Odd Jobs (40 page)

“Do you have an airtight case?” I ask.

“I think so, but I’ve thought so before. Hey, guess what, kid? I got you some alone time with the Pope.”

“Alone time with Wellington?”

“Listen to this, you’re going to love it. My guys told him we would give him a one-time chance to a plea bargain.”

“He’s getting a plea bargain?”

“Of course not, I did this for you. We explained that a civilian who’s been involved with both Wellington and Balducci would negotiate something under the radar, something unofficial. We told him it was you. You’re going to be listed as family friend. Since you were cooperating with us and you can be considered a family friend, Wellington bit. He had to agree to waive the right to an attorney and respond to some preliminary terms you were going to present him. If we were close on these preliminary terms then we would talk officially. But right now, this is what we got.”

“He agreed?” I ask.

“Even better. He suggested he bring his daughter in, the one you used to date.”

They’re so fucking arrogant. They figure she can wrap anyone around her finger. “I can speak to both of them?”

“Yeah, they’re waiting down the hall. Listen, tell me again that you won’t lay a hand on him.”

I tell him that I understand the situation, I appreciate what he did for me, and I’m not going to ruin anything for him. He says I’ve got 10 minutes with them.

Curtis completes my briefing as he leads me to the office where Buster and C.W. are waiting. The information Curtis gives me is mind-blowing.

“C’mon, Buster Wellington?” I ask. I just smile. Wellington needs to hear what I have to say and I need to say it.

Curtis leads me to some sort of sloppy police accountant’s office instead of the cool room I imagined with two-way minors and recording devices. There are so many files most of the floor is covered. I see Buster and C.W. waiting inside. The idea of Buster Wellington needing my help is a riot. Buster Wellington is sitting on a chair, his bowtie miraculously high and tight around his neck. His head’s a different story. His head is bearing all the weight, slumping and hanging heavy in hands that are still cuffed. C.W. is quietly standing next to him.

I enter the room and say, “Mr. Wellington, they told me I may be able to help.”

C.W. tries to nod at me, but the effort is forced. Buster pops up and says, “Kevin. Kevin, son, you know what a mistake this is?”

“Yeah, it sounds like this is a huge mistake,” I say. C.W. leans toward me and forces a smile. “I mean how can this be true?”

Wellington asks, “What do you know? What do they say they have?”

“Sir, I don’t know everything, but the stuff I know is outrageous. What they’re saying is crazy. If this stuff gets out there, it’ll ruin you. You know how perception becomes reality. We have to stop this.”

“Son, can you help us? What are they claiming?”

“Well for starters, they have info on you from all the way back in the late ‘80s and early ‘90s. How you were developing shopping centers and strip malls in New Jersey and Staten Island.” C.W. looks confused and I continue. “But that can’t be the case. We all know that a Wellington wouldn’t be involved in that kind of real estate development. Shit, they have you owning run-down apartment buildings in the Bronx. There’s no way you would ever do such a thing.”

“Son, that’s not enough to arrest me. Do you know anything else?”

“Anything else?
I
would think that alone would be upsetting.
I
mean, the way you always preached how you earn money is more important than making it at all.
I
mean, you a
slumlord?
Ridiculous!”

Wellington is irritated and asks, “What else are they saying?”

“They say you were crushed in the real estate crunch in the early ‘90s. They say you owed a ton of money.”

“They do, do they?”

“Obviously, there’s no reason to arrest a guy for that,”
I
say, “but this is where it gets nuts. They claim you have all sorts of financial problems. Can you imagine that? Buster Wellington with financial problems? As if! And they say they have proof of you taking the money and properties you have left and funding a bunch of Mafia guys. Ha!”

I can see Buster’s Adam’s apple rise in his throat. I can see he knows that I know.

“The thing that they actually can prove is that you,
Buster Wellington, were working with Jimmy Balducci. Now you may not realize this, but
I
recently had some problems with Mr. Balducci because I found out that he killed my father.”
I
pause, wait and turn toward C.W. “C.W., can you imagine how you would feel if you found the person who killed your father?”

She returns a blank stare and looks as awkward as she’s ever been in her life. She does manage to nod once. She knew her father was a crook, but
I
wonder if she knew he was a killer as well.

“So it gets me thinking further. I get a plan going against Jimmy Balducci and, son of bitch, it’s working and I’m getting it done. I’m closing in, and it’s just a matter of time before people start making the connection, that important line that connects Buster Wellington and Jimmy Balducci.” I look at Buster and ask rhetorically, “So you know what you do? You actually have your daughter call me to meet me out at the Piping Rock Country Club. I don’t know what she knows at this point, but sure as shit, she knows something’s up with dear pops. She’s going to persuade me to call off the dogs, right? She couldn’t give a rat’s ass about me, but for a short while she could put on a little act and perhaps persuade me, er, manipulate me.”
I
turn toward C.W. “What was the bullshit you were spewing? ‘Oh, I miss you because you’re the only real person.’ Holy shit, how did you manage to keep a straight face?” I turn back to Buster and say, “Mr. Wellington, do you mind if I ask you a question?”

Buster stares back at me.

“C’mon, Mr. Wellington, work with me here,” I say. “How far was she going to go with me? Did you send your little princess out to have sex? Can you actually rationalize that being okay? What the fuck was going on in your warped mind? Was she going to get me thinking with my dick to drop the whole thing? I’m just a slob from Hempstead, after all, so indulge me while I ask this one important question. In lowly Hempstead, we have a name for people who send girls out to have sex. They’re called pimps. But my goodness, C.W., if your dad is out there pimping you, that would mean there’s a word describing you too. Do you know that word?”

That finally gets a reaction from Buster. “Just stop, Kevin.” He draws a deep breath to maintain composure and says, “I understand you were sent here to negotiate some pre-terms. They had some terms to present me. What are the terms they are presenting?”

“Of course! The terms. Here they are. There are roughly five mountains of information that tie you into murder, extortion, theft and even treason. By the way, nice move getting involved with Iran. It should make really interesting conversation for you and your friends at the next equestrian event. Anyway, they have so much information, so much evidence. Yet, they’re going to offer you a plea deal. Do you know what that’s going to be?” There is no answer. “C’mon, take a guess.”

He’s fuming with irritation. “What?”

“Nothing. You get nothing. There is never going to be a plea deal. So you better get every fucking connection your blue-blood family has and get them cracking.”

“I see.”

“No, you don’t see because now I’m going to give you my terms. You probably have thoughts of beating this rap. You probably think with some dream team of legal experts you can find a technicality and walk. Hell, even if you lose and go to jail, you might think you’ll get off early with good behavior. But here’s what I came in this room to tell you. I will be breathing down your neck every breath you take in this world. I can’t break your back now, but man, I can taste it. That day will come. I’m the only person who hopes you find the technicality and avoid jail. Because when that happens, I will hunt you down and treat you like the low-class scum you have always been. All these years you’ve been hiding behind expensive wine and Italian suits, but in reality you’re a tiny little person and you don’t measure up to anyone in Hempstead. Man, heart isn’t birthright. You were always the poorest guy in the room. I just had to understand that. But I’ll tell you what, I can make this whole thing disappear. Even after everything I just said, I can make this all go away if you do one thing for me.”

Buster’s face is red with anger, but he’s out of options. “What do you need?”

“It shouldn’t be too tough for you. I need my father, I need my sister and I need Rocky. You bring them back to me and
I’ll
make this go away.”

Naturally, there is no response.

“And C.W., my guess is you are really in for a rough ride now. All the manipulating you’ve been doing throughout the years may come back to bite you now. You think the social crowd you’ve been hangin’ with is inviting you to dinner? Well, maybe you’ll be a novelty at first, but if I were you I would expect
a
degree of separation from the people you think are your friends now. Trust me, that shit stings. But keep your chin up; there’s got to be some 80-year-old billionaire who’s willing to take you in and give you the things you’ve grown so accustomed to. As for you and me, you don’t have to be concerned. Believe me, I understand more than you think. I’m willing to do anything to revenge my father’s killing, and you were willing to get in bed with me to help protect your father. I have to live with a lot of consequences since I went on my quest, and you have to live with being the whore you are.”

A detective pops his head in the room and says, “You folks have to wrap this up. Are you done talking?”

I stare as intently as possible at Buster Wellington. “I’ve said everything I need to say tonight. But we’re not done talking, not by a long shot. Mr. Wellington, I look forward to the next time we meet.” I look at the detective and then back at Mr. Wellington and say, “Please, don’t ever hesitate to call me, Mr. Wellington. Really, if you need anything, I’ll always be a close personal friend to this family.”

I turn my back on the Wellingtons and leave. The detective leads me down the hallway where Sev greets me. My throat is swollen and my breathing isn’t stable. I feel so shitty, so frustrated and so helpless.

Sev notices that I’m not myself. He asks, “Are you okay?”

I attempt to tell him I’m fine, but when I try to move my mouth to say something, nothing comes out. Emotions are
overflowing and
I think I’m going to start blubbering like I did in the hospital room. Somehow I manage to keep it together.

Sev sees me shaking. “Kevin, let’s grab some air.” He leads me out the front door, past the armed security guard and out into the federal building courtyard. It’s dark and the night is clear and warm. Sev and I walk along the streets and, thank God, he’s not pushing any conversations. We walk past the closed retail stores and continue down to the construction site where the World Trade Center is being rebuilt. We’ve walked a good 10 minutes without talking. Finally, when I know I’m past crying,
I
say, “Damn it Sev, it’s not enough. I got to get him.”

“We’ve been through that; we made a deal with Curtis. Right?”

“Yeah Sev, we made a deal.”

“C’mon, you took out Jimmy Balducci, you orchestrated a chain of events that got everyone on Industrial Road their lives back. Don’t be too tough on yourself.”

“Sev, I got Rocky killed. You can’t understand how that feels.”

“Oh I don’t? Remember, I told you I trained a battalion that slaughtered innocent children. Believe me, I know how much you hurt right now. I know.”