Authors: Martin Bodenham
Before he arrived at Curly’s, Duane had twice walked by 26 Cedar to glance at the list of corporate tenants stuck on the wall just inside the glass front door. The Grannis Hedge Fund, he’d noted, was on the twenty-first floor. He stopped staring out of Curly’s window for a moment, lifted his black holdall from under his seat, and took out a few papers, spreading them next to his empty coffee mug. The shit-looks increased when it became obvious to those standing in line that he was not about to leave and was, in fact, settling in. Duane either didn’t notice them or couldn’t care less.
The image on the first sheet of paper was grainy, but it was enough to go on. The printout had come from the Grannis website, but the cheap printer back at Ink & Claret had made a poor job of capturing the photo of James Grannis. While the Grannis bio on the other sheets was long on words, it was noticeably thin on content; it was a pure PR job. From what Duane had gathered during his own research, and a few tentative inquiries made among his criminal contacts, Grannis was a career mobster. While the man wore a suit, every inch of him was a crook, a white-collar gangster who moved in circles way above Duane’s league. He’d concluded Grannis was bound to be well-protected, so getting in to see him wasn’t going to be easy.
The diner was starting to thin out and customers had begun making their way back to their Wall Street offices when Duane decided it was time to make his move. After putting a dollar tip on the table, he tapped the inside pocket of his leather jacket—the Glock was still there—and then he placed the papers back in the bag, zipped it closed, and stood up.
Moments later, he signed in at the ground floor security desk inside 26 Cedar and then swaggered over to the elevator, checking his surroundings for CCTV cameras. The man sitting behind the desk picked up the telephone and was announcing the visitor before the elevator doors had closed. It wasn’t a courtesy call, from the bit of the conversation Duane managed to hear, more a warning to those upstairs to expect trouble. It sounded as though the people on the twenty-first floor weren’t used to receiving unannounced visitors.
As the elevator creaked its way up the building, Duane rolled up his jeans and placed the Glock into a special elasticized knee-length sock so that it sat, out of sight, between the calf and ankle of his left leg.
The receptionist inside the Grannis suite looked Duane up and down when he announced he was here to see James Grannis. She seemed nervous and uncertain what to do.
“I don’t have you down as an appointment,” she said, frowning. “I’m sorry, but I’m new here. Does he know you’re coming?”
“No.” Duane leaned on the counter. “I was in the area, so I thought I’d see if he was in. I have something important to discuss with him.”
“I know he doesn’t take sales calls of any kind.”
“No, you don’t understand. It’s not a sales call. Nothing like that.”
The receptionist grazed on her bottom lip. It was clear she didn’t know how to handle this. “Does he know you?” she asked in a hesitant tone.
“We haven’t met. Just tell him I have something for him.”
“You can leave it with me. I’ll make sure he gets it.”
“This has to be dealt with in person.”
She pointed to the waiting area. “Please take a seat, and I’ll see what I can do.” She looked as though she had the weight of the world on her shoulders as she rose to her feet.
While Duane squeezed his bulky frame into one of the leather tub chairs, the young woman disappeared into a room behind reception. He could hear a discussion going on, but was unable to make out what was being said. It sounded as though she was speaking with a man back there. Clasping his hands together on his lap, he looked around the modern office, thinking what an improvement it was on his place in New Jersey. Moving dodgy money about sure paid a whole lot more than the tattoo business.
Minutes later, Bull Neck came out of the room behind reception, but there was no sign of the receptionist. “What do you want?” Bull Neck said, standing over Duane.
Duane stood up. As they stared at each other, they looked like a couple of sea lions squaring up for a fight; it was an even match.
“I’m here to see Mr. Grannis,” Duane said, with a look that challenged the other man to dare have a go.
Bull Neck’s left eyelid twitched. “He’s not expecting you. I checked.”
Duane figured he’d have to adopt a more conciliatory tone if he was going to get access to his target. There was no mileage in starting a fight out here. “I’m not here to cause a problem. There’s something he needs to know, but I can only share it with him.”
Bull Neck seemed disappointed there wasn’t going to be a scrap. He rolled his head while he thought. “Stay here,” he said before disappearing along the corridor.
As Duane shoehorned his frame back into the seat, the receptionist reappeared and busied herself with paperwork, anything to avoid eye-contact with him. Her face was bright red.
“This way,” Bull Neck said when he returned.
Duane stood up, grabbed his bag, and followed him down the corridor. When they reached the end, Bull Neck stopped and pointed to the bag.
“You can leave that with me.”
Duane dropped the bag on the floor. “There’s nothing in it.”
“Now turn around.”
“Is this necessary?” Duane asked as Bull Neck started frisking him.
The pat down seemed more for show than substance. It was over with in five seconds, and the Glock remained undiscovered tight up against Duane’s lower leg.
“Follow me.” Bull Neck picked up Duane’s bag and led him into the corner office. “He’s clean,” he said to Rondell before pointing Duane to one of the chairs.
Rondell sized up Duane for a couple of seconds. “You can leave us,” he said to Bull Neck. “Wait outside.”
“If you’re sure.” Bull Neck turned to leave, the bag still in his hand.
When the door closed, Rondell glared at Duane. “Whoever you are, you’ve got some balls breezing in here.”
Duane rubbed the stubble on his face. While he thought, he tapped his left lower calf with his right foot to make sure the weapon was where it should be.
Chapter 50
“I F
IGURED
I
F
I T
RIED
T
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M
AKE
A
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A
PPOINTMENT
, you’d never agree to see me,” Duane said, settling into his seat. “I thought if I just turned up here, there was a good chance you’d be interested in hearing what I had to say.”
“They said you had something important to tell me,” Rondell said, watching his visitor’s every move.
Duane licked his dry lips. “There’s no easy way to say this.” He shifted his weight. “The thing is, Mr. Grannis, you must have upset someone real bad.”
Rondell snorted. “I have a long list of people like that.” He broke into a half smile. “Do you have someone special in mind?”
“Yeah. Someone who’s upset enough to want you dead.”
The smile dissolved. “That list is a little shorter.”
“Well, one of them has done something about it.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Someone’s taken out a contract on you.”
“Are you serious?”
“I’m not making this up. Lucky for you, they ended up coming to see me. And while I’ve done a few things I’m not proud of, killing people ain’t one of them.”
Rondell sat upright in his chair. “You’re telling me someone has actually offered you money to take me out?”
Duane nodded. “I thought you’d want to know.”
“Is this some kind of sick joke? Do you know who I am?”
“I didn’t then, but I know now. Believe me; I wouldn’t come here to waste your time. This dude wants you dead.”
“Did he actually pay you to do it?”
“The easiest ten grand I ever made.”
“I’m insulted.”
“If I’d known who you were at the time, I’d have demanded more. Much more.”
“Anyone half serious would’ve asked for fifty.”
Duane laughed. “As I said, contract killings ain’t my game. But the guy taking out the contract seemed happy to pay. He virtually forced the money on me. He turned up with the cash right there, so I had to do some quick thinking.”
“You met him?”
“Sure did. That’s why I came to see you, Mr. Grannis. I thought you’d want to know all about him.”
“When was this?”
“A few weeks ago.”
“I’m pleased you came in. What did this idiot look like?”
“Oh, I don’t need to describe him. I can do much better than that.” Duane reached into his inside pocket and took out a folded sheet of paper. “This is an image taken from a security camera I have in my office.” He slid the paper over the desk. “I gotta be careful. You meet all sorts of weird people in my game.”
Rondell inspected it, narrowing his lips and shaking his head. The image was blurred, but it showed the top half of a man sitting on a couch in a dark room.
“I’m sorry it’s not that clear,” Duane said. “But I got his license plate, too. I’ve written it at the bottom. I’d imagine with all your connections, you’ll soon be able to track down a name.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Rondell placed the paper on the desk. “I know exactly who it is.”
“The funny thing is, he didn’t seem the kind of guy you’d expect to…”
“Pay someone to kill me?”
“Well, yeah. He seemed a little too polished. A bit preppy, if you will. I don’t know how he ended up with my name, but it was clear to me he was way out of his depth. Put it this way: he’d never done anything like this before.”
“Do you have anything else for me, Mr.—”
“Sorry. The name’s Duane Cranton. That’s all I have for you, Mr. Grannis. I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologize for. This has been real useful.”
“I run a couple of tattoo parlors in Jersey. I’m reasonably well-connected over there if you ever need anything. I mean it; if ever I can help…”
Rondell stood up. “I assume I don’t need to tell you to keep all this to yourself?”
“I won’t breathe a word.” Duane rose to his feet.
“And if he comes back to see you,” Rondell said, pointing to the black and white printout on top of the desk, “I want you to let me know.”
“Don’t worry. He won’t be back. The last thing he wanted was to see me after the hit. He was so scared, he paid me the entire amount up front.”
Rondell laughed as he opened a locked cabinet on the wall. “He paid everything in advance? Unbelievable.” He took out two bound bundles of notes and handed them to Duane. “Here’s another ten grand.”
“I don’t know what to say. I only came here today because I thought you ought to know.”
Rondell tapped Duane’s shoulders. “Call it a little bonus for being a good citizen.”
Chapter 51
A
FTER
D
UANE
L
EFT
, Rondell sat at his desk with his chair swiveled toward the window. How did Danny Boy think he could get away with something so stupid? After all this time, didn’t he understand who he was dealing with? Rondell could wipe out him and his family by making a single phone call. But he wouldn’t do that—at least, not yet. Danny Boy was still important if the fund was going to continue producing the returns he’d promised Prague. In the past few months, he’d introduced some of the best trading opportunities Rondell’s business had ever seen, and that deal flow had to continue. As much as Rondell wanted to teach him a lesson, Danny Boy was worth nothing to him dead. All the same, the man couldn’t go completely unpunished. He’d have to be shown how close he came to losing it all. He needed something to teach the conniving little shit that his life existed only as long as Rondell deemed it would.
Rondell turned back to face the desk. His handwritten note of the information Danny Boy had given him on the BIX deal was still in front of the PC. He stared at it for a moment then grabbed the keyboard. After opening Google, he typed in BIX and hit enter. There were thousands of search results, so he sorted them and scrolled through the last month’s entries. There was no mention of a bid by Scanisoft or any other company, pretty much as expected. Then he typed in Scanisoft and scrolled through their search results. He found a PDF of their most recent annual report, downloaded it, and started reading the accounts. One of the pages toward the back of the report contained a list of auditors and other key advisers. One line stood out: Legal advisers—
Brod, Haskins, & Dayton LLP
. Didn’t Danny Boy say he was the partner on the account? So why wasn’t his firm shown here? Rondell read every page, but there was no mention of Dudek, Collins, & Hamilton. An hour later, he’d searched all news coverage relating to Scanisoft for the last year, and while he found many mentions of Brod, Haskins, & Dayton, there was nothing connecting Dudek’s to the company.
Then he loaded the Dudek web site, clicked on the Contact Us page, and punched the main switchboard number into his cell phone. “Can I speak to the partner handling the work for Scanisoft?”