Except for the Bones (35 page)
“
I was. But I wasn’t figuring on any delay. I thought you were talking about now, give it to her now.”
“Okay. Forget about the delay. What’d you figure?”
“Well, I was figuring maybe get together some money, but mostly jewels. Unmounted jewels, that’s better than gold.”
Venezzio nodded. “Okay. So then what?”
“Well, where’s she live? In California?”
“Right.”
“Okay. So we collect, just to say something, let’s say a couple of hundred thousand in old money. Then we get, say, eight hundred thousand in jewels.
Good
jewels.”
“I was thinking a million and a half. But the jewels, that’s good.” Approvingly, Venezzio nodded. “They’re better than cash, if there’s inflation. And lighter than gold.” He nodded again.
“And easier to sell, if you do it right. Gold, there’s a paper trail a lot of times.”
“Okay,” Venezzio said. “We get the jewels. Then what?”
“Well, I was thinking she should get maybe five safe-deposit boxes, in different cities, whatever. And—”
“I don’t know.” Dubiously, Venezzio shook his head. “Safe-deposit boxes—all it takes is a judge and a court order, and the feds’re all over you.”
“Yeah, but she’s clean, isn’t she?”
Emphatically, Venezzio nodded. “She’s clean. Absolutely.”
“Okay—well—safe-deposit boxes, that’s only one idea I had. The other idea, I had something fancy.”
Venezzio frowned. “Fancy? What?”
“We give her a house, and hide the stuff in it. You know—in the walls, under the floor, whatever. When the time comes, I tell her where to look.” Bacardo spread his hands. “No problem.”
As Venezzio considered, he gestured for them to turn, begin another lap, walking parallel to the wall. Finally he shook his head. “It might leak out. You know—carpenters, whatever.”
“We must have somebody can hammer a nail. That’s all it’d take.”
“I want only one guy in on this. You. Or maybe one other guy, if we need him. But I’ve got to know this other guy. And I don’t know any carpenters.”
“This whole thing, it isn’t easy. I mean, if you want me to put a million five together, get somebody to ride shotgun, and we get on a plane and I fly out to California, or wherever, that’s one thing. But if you want to stash the stuff until, God forbid, you die, that’s something else. And you can’t write it down, ‘open on my death,’ anything like that. So that means when the time comes—maybe a year from now, maybe five, ten, twenty years from now—I find her and I say—”
“No. That’s wrong. We’re just talking about when I’m in here. Ten years. No more.”
“Okay. Ten years. So what’m I going to do, put the stuff in my hall closet for ten years? Do I want that responsibility? Let’s face it, some of the guys—Cella, let’s say, he finds out …” He let it go ominously unfinished.
“No,” Venezzio said. “I’m not saying any hall closet. But the stuff’s got to be safe.”
“For ten years, safe? Without even Louise knowing?” Bacardo shook his head. “Things happen in ten years. Let’s say, God forbid, you should die in here. So then Cella decides, hey, he’ll whack me, make his move. So what then? Where’s Louise then, if—?”
“Wait.” Venezzio held up a hand. “Wait, I think I know a way.”
“Hmmm.” Deliberately, Bacardo let the skepticism show. Was Don Carlo losing it?
“I’m going to figure someplace for the stash. I’ll decide on one guy to handle it. He’ll know where he’s stashing something, but he won’t know what it is. All he’ll know is that he’s doing something for me. So—” Venezzio broke off, letting the words catch up to the thoughts. His eyes had sharpened, working out the plan, seeing how it would go. His voice, too, was sharpening: “So you’ll collect the stuff, and get it ready. So then our guy, the one I pick, he gets the bundle from you. He doesn’t know what’s in it, and you don’t tell him. It’s just a bundle, period. He takes the bundle, does what I tell him to do. So after he’s done the job, you come here. I give you four or five words, whatever. Then I tell Louise to come here, later. I’ll give her four or five words, too, to put together with the words you’ve got. So you put them together, and you know where the bundle is.”
Slowly, thoughtfully, Bacardo nodded. “Yeah, that could work. That could work fine.”
“Okay, then.” As he spoke, Venezzio gestured to the door that led to the administration building, where a guard waited to pass them through. Now Venezzio’s voice was fading; in his eyes, the deal-making glint had dulled. “Okay, so you start getting it together—a little cash, maybe fifteen, twenty gold coins, but mostly jewels. Diamonds, mostly. Use Fineberg. You can’t do better than Fineberg. But pay him twelve percent, no more. Otherwise, he gets his legs broken. Right?”
Bacardo nodded. “I agree. Fineberg.”
“I’m not kidding, though, about the legs. The last time we did business together, he was right on the edge. Tell him that. Then remind him about Tony G., about what can happen.”
“I don’t think I have to remind him. I think he knows.”
“Just make sure he knows.”
“I’ll make sure.”
“The jewels—Fineberg knows: big ones, unmounted. He’ll know. A million dollars, you can hold in one hand.”
“I know.”
“So—what—six months to get the stuff together, play it safe?”
“Maybe eight, nine months. Business is off, you know. There’s a lot of our guys with not much to do. So they start asking questions, looking around, thinking about the angles.”
“Well, whatever. Nine months, a year, whatever. But keep your ass covered. This one, it’s got to be done right.”
“Sure. Of course.” Bacardo let it show, his irritation that the other man would think he had to spell it all out.
And, as if he was tuned in, his special gift, Venezzio said, “Sorry, Tony. I’m—suddenly I’m tired. You understand.”
“Sure, I understand. No problem.”
“Okay. So we’re all set, then.”
“All set.”
“Don’t forget what I said, about Fineberg.”
Bacardo nodded, but decided not to reply.
Was
Don Carlo losing it? Or was he just tired, after the heart attack?
They were almost to the door, which the guard was opening with his key. “About Cella,” Venezzio said. “Keep in touch with him. Make sure he understands about Tony G.”
“Sure. I already told you, he understands.”
“Just make certain. War, we don’t need.”
“War?” Bacardo broke stride, looked at the other man.
“War?”
“Just keep in touch with him. Next time, you pick up the check for lunch. Got it?”
“Got it.”
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1991 by Collin Wilcox
Cover design by Michel Vrana
978-1-4804-4650-2
This 2013 edition distributed by MysteriousPress.com/Open Road Integrated Media
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