Another well-heeled couple looking to plan an event. Cristin liked to brag that she had CEOs and politicians as clients. Jack didn’t know where these particular folks fell, but they certainly looked like they could afford to throw a hell of an anniversary party. Cristin’s job was to see that it came off without a hitch.
Jack sighed and began walking toward Third Avenue. No secrets revealed. No scandals exposed. Just Cristin doing her job. As she’d said, most of her clients were available only during the week, and their parties—events—were almost always at night.
Wasted time. No, worse than that. He’d betrayed a trust in not taking her at her word. He felt a little dirty.
But seeing her during the week, even from afar, had triggered an intense longing for her. He was looking forward to Sunday more than ever.
4
Full dark was in command by the time Vinny and Aldo reached the marina. They tied down the trawler and drove back to Preston Salvage in the flatbed. But Vinny slammed on the brakes at the gate when he saw the vans parked in the lot and the light streaming from the garage windows.
“What the fuck? What now?”
Keeping his temper in check, he pulled the truck around back, then jumped out and stalked to the garage, Aldo in tow. He had a very bad feeling about this. He opened the door, expecting to find a chop shop in full swing, but instead saw crowded tables for craps, poker, and blackjack.
And standing in the center of it all, resplendent in a tuxedo, was Tommy Ten Thumbs Totaro. He whirled at the sound of Vinny’s entrance.
“Yo, Vinny! Where ya been all day? Been tryin’ t’reach you.”
Vinny could tell he’d had a few toots.
“Doing business. What the fuck is this?”
“Business. I’ve been callin’ all afternoon to give you a heads-up.”
Vinny felt the steam rising to boil-over levels, but he kept his voice low.
“What I say about doing shit we can get busted for here?”
Tommy grinned. “Ease up. It’s one night.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at a skinny guy watching the craps table. “You know Jimmy the Blond? He called me—”
Jimmy the Blond Tonachio. Vinny had heard of him.
“He’s Genovese.”
“Well, yeah. Like I don’t know that? We grew up together. Anyways, he calls me up and says he’s found some chinks who want some games but he had no place to take them on such short notice. Did I have a space that’s free? I thought about that for like one second and said yeah, I got just the place.”
Vinny felt Aldo’s hand on his shoulder as he eyed the fire ax again.
“Easy, man.”
Vinny took a deep breath. Again, no rules against working a deal with another family, as long as you cut your crew boss in on the profit. And okay, the risk was low—a few hours on a single night posed little danger. But doing this after the set-to they’d had over Tommy’s chop-shop angle was like a bitch slap.
“Tried to call you, Vin,” Tommy said.
Maybe he had. Vinny had been out to sea.
He took another look at the ax. No way he could use it. These were Genovese tables. That’d stir up a shitload of trouble.
Tommy stepped closer and lowered his voice. “And hey, since they’re chinks, Joey brought in a couple of blackjack dealers with tap-fives.”
Vinny glanced over at the two blackjack tables—five chinks at each, chain smoking and studying their cards. These guys weren’t regulars. Probably tourists. That meant they’d never be back. And so, unlike regular players, these guys could be fleeced down to their yellow skins.
The tap-five was a thing of beauty—a multideck shoe that would deliver a five card when tapped in the right spot. Blackjack players loved to see a dealer pull sixteen because he was bound by the rules to draw on any hand below seventeen. Odds of the house busting skyrocketed when the dealer drew that sixteen, and so a lot of players doubled down when they saw it. After all the bets were on the table, the dealer would tap the shoe in the sweet spot and out popped a five, giving him twenty-one. House wins.
“We are taking them to the cleaners,” Tommy said. “Our cut is going to be sweet!”
Well, there was that. Vinny decided to let it go.
“Make sure Tony gets a piece,” he said, then turned and walked out.
As the door slammed behind him, he turned to Aldo. “I’m gonna kill that fucker!”
“No, you ain’t,” Aldo said. “You gotta get permission first and that ain’t gonna happen.”
Right. Tony C would have to sanction the hit and no way he’d do that on his own. Not with Tommy’s connections. And sure as hell not because he was a threat to Vinny’s side business. Like who gave a shit? He had to be a traitor or a threat to the family itself, and Tommy fell into neither category.
“He could have an accident.”
Aldo shook his head. “You think people don’t know there’s bad blood between you two? Tommy disappears and guess who they’ll be tapping to put two in your skull.”
Vinny knew damn well: Aldo. That was the way it was done—send a guy the target trusts, someone who can get close, and then bang-bang.
“I don’t wanna be in that position,” Aldo said.
Vinny understood. Aldo would be in a spot where he couldn’t refuse.
“All right,” Vinny said. “I’ll think of something else.”
But what?
SATURDAY
1
So far, so good.
Neil had driven the black-clad old bag to her Chase branch and let her out with the empty briefcase. Now Mrs. Filardo was walking back toward the car with—he hoped—a not-so-empty case.
“All went smoothly in there, I assume,” he said as he held the door for her.
“Why wouldn’t it?” she said. “It’s a-my money.”
Not for long …
Neil hurried around and forced a laugh as he slipped back behind the wheel. “Of course it’s your money. But you know banks—once you deposit it, they think it’s their money.”
“Then they a-better think again.”
“I’m sure withdrawing such a large sum irked them no end.”
“Well, they’ll be getting it all back come a-Monday.”
Not if I have anything to say about it.
He drove her to the same spot in the Coffey Park lot as last week, then turned in his seat to face her.
“Now, just like last Saturday, I must ask you to open the briefcase and confirm that you were given the proper amount.”
Her gnarled fingers worked the catches and she lifted the lid. Neil shifted his position for a peek inside. His heart stumbled over a beat at the sight of the five banded stacks of hundreds. Fifty Gs.
Yowza-yowza-yowza!
She lifted them one by one and inspected them.
“Everything a-seems to be as it should be.”
He handed her the key.
“Okay, time to lock up.”
After she’d done that, he went through the ritual of placing the sheet of legalese on the briefcase for her to sign.
“I’m a-still say this is all a-too, too complicated.”
Not again.
“It’s that chain-of-custody thing, remember?”
“Of course I remember. I’m a-no stupida. But it make a-no sense.”
“I agree. But I can’t explain lawyers anymore than you can.”
He tossed the signed sheet on the front seat, then grabbed the briefcase. He saw her hands start to reach for it, then pull back.
You’re learning, Granny.
He went through the ritual of placing the tape over the locks, then stepped out, popped the trunk lid, and placed her briefcase next to its identical twin. He hadn’t bothered to hide the bogus case this time because the switch was no longer a maybe—it was definitely on.
“Now, the wait,” he said as he slipped behind the steering wheel again.
“While we’re a-waiting,” the old lady said, “’splain again to me how this person
steals a-money with the computer…”
Neil suppressed a groan and begged for the willpower to keep from strangling her. Thirty, forty minutes … that was all he needed. Survive that and he’d never see or—even better—hear her again.
2
Jack turned down the volume on the speaker as Zalesky went into his spiel about the bank thief. He didn’t need to listen to that bullshit again.
“Tell me you got a plan, meng,” Julio said. “Tell me we ain’t just gonna sit here and watch like we did last time.”
Last fall, they’d hot-wired a car and used it to tail Zalesky and another mark to a bank—Chemical, that time—then to a different waiting spot. But that time they hadn’t known what was going on inside the car. Today was different.
“We are gonna watch,” Jack said. “But I’m gonna make a phone call first.”
“To who?”
Jack pushed open the driver door. “Tell you in a minute.”
Jack wasn’t playing coy. He had a phone number for the guy he was going to call, and he’d verified that he had the right one earlier in the week. The problem was, he didn’t know how reachable the guy was on a Saturday.
This was where Jack’s whole plan could fall apart.
He walked half a block down to a public phone kiosk standing on the corner. He would have preferred an old-fashioned enclosed booth so passersby or someone waiting to make a call wouldn’t overhear, but had to be satisfied with this wide-open model.
He glanced at the sky. Beautiful day, unseasonably warm for early March. Would his guy be hanging around his office on a day like today? Not likely.
Crap. After all the crummy weather they’d been having, why’d this weekend have to turn out so nice?
He plunked a quarter into the slot and began to dial.
3
Vinny was alone in the office and picked up the phone on the second ring. Tommy hadn’t shown this morning—no surprise—and this was probably him calling to gloat over their take last night.
“Preston Salvage.”
A guy’s voice: “Is this Mister Donato?”
“Who wants to know?”
“A friend of Mister Donato’s mother.”
Vinny jolted upright in his seat. Aw, no. Aw, shit.
“Something wrong?”
“I think she’s in trouble.”
“What? Heart? Stroke? What?”
“Not that kinda trouble. I think somebody’s ripping her off.”
The relief gave way to instant suspicion. This guy sounded too young to be a friend of his mother.
“Who is this?”
“I told you—”
“Don’t gimme that friend shit. You—”
“Maybe I’ve made a mistake. Your mother is Michelina Filardo, right?”
Hearing Mom’s name on a stranger’s lips chilled him.
“Yeah.”
“Well, she just drew fifty thousand out of her account and is parked by Coffey Park with a man who is going to steal it from her.”
The chill turned frigid. Coffey Park. He knew it—knew it real good. A stone’s throw from Mom’s place. He could visualize the little parking lot.
“And you know this how?”
“I’ve been following them. I’m watching them right now. This creep does this to naïve little old ladies. He needs to be stopped.”
“Why don’t you stop him?”
“That’s more in your line, I believe.”
Who was this son of a bitch?
“Let me tell you something, wiseass. Anything happens to my mother while you sat and watched, I’ll find him and I’ll find you too, and neither of you will be happy.”
“You’re wasting time, Mister Donato. While you’re running your mouth, your mother’s giving away fifty big ones. Look for a Dodge Dynasty.”
Then he hung up.
Vinny slammed down the phone and pushed himself to his feet. The park was in Carroll fucking Gardens and he was all the way over here in Canarsie. He’d never fucking make it. Whatever was going down would be over and done by the time he got there.
Wait. Aldo lived in Red Hook. Just a hop and a skip for him. Vinny snatched up the phone again.
4
Neil couldn’t stand it anymore. He checked his watch: 3:14. Close enough. Another minute of listening to her voice and he’d run screaming from the car, leaving her with both briefcases.
He showed her the car phone. “Time to call in. Keep your fingers crossed.”
As ever, he dialed his own number and spoke to his answering machine.
“Yeah, hi, it’s Nate. How we do?” A surprised look. “He did?” Big grin. “Really?” Happy thumbs-up to the old lady. “He’s nailed? All right! Yes, I’ll tell Mrs. Filardo. Oh, I agree. She deserves it. Absolutely. See you later.”
“What happened?” she said as he cut the call.
“We got him!” He laughed. “Caught him red-handed! All thanks to you. I can’t thank you enough, Mrs. Filardo. Everyone down at the fraud department thanks you too. They’re talking about having the governor award you a public service certificate.”
She waved a bony hand at him. “I’m a-don’t need that. Just a-glad to help.”
“No, you deserve it. We’ll be putting out a press release later this afternoon. Is it all right if we mention your name?”
“Well, I’m a no sure. I’m a-think I better check with my son before I do that.”
That took Neil by surprise. Of course he knew she had children—how else could that asshole—what the fuck was that kid’s name? Lonnie, right? How else could boring Lonnie be her grandson? But this was the first he’d heard of any son. And he hadn’t seen any pictures in her living room.
“Son?”
“Yes, my Vincent.”
Okay. He’d have to play dumb here.
“I didn’t know you had children.”
“Just Vincent.”
Wait—no daughter?
“Only one child?”
“Just a-my little Vincenzo. From my first husband.”
Oh, yeah. Melinda had said she was “twice widowed.”
“You … you never mentioned him.”
“He’s, um, a very private a-person. That’s why I’m a-think I should check with him about mentioning my name. He might a-not—”
Suddenly the front passenger door flew open and a man slid into the seat. His dark gray porkpie hat didn’t go with his half-zipped Yankees Windbreaker.
Neil stiffened in shock. “What the f—!”
“Uh-uh-uh!” the guy said, wagging his finger. “We got a lady present. Hey, Mrs. D.” He waved but his hard brown eyes never left Neil. “How you doing?”
“Aldo? What a-you doing here?”
“Vinny’s on his way. He asked me to stop by and see what was goin’ down. Shouldn’t be long till he gets here.”
This guy was trying hard to be scary, but Neil wasn’t buying. He leaned forward and got in his face.
“You can’t come in here like this. We’re on official business and—”
“Yeah? I hope for your sake that’s true.”
Before Neil could stop him, the guy—Aldo—reached over and yanked the key from the ignition.
“Hey! You can’t do that!”
“I believe I just did.”
Neil picked up his mobile phone. “I’m calling the police!”
“You do that.”
He sat and stared at Neil.
The old lady reached from the back and patted the guy’s shoulder, saying, “Aldo, it’s okay. We just a-caught a thief at the bank.”
He turned toward her. “Really, Mrs. D? I—”
“Why do you call her ‘Mrs. D’? This is Mrs. Filardo.”
He smiled at the old bat. “I known her since me and Vinny was kids, back when she was Mama Donato. She’ll always be Mrs. D to me. Ain’t that right?”
The old lady patted his arm again and smiled. “He’s a-like a second son, Aldo is.”
Shit!
“But
let me get this straight,” Aldo said. “You caught a crook at the bank? From here? From a parked car?”
“It’s a-complicated.”
“Oh, I’m sure it is.” He turned back to Neil and pointed to the phone in Neil’s hand. “It’s nine-one-one, pal. What’re you waiting for?”
Neil felt sweat flood his armpits. This guy had mob written all over him.
I should call his bluff and dial the cops. He’ll probably take off running.
But then how to explain what he was doing parked here with this old lady? His fake bank inspector ID wouldn’t pass with a cop—not for a second.
This looked like a no-win situation. Best to cut his losses and run.
“I’ve had enough of this,” he said, reaching for the door handle.
Aldo grabbed his arm with one hand and pulled open his Windbreaker with the other, just enough to reveal the butt end of a pistol in a shoulder holster within.
“We wait for Vinny. He’s gonna—”
* * *
“—wanna talk to you.”
Julio was staring at Jack. “That guy that got in the car—name’s Aldo or somethin’. I see him when he show up every once in a while to collect on Harry’s vigorish. He’s a Gambino. What they gotta do with this?”
Jack hadn’t expected Aldo. But this was okay. He was holding the fort until Vinny arrived.
“You know the big guy who usually does the collections?”
“Vinny? The one with the donuts?”
“Right. Well, the old lady in that car with Zalesky is his mother.”
Julio’s eyes widened. “No shiiiiit! Is he crazy?”
“No, just clueless.”
“How’d he get hooked up with her?”
“A little bird cheeped in his ear that she was a widow and loaded.”
“You?”
Jack nodded.
“But her name’s Filardo.”
“She remarried after Mister Donato died. Mister Filardo died too.”
“And that call you made—that was to…”
Dark City Page 28