Naked Greed (13 page)

“How did Gino and Alfredo get along?”

“Gino gave orders, Al carried them out—as best he could. Al’s more like his mother.”

“Did he work in the business?”

“He was on the books as a salesman. I agreed with Gino to keep him on after I bought his share of the business. I guess I’ll buy it from Al now.”

“Cheaper?”

“Gino and I had a contract with a very explicit formula for determining the value of the company. All we have to do is the arithmetic, and we come up with a number. One of us buys out the other. Al will take the money and run, I expect.”

A medical examiner arrived, and the three men moved to a seating area to get out of his way, while the detectives continued to question Jerry in a desultory fashion.

Half an hour later, the ME ordered the body removed.

“What’s the verdict, Doc?” Schwartz asked.

“He took two to the head, twelve, fifteen hours ago. No sign of a struggle. Somebody will need to identify the victim.”

“He was my brother-in-law, and his name was Gino Alfredo Parisi,” Jerry said. He gave him Gino’s address and his wife’s name. “I’ll notify her.”

The ME gave him a form to sign, then left.

The two detectives stood up. “We’ll be in touch,” Mills said.

Jerry shook their hands, and they left. Jerry picked up the phone and called his sister. “Maria,” he said, “I’ve got bad news. You’d better sit down.” After that, the conversation was brief.

After Jerry hung up he felt curiously weightless, as if he were floating a few feet above the floor. He would take the day off, for appearance’s sake; he’d get through the wake and the funeral and the weeping relatives, then he’d sit Al down and take the company away from him.

The future looked sunny.

Joan buzzed Stone. “Pepe Perado on one.”

“Pepe, how are you?”

“Very well, thank you, Stone.”

“How do you find San Antonio?”

“Much as expected—less inviting, since I spent time in New York. I look forward to coming back.”

“I think you may do that without fear, now.”

“Has something changed?”

“Gino Parisi was murdered last night, and two of his henchmen have disappeared. I believe the coast is clear.”

“Then I must have a conversation with my son,” Pepe said.

“When is he coming to New York?”

“He’s not, but I haven’t told him yet—thus the conversation. I’m coming myself, instead, and I’m going to start planning a brewery.”

“Wonderful!”

“I think the boy will be fine with my decision. He was not really looking forward to New York. He’s a Texan, not a cosmopolitan.”

“When are you coming back?”

“As soon as I can square things here. Shouldn’t take long.”

“I’ll look forward to seeing you.” The two men said goodbye and hung up.

Joan came into his office. “Something has changed,” she said.

“Let me guess: the goons aren’t out there today.”

“How’d you know?”

“Because I hear that their employer met a bad end.”

“Ah. You had a call from Cessna while you were on the phone. A Ms. Pili Barker said your airplane is ready for delivery. She says you can start the acceptance inspection anytime.”

“Great news!”

“You want me to call Pat Frank and set up the inspection?”

“Please.” Pat Frank, a recent lady friend of Stone’s, had a business offering services to owner/pilots, and acceptance was one of them. “As soon as possible, please. And ask her to fly the airplane back to Teterboro when she’s done, and to put it in the Strategic Services hangar. Then call Pili Barker and ask her to send me the closing papers. I’ll sign them and send a check with Pat, so that she can close.”

Joan went to make the call.

Stone’s previous airplane had come to an explosive end, in England, and he had immediately ordered a larger replacement.

Ian Rattle knocked and came into Stone’s office, as had become his habit since his arrival. He poured himself a cup of coffee. “I had a call from Dame Felicity this morning,” he said.

“Is she well?”

“As always.”

“Has she found the mole in MI6 yet?”

“I don’t know, but you can ask her. She’s flying into New York this afternoon. She asked if you were free for dinner this evening.”

“I am, as it happens. Will you be joining us?”

“I was not invited.”

“Ah.” Stone buzzed Joan. “Please book me a table for two at eight, at Caravaggio.” He turned back to Ian. “How did she sound?”

“Very cool, as always.”

“Has cabin fever struck yet?”

“Not yet. In truth, I’m enjoying the time off, catching up on my reading, and enjoying the company of the lovely Caroline.”

Joan buzzed back and confirmed his restaurant table. “What time does her airplane get in?”

“Two o’clock, I believe,” Ian replied. “She said she’d call you.”

—

S
tone picked up Dame Felicity Devonshire shortly before eight, and Fred drove them to the restaurant. They were settled at a table, were served drinks, and ordered.

“You look radiant, as usual,” Stone said.

“Thank you, Stone. Is your houseguest behaving himself?”

“He doesn’t really have a choice, does he?”

“I suppose not.”

“Have you made any progress in the search for his betrayer?”

“The search is ongoing. Are you tiring of Ian’s company?”

“Not really, though I prefer yours.”

“You’re sweet, but you and I are not going to enjoy ourselves on this visit, not with Ian in your house and me in the embassy.”

“I’m sad. What brings you to New York?”

“I’ve come to see if I can make a place for Ian Rattle on our United Nations staff.”

“Does that mean he’ll be moving out?”

“Yes, if I can manage it. I can’t just transfer him, I’ll need our ambassador’s approval, and he’ll have to discuss it with his staff. A lot of Foreign Office people are suspicious of MI6 officers.”

“Do you think Ian would be safer here than in London?”

“I think he’d be safer almost anywhere than in London.”

“Is the sultan of Dahai not a patient man?”

“Like most multibillionaires, he is a very impatient man, and we have word that he is very angry that Ian is still alive. The twins are said to have been his favorites among his many children.”

Stone looked up, and his eye fell on the bar. Two men were just sitting down: the ex-policeman named Ryan and Al Parisi, son of Gino. “Oh, no,” he said.

“Oh, no what?” Felicity asked.

“Just a tail I thought I had lost,” Stone replied. “Excuse me for a moment.” He got up, strode into the bar, and leaned over the table where the two had sat down. “Get out,” he said.

They seemed surprised to see him. “What are you talking about?” Ryan asked.

“Get out or you’ll be spending a few days in jail.”

“Come on, Gene,” Al Parisi said, tugging at his companion’s sleeve.

“The hell you say,” Ryan replied. “I’ll drink wherever I want to.”

“Not anymore,” Stone said, producing his cell phone. “You are never again going to spend a minute where I am.” He pressed a speed dial button.

“Bacchetti.”

“I’m at Caravaggio.”

“Swell. Have some pasta for me, I’m working late.”

“I’ve been pursued here by Ryan and the little Parisi. I’d be grateful for your help with that.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Dino said. “Don’t shoot them or anything, I’ll have them out of there in minutes.”

“Thank you, Commissioner.” Stone hung up.

“Come on, Gene,” Al said, standing up.

Ryan got reluctantly to his feet. “We’re going to settle this sometime,” he said to Stone.

“No,
I’m
going to settle this if I encounter you again—anytime, anywhere.” Stone turned and strode back to his table.

“What was that all about?” Felicity asked.

“Pest control,” Stone replied.

Al Parisi was asleep when the phone rang. He ignored it, but it wouldn’t stop. He glanced at the bedside clock: a little past eleven, he wasn’t sure about
AM
or
PM
. He finally surrendered. “Hello?” he croaked.

“This is Hilda, at the office,” she said. “Mr. Brubeck wants to see you right away. It’s very, very important.”

“Okay, I can be there in forty-five minutes.” But she had already hung up. He had always hated that bitch.

Al shaved and showered and put on his best suit. This sounded like work to him, and he hadn’t been sure if there would be any more work after the old man bought it. He ran downstairs and found a cab. He hadn’t been in it for more than a minute when his cell rang. “Yeah?”

“It’s Gene. I thought of what to do about Barrington.”

“Listen, Gene, I’m on my way to see Brubeck. I think it’s going to mean more work, so just hang fire until I call you back.” He hung up. Gene wanted to kill Barrington, he knew it, and he wanted no part of it. The guy was connected at the NYPD, so why would they want to buy trouble? The old man wasn’t around anymore to order them to do it.

Al got out of the cab and ran into the office building. He emerged into the reception room, and Hilda jerked a thumb toward Jerry Brubeck’s office. “He’s expecting you.”

Al went down the hall, patted his hair down, adjusted his tie, buttoned his jacket, and knocked. “Come in, Al.”

Al opened the door and found Jerry at his desk, as usual.

“Hi, I was on my way to the wake.”

“I’ve already been,” Brubeck replied. “Have a seat.” He pointed at the comfortable chair opposite him.

Al sat down and gazed at his uncle. “So,” he said, “how are we going to work this?”

Jerry regarded him with a semblance of sympathy. “First of all, I want to offer my condolences on the death of your father.”

“Thanks.” Uncle Jerry wasn’t usually this polite to him.

“I have some good news for you.”

This he had really not expected. “Okay.”

“Your father and I had a contract that we both signed twelve years ago.” He handed Al half a dozen pages stapled together. “Look at the last page, I’ve highlighted the relevant paragraph. Read it.”

Al read it, but he wasn’t sure he understood it. “Okay, I read it.”

“What the paragraph means is, we established a formula for working out the value of the company. If either of us wanted out, or if one of us died, the other could buy his interest in the company for the result of that formula.” He handed Al a page with a lot of numbers on it. “This is how the formula worked out. Look at the last number on the bottom right. That is the calculated value of the company today.”

Al looked at the number, and he was impressed; he hadn’t had any idea what the company was worth.

“Your father owned forty percent of the company. Now look at the last number in the bottom left corner of the page. That is the value of his shares.”

Al looked at the number. “Wow,” he muttered under his breath.

Jerry handed him a check. “This is my check for that number. I’ll sign the check as soon as you sign this paper, acknowledging the proper value of the company according to the formula and accepting that sum for your father’s shares.” Jerry handed him a single page and waited for him to read it.

Al read it and looked at his uncle, dumbstruck.

Jerry handed him a pen. “Your signature, right over your name.”

Al signed the document without hesitation. Jerry took the check, signed it, and handed it to his nephew.

“That’s it, we’re done,” Jerry said. “My advice to you, for what it’s worth, is that you invest that check and live off the proceeds.” He handed Al a business card. “This is the name and number of a good stockbroker who will make sensible investments for you. If you follow his advice, you’ll be set for life. If you go out and spend all that money, you’ll be broke in a year and probably dead in a gutter somewhere.” He handed Al a thick envelope. “This contains five thousand dollars for your friend Gene Ryan. Tell him he’s fired, and that’s his severance pay. You’re fired, too. You are both now free agents. Goodbye.” Jerry stood up and offered his hand.

Al stood up and shook the hand. “Thanks, Uncle Jerry.”

“Keep those copies of all the documents and show them to a lawyer, if you want to.”

“I trust you, Uncle Jerry.”