reds, they'll be able to carry on in the Caymans, Liberia, the Dutch West Indies, Campione d’Italia, Jordan, Nauru—who knows where else." "What about Volponer
"A major part of the income is claimed under the heading of an American corporation, Electrical Ltd. The sums appear very legitimately among its assets. At least on the face of it"
"But you know ifs a front," Kirkpatrick said. "Why can't you collar them?'
'Take it easy, old man! Moshe Yudelman knows the regulations better than we do! All of Electrical Ltd.'s dough goes into documenting the operations of supposed export-import firms; and all the deals are strictly kosher on paper, even if the export and import of goods never takes place."
"Jesus," Kirkpatrick groaned. 'It's gettin' so you can't be a cop without a degree in higher mathematics, law, and economics, to say nothing of all the languages they work in. Okay, go on," he said. "What do yon mean the export and import never takes place?"
"I mean they don't export or import a thing. The whole business is merely a paper operation. Let's say you contract to buy a thousand tons of wheat Naturally, they don't deliver it to you in bushel baskets. The fact is, you never see it at all, even though the legal papers covering the transaction with foreign companies list the name of the carrier, the port of departure, destination, and the quantity and description of the product allegedly transported. In reality, there is no wheat The loading and unloading of the cargo took place theoretically in free ports in countries whose authorities don't have to give any information to our investigators. Millions of pounds of coffee, sugar, or grain keep moving around the world—without anyone ever seeing one ounce of it You get my drift?"
"No. Maybe those tons and pounds are imaginary, but the money involved has to go someplace, doesn't it?"
"Right, It's written off as a loss."
"What kind of loss?"
"Oh, on the Stock Market or the Commodity Exchange. It takes a little doing, of coarse, but for the hun dreds of millions of bucks involved, it's worth going to a little trouble to arrange losses like that,"
"Are you trying to make me feel like a dumb cop?"
‘‘Lo
ok, the Syndicate deals a lot in futures. They buy the same amount of the commodity they already sold short—that is, without actually having had it—when the price was low so it worked in their favor."
"Come oh, Dempsey, spell it out a little better." "Okay. Volpone controls several legal gambling casi nos out West And he's not the only one who does, in cidentally. Let's say the take from his other Illegal op erations is a billion dollars. He can't turn up with that much money at his disposal, so he makes as if that unex plained billion was taken in at the casinos. Meantime, he invests it in one of those export-import companies I was talking about. It so happens that the companies in ques tion, by way of interlocking directorates, are actually other fronts for the Volpone family. So all he has to do now is make their commodities speculations so disastrous that he loses the whole billion. That way, there's no pro fit to pay any taxes on and nothing to explain."
"Yeah, but what happens to the goddamn billion bucks during that time?"
"It ends up with other foreign export-import com panies that also belong to him. But as far as the Ameri can government is concerned, it has disappeared."
"And your outfit holds still for all that?"
"We have no choice," the SEC man said. "Volpone's legal gambling enterprises can prove that they invested their profits in joint ventures with an American corporation. To make it look better, the export-import company, which has also been speculating on the commodity futures prices, has advised in its market reports—"
"The same company puts out the reports?"
"Sure. Otherwise, how could it advise investors to ex pect big profits from speculating in those commodities?"
"Some days, brother, I dream of the days when I was a simple flatfoot back pounding the pavement Just a big dumb mick. It was easier. Then what happens?"
"Child's play. The import-export firm is in the clear’ because it can prove that it also speculated on the com modities it recommended and that it took those huge losses. That proves its good faith. Even though the casino investors lost their shirts. In fact, the firm itself may have lost a lot more than the investors. So everything is clear and logical."
Kirkpatrick poured himself another glass of whiskey, dipped a finger in it to dab on his temples, and downed the rest
"Look, take pity on a mentally underdeveloped cop. You eggheads always think that ordinary people can keep up with you, I told you about a chopped-off leg, Volpone being in Switzerland, and like that. That stuffs easy to understand. How about your telling me in words of one syllable—what the fuck was Genco Volpone doing in Switzerland?"
"He was transferring funds. He had to launder the dirty money so there wouldn't be any SEC investigation. And how does he do that? By diversifying abroad, finding tax shelters, and keeping all his money available there through foreign corporations we can't touch. Why Switzer land? Because it's a banking paradise where you can find competent, discreet men to manage your holdings at a tax on capital gains of only 8½ percent instead of 33!"
"But if Genco Volpone did transfer that money, we have no proof if s going to stay in Switzerland."
"No, we don't. How could we? What we do know is that when it comes back here it'll be through some appar ently legitimate economic channel, in broad daylight, and neither your nor I will be able to find anything wrong with it"
"But why does Volpone have to knock himself out going through all that gambling-casino business, instead of just chartering a plane to fly his loot out?"
"That would be too risky. If he were caught export ing securities bought with unaccounted-for money, he'd be headed for the slammer, no two ways about it. To say nothing of the 100 percent and more outright loss. After paying the fines involved, he wouldn't be able to afford a stick of chewing gum. But that gambling-casino/export-import/nonexistent-commodities circuit is foolproof. No body can check it out. The price quotations depend on complicated political developments that bring about all sorts of huge rises and drops. In two years, the price of coffee has gone up 500 percent. To take a good loss on that all a foreign company would have had to do was to sell at the price two years ago and have to buy now to cover the obligation. No problem in that when both the buyer and the seller belong to the same conglomerate. Now, do you get it?"
A plainclothesman came into the office and handed Kirkpatrick a telex. The captain looked at it casually, then read it. a second time. Scott Dempsey watched ,the blood
dram from his friend's freckled cheeks.
"trouble?"
Without answering, the policeman ran'his hand through his hair and then handed the message to Dempsey. It read: "captain kirkpatrick nypd new york
please immediately contact lieutenant blesh zurich cantonal police re death of detective david cavanaugh stop"
"One of your two guys?" Scott Dempsey asked. "Yeah," Kirkpatrick answered as he picked up his phone. "The younger one. He had a wife and three kids."
There were two places in Zurich where Homer Kloppe felt really at home: his own office and that of Dr. August Strolh.
Herr Professor Strolh, as he was known, was fifty-two, rather portly, and imbued with a boundless fascina tion for everything connected with teeth and dentistry. Twice a year he made trips to the United States to bone up on the latest techniques. His wife was a delightful young brunette, also a dentist She had the deepest pro fessional admiration for her husband, who was easily old enough to be her father. The fact was, he had been Ingrid's professor before he became her husband. Neither six years of marriage nor the birth of their two little boys had in any way dimmed the esteem and passion they felt for each other. Their work together was so expert that they had become very selective about what patients they took on. Throughout Zurich, everybody who was any body wanted it known that the jaws they wore were "by Strolh."
August often told Homer Kloppe that he had gone into the wrong profession. The banker evinced such in terest in the research and practice of prosthesis that the dentist assured him, "You would have made a wonderful stomatologist" On other occasions, he would congratulate Homer on the perfect state of his teeth, saying, "If all my patients had teeth like yours, I'd soon be out of business."
The office was done in lavender and black, in a har mony that prompted relaxation. And the minute a patient sat down in the leather dental chair, the spotlights went on and Ingrid Strolh spoke softly: "Just relax now, just relax completely." The only possible thing for a patient to do was to open his mouth and let August Strolh's expert hands massage his gums, while Vivaldi was playing some where in the background.
"How are you feeling?" Dr. Strolh asked Kloppe.
"Fine, just fine," the banker said with an expression that bespoke the exact opposite.
When Ingrid came in, Homer was struck once again by how pretty she was, by the long lithe line of her body under her white surgical smock. Had she been six inches taller and had black skin, she would have reminded him of Inez. August noticed how he looked at her. Far from taking offense, he felt proud, delighted to have his excellent taste confirmed by the admiration every one of his male patients openly showed for his wife.
"Just relax, Mr. Kloppe, relax completely," Ingrid said.
Homer opened his mouth. The two doctors looked inside.
"Look, darling," August was saying. "Have there ever been more magnificent teeth?"
"Don't forget I'm due for my monthly prophylaxis tomorrow," Homer said.
Just above his head, on the material of the smock, he could make out the tiny bulge of Ingrid's nipples.'
"Just relax," she was saying. "Let yourself go..."
Without saying a word to Pietro Bellinzona, Italo Volpone slammed the door of the Ford and bounded up the three steps leading into the bank. It was exactly noon.
He had spent the morning getting organized. If by any misguided inspiration Homer Kloppe decided not to obey his ultimatum, Italo had prepared a series of artfully planned reprisals, each tougher than the previous one. Or lando Baretto, Pietro Bellinzona, and Folco Mori knew just what
they had to do.
Volpone's heels rang on the marble floor of the main banking hall. He veered to the left, passing employees and customers who paid no attention to him. Today he didn't have to ask anyone for directions to Kloppe's office on the third floor. 'He got to the rear of the main area, where there was a door leading to the upper stories; behind it, in the hallway, were the elevators, and just as he was about to go through the door, he felt a discreet, tug at his sleeve.
"May I help you, sir?"
He pushed the intruder away and went on. The stranger took two quick steps and then courteously but firmly blocked Volpone's access to the corridor.
I’m sorry, sir, but this part of the building is off limits."