Naked Greed (5 page)

“Shut up and listen,” the man said. “You are paying unwanted attention to a gentleman visiting from Texas. This will stop now.”

“You don’t know who you’re dealing with,” Parisi said.

“We know
exactly
who we’re dealing with,” the man replied. “You are the ignorant one. You’re in over your head, and if you persist, bad things will happen to you.”

“To you, not me,” Parisi said.

The man swung his baton and connected with a knee, and Parisi went down. “Would you like me to use it on your face?”

“No!” Brubeck said, suddenly coming alive. “We get the message, so back off.”

“We’ll do that,” the man said. “But just this one time. Don’t make it necessary for us to come back.” The four men got into their two cars and drove down the garage ramp at a leisurely pace.

Brubeck helped Parisi to his feet. “You want a hospital, Gino?”

“They’re the ones gonna want a hospital,” Parisi replied, dusting himself off and rubbing his wrist.

“Gino, we don’t want a war,” Brubeck said. “Wars cost too much.”

“You think I’m going to let Perado get away with that?”

“I think it’s best if we forget about Perado.”

“He’s going to buy out Winkle,” Parisi said.

“We should have made Winkle a better offer. There’s no chance of a deal now, and we don’t really know who we’re dealing with here.”

“I’ll find out,” Parisi said.

“Gino, if you do this, we’ll have to kill somebody. We’re going good, here—don’t fuck it up.”

“I’m going to fuck
them
up,” Parisi said. He got into his car and drove toward the ramp.

“Oh, shit,” Brubeck said aloud to himself.

As Stone’s day ended Joan came into his office carrying a vase containing two dozen red roses. “Where would you like these?”

“At a nearby hospital,” Stone said, embarrassed.

“Be sure and read the card.” Joan left the roses on his desk and went back to her office.

Stone stood and walked around the desk and the huge bouquet. A card was nestled among the roses. It read:
What a nice evening! More, please!

Stone’s nether regions tingled.

“Hey, nice!” a voice behind him said.

Stone whirled to find Dino standing behind him.

“You sending yourself flowers these days?”

Stone muscled the heavy vase over to a side table and relieved himself of the load. “A sort of joke,” he said.

Dino walked over to the vase and plucked the card from the roses. “Sounds like a grateful woman to me.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” Stone asked irritably.

“I was in the neighborhood, and my alarm watch told me it’s the cocktail hour.”

“Help yourself and make me one,” Stone said, flopping onto the comfortable sofa.

Dino went to the cabinet that concealed a small bar and an ice machine, poured a Johnnie Walker Black and a Knob Creek, handed Stone his, then sat down. “I hear that Jerry Brubeck and Gino Parisi had an exciting day,” he said.

“And how did you come by that information?”

“I happened to have two detectives on the scene. They were going to call on the Bowsprit Beverages management and have a word with them, but as they were getting out of their car they witnessed a little scene.”

“What sort of scene?”

“There were four of them, and Gino was frightened enough to pull a gun on them. One of them produced a police baton and appeared to break Gino’s wrist. Words followed, and Gino took another whack to the knee and went down.”

“Anybody get arrested?”

“For what? Nobody got shot, and I’m sure Gino must have a license for his .38. He was pretty mad, though.”

“Parisi the younger and Ryan are still hanging around Pepe Perado, apparently waiting for a chance to get at him.”

“So the encounter in the garage was just preventative maintenance?”

“You could put it that way.”

“My detectives said the four explainers were the biggest, ugliest guys they had ever seen at one time in one place. How is it that you come to know such people?”

“I don’t know them, they were recommended by a friend.”

“Ah, a whiff of Mike Freeman is in the air,” Dino said, sounding amused. “I got a call a few minutes ago. Gino Parisi was heard speaking to a cousin of his from Brooklyn, not the nice part. Your name came up.”

“You’ve got Parisi wired?”

“Only his home, his office, and his car. We held off on the locker room at his golf club out of simple human decency. My guys don’t like to listen in on naked men.”

“How long?”

“Long enough.”

“What was said about me?”

“Let’s just say it was uncomplimentary. Apparently, either Ryan or Parisi the younger recognized you, and Gino put two and two together.”

“So?”

“So, I’d watch my ass, if I were you.”

“Parisi will get over it.”

“On his car phone he said he was having to use speakerphone, because his right hand wasn’t working. I think you’ll be on his mind at least until he can play ‘Chopsticks’ on the piano again. With both hands.” Dino took a swig of his scotch and nodded toward the roses. “Who’s the grateful woman?”

“Her name is Caroline Woodhouse. She works for Brad and Stan Kelly.”

“Sounds like you’d better get plenty of rest and exercise.”

“Exercise shouldn’t be a problem.”

Dino laughed. “What’s the calorie count on the missionary position these days?”

“Let’s just say that I lost a couple of pounds.”

Dino looked at his watch. “C’mon, I’ll buy you an early dinner. Viv’s flight doesn’t get in until later tonight.”

Stone drained his glass and stood up. “I’m game.”

—

T
hey settled into a corner table at P. J. Clarke’s, and somebody brought them another drink.

“Tell me about Brubeck and Parisi the elder,” Stone said.

“They’re from the old-time mob tradition,” Dino replied. “Parisi’s father was Carlo Parisi—remember him?”

“The Butcher of Brooklyn? We were younger then.”

“Wasn’t everybody? Bowsprit Beverages was the old man’s business,” Dino said, “under another name. He delivered bootleg booze out of there in the twenties, slot machines and jukeboxes in the fifties, drugs in the sixties.”

“What’s the current Parisi dealing in?”

“Anything he can think of, apparently. Our organized crime division likes him for a couple of murders, too. Brubeck is the accountant and runs the legit stuff. He has a family connection, too, but he’s the more refined, commuter stiff from New Jersey. Parisi, on the other hand, remains ungentrified.”

“I guess I’m out of touch,” Stone said. “I didn’t know those guys still existed.”

“Parisi is doing what he can to uphold the family tradition. Brubeck just wants to make money and give it to his synagogue.”

“Haven’t you got enough on Parisi to send him up?”

“Parisi may be crude, but he’s not stupid. The call he made from his car was to a throwaway cell phone. He doesn’t care if we know what he does, as long as we don’t have enough evidence to convict him of it.”

“What about Ryan and Parisi the younger?”

“They’re carried on Bowsprit’s books as soft drink salesmen: you don’t need a license for that. They’re the kind of salesmen who walk into a joint and tell the manager he’s taking twenty cases of diet soda this week, whether he needs it or not. If he doesn’t buy, they break a bar mirror, and he signs the order, knowing it’ll be an arm next time and his neck the time after that.”

“What’s the relation between the two Parisis?”

“Father and son—the boy is Alfredo, called Al.”

“And the son continues the tradition?”

“I don’t think Al is being groomed for greatness. Gino must have married stupid—genes will tell every time.”

They ordered dinner.

“So, should I go armed?”

“It couldn’t hurt.”

“For how long?”

“Until somebody zips Gino Parisi into a body bag.”

“Swell.”

As Dino’s car dropped Stone at home his cell phone rang.

“Hello?”

“It’s Caroline. Where are you?”

“Just arrived home from dinner with a buddy. You want to know what I’m wearing?”

“I don’t care what you’re wearing, I just want to tear it off.”

“Will right now do?”

“Right now is good. I’m on my way.” She hung up.

—

S
he was there in ten minutes, and it took them another three to make it upstairs and into bed. “I knew you’d be ready,” she said, biting him on a nipple. “I’m beginning to think you’re a sex addict, too.”

“I think I’m well on the road,” he replied, between deep breaths.

“I’ll do everything I can to help.”

“You’re helping right now,” he said, turning her over onto her belly.

—

W
hen they had exhausted each other Stone remembered to thank her for the roses.

“You’re welcome,” she said. “I didn’t want you to think I wasn’t grateful.”

“You’re the most grateful woman I’ve ever known,” Stone said. “By the way, we have to take some precautions.”

“Nope, I had an IUD installed years ago.”

“That’s not what I mean. I have a client who is in a business that some mob guys don’t want him to be in. They pushed him, and on his behalf, I pushed back, a little harder than I intended.”

“Do I want to know the details of all this?”

“You do not—you may not. The upshot is, it’s their turn to push again, and I’ll be going armed for a while.”

“Armed with what?”

“A very nice little .45.”

“What do you mean by ‘little’?”

“Nineteen ounces.”

“You mean you had a thirty-nine-ounce piece whittled down?”

“No, it was custom-made.”

“Let me see it.”

“What do you know about guns?”

“Everything I need to know. I had a daddy who loved them.”

Stone got out of bed, went to his safe, got out the little Terry Tussey .45, popped the magazine, locked the slide open, and took it back to her.

She examined it carefully, unlocked the slide, and aimed it at something. “It’s beautiful,” she said, “but with a barrel that short I wouldn’t expect to hit anything much beyond my reach.”

“With a little practice, you’d improve. I’m okay with it up to about fifteen feet if I have time to aim, eight or ten feet if I don’t.”

“Are these the kind of guys who are going to wait around for you to aim?”

“I don’t think they’ll want to kill me—that’s a lot of trouble, and a murder creates a lot of unnecessary risk. More likely they’ll just want to show me the business end of a baseball bat.”

She ran her finger down his nose. “Keep them away from this,” she said. “I like it.” She reached lower. “And especially away from this.”

“You don’t think a broken nose would add character to my bland face?”

“It’s got enough character. Why are you telling me about this?”

“Because I don’t want you to get in the middle.”

“Sometimes I like it in the middle.”

“Not that kind of middle. I don’t want you to get between me and some thug.”

“You mean it would hurt you more than it would hurt me?”

“Exactly.”

“How do you propose we deal with this?”

“Well, I don’t think they could get into the house, and certainly not into this room.”

“So we just send out for pizza and Chinese?”

“For a while. And when you come over I’ll send Fred for you.”

“He looks a little small for that kind of job,” she said.

“Don’t underestimate him. He’s a former Royal Marine commando and a dead shot, and he has a carry license. The car is armored, too.”

“What are you doing with an armored car?”

“It was accidental,” Stone said. “A while back I made a little money, and I thought I’d buy a Mercedes. I went into the dealership and they had a lightly armored E55 on the floor. A guy in some sort of rough business had ordered it, but it arrived a few days late, so I bought it from his widow. Later on I totaled it, and a friend in the security business had an armored Bentley in their garage and gave me a deal on it.”

“What will it stop?”

“Small-arms fire, through the glass or the doors, and a not-too-big bomb underneath.”

“That sounds very comforting. I have a range license, so I can get away with carrying in my purse.”