Once a Crooked Man (25 page)

“Go out to the end and wait,” he said.

Harry walked through. The driver relocked the gate and pocketed the key. Harry watched as he disappeared back through the tunnel.

The voice of Luciano Pavarotti singing “
E lucevan le stelle
” from the last act of
Tosca
came from one of the houseboats anchored in the little marina as Harry walked along the boards. The wooden jetty moved gently beneath his feet. Tied on either side were cabin cruisers rigged for fishing trips, sleek launches built for speed and modest weekend boats. Out on the river the night chill mingled with the sun-warmed water to form a fine mist that obscured the lights of the Jersey shore.

An engine started up a short distance away and a large boat loomed out of the night heading towards the dock. The engines were put in idle and the big craft glided past. A man with a Mets cap waved for Harry to jump on board through the gap in the low railing. As he landed, the engines surged and they swung around and headed back upriver. The little man gestured that Harry should follow him aft, where he opened a door. A shaft of light rippled across the water. From inside, the smell of coffee floated on the air.

A small black box with a chrome metal hoop was moved over Harry's clothes, paying particularly close attention to his crotch and armpits. The device beeped as it passed over the clips on his suspenders. Satisfied that he was clean, the man left him alone and disappeared through a door at the far end.

The aft cabin was a storage area. On the left wall were a couple of sleeping bunks with crumpled bedding. The windows were covered with heavy black cloth. At night with her running lights off the boat would be difficult to see. Judging by the sound the engines produced, it would also be hard to catch. Boxes and bags of groceries were piled everywhere. Cans of tomato paste, a carton of Comet with a delivery slip that read:
Gazelle, Port Imperial Marina, New Jersey
. The doorway to the galley was behind a high stack of Diet Coke, Mountain Dew and V8 juice. On the counter was the aromatic coffeemaker.

The engines were abruptly shut down and the boat began to drift with the current. Waves slapped rhythmically against the hull. The forward door opened again and Harry was waved through.

In the few steps that took him to the doorway he consciously recalled how he had behaved earlier on the phone. It was imperative that he play the same character as before.

As he crossed the threshold he was surprised to see who was standing by the table in the main cabin. In his mind Harry had imagined he would be meeting with some sort of lowlife hoodlum. This man wore a smart suit over a dress shirt with a striped tie secured with a monogrammed pin.

All the curtains were closed. To the left was a small wet bar. To the right were the television and music systems fixed to long wooden shelves. The lighting was low, with most of the illumination focused on the central table. On this polished surface lay an envelope and the contents of Harry's pockets.

When an actor forgets his lines he is forced to cover the embarrassing silence that follows by making up his dialogue. Harry rarely suffered from such lapses, but when it happened he enjoyed the challenge. His talents for improvisation were now about to be sorely tested. He began strong and continued his role of a man scared and just a little bit weird.

“Are you Max?” he muttered. “Please tell me you're Max. Or that you can tell me where he is.”

“No, I am not Max. What do you want with Max?” asked the other.

“To give back the money!”

“Why do you want to give it back?”

“I don't want it! I don't want to have anything to do with it! I know now that I made a mistake. I know—”

“How did you get the money in the first place?”

Harry gave the man a hunted look as if he were trapped. “A guy named Villiers gave it to me.”

This produced a visible reaction. There was a pause. Then he was asked, “Why did he do that?”

“I have no idea,” replied Harry. “He just said, ‘It's all yours now,' and left me.”

“Do you know Eddie Ryan?”

If Harry had not met Lizzie he would not know anything about Eddie. The report in
The Telegraph
had not printed his name. He feigned puzzlement. “Eddie who?”

“Ryan. Eddie Ryan.”

“No. Who's he?”

“What about Percy Santiago?”

Santiago had been on Harry's list but he simply shook his head. “Never heard of him,” he said. “Look, can we cut to the chase? We need to agree on somewhere Max and I can meet so I can give him the money.”

“You were in the Mews in London Thursday morning?”

“Yes.”

“What were you doing there?”

Harry hesitated. If he avoided the truth it would produce a web of lies. If the man in front of him was as smart as he appeared to be, a cross-examination could get Harry in an awkward tangle. His interrogator moved to the far end of the table and sat down. “Don't you remember what you were doing?” he asked.

“Of course I can remember!” Harry shouted, and then calmed down. “I just don't quite know … where … to begin.” He pointed a shaky hand at four bottles of water on the top of the bar. “Could I have one of those?”

The man nodded. Harry walked over and took a bottle of Vermont Pure, unscrewed the cap and took a long drink.

“I'm an actor. Well, you know that by now,” he said, wiping his lips nervously. “I work in film and television and in the theater. I was auditioning in Queens for a play. I crossed the road afterwards to take a leak in a restaurant toilet but some men inside told me to fuck off so I went round the back to piss against the wall. There was a window over my head and I heard that someone was in trouble, so I made some notes of what I was hearing. Wrote them down on my cellphone and then figured out later what they meant.”

He took another drink. The man was now listening intently.

“I heard that someone called ‘Villiers' was going to be ‘dead meat.' I worked out who he was … and … well … that he lived in Kensington in a house in a Mews … and I decided the best thing to do … was to go to there and warn him. He wasn't there but I talked with his wife. She gave me tea and cakes. Look, I know this all sounds crazy, but that is exactly what happened.”

The man stood up. “You heard it all through a restaurant window?” Harry nodded as his interrogator came slowly around the table. “You flew all the way to London and went to the Mews where you talked to Villiers's wife?”

The man was close enough for Harry to read the monogram on his tiepin. The letters
EB.
Could this be Enzo? “Yes,” Harry replied. “But I thought it best not to tell her why I was there. I decided to wait for her husband.”

“And you say this Villiers just gave you the money? Just like that?”

“Yes. Obviously he mistook me for someone else. I remember he said something about Rocky.”

“Jesus Christ!” muttered the man and shook his head from side to side. “Karl!” he called out. The man with the Mets cap came back in.

“Watch him,” EB said, and crossed to the ladder. “I'm going topside.”

With his jailer standing silent by the door, Harry finished the water and set the empty bottle on the table. As he did so he was able to surreptitiously pick up his wallet, money clip and keys and slip them back into his pant pockets.

 

43

Max felt reassured. Rocco had searched Murphy's apartment and found nothing incriminating. The girl was safely locked up, and in spite of all the recent glitches, Max felt he had everything under control. Now it was time to deal with the South American.

The paging device on his desk beeped. Max read the numbers. Using a disposable cellphone, he called Enzo. His brother was highly agitated. “You remember when we all met at the Fiery Dragon the other day?”

“Yes. What about it?”

“We talked about Villiers becoming ‘dead meat'?”

“Yes,” said Max. “What about it?”

“Murphy overheard us. He was the guy that came in wanting to use the restroom. You and Sal told him to fuck off. Remember? Well, he went outside and round the back and overheard everything we said. Pieced it all together. Decided to be a good citizen and warn Villiers. Bastard flew all the way to London!”

Max sat down on the sofa and shook his head in disbelief. “You mean if I had just let this Harry fucking Murphy take a piss, none of this would have ever happened?”

“Yes, it seems so.”

“Where is he now?”

“We've got him below in the cabin. Karl's watching him.”

“What about the money?”

“He says it's in his apartment, but he's lying. It wasn't there when Rocco looked. What do you want me to do?”

“Scare the bastard. Soften him up a bit,” said Max. “Find out if he shot his mouth off to anyone.”

“Then what?”

“Then take him to the warehouse. We can interrogate both of them. I need to find out how the bastard got our contact number. I'll meet you there in an hour.”

Max tossed the phone into the wastebasket and went into the kitchen to get himself a strong cup of coffee.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he said quietly but with great expression.

 

44

Harry was wondering what EB would come up with next when the little man came back down into the cabin and reached for his coat. “Tell me, Mister Murphy, why did you let Villiers give you the case?”

“What else could I do? People were shooting guns! We were being chased through the streets. I had no idea what was inside until I got to my hotel.”

“Then what did you think it was?”

Harry exploded. “Drug money of course! What else could it be? I've seen enough movies to know it was probably that.”

“What did you do then?” the man asked, quietly putting on his coat.

“I panicked. Made up my mind to run away. I needed to give myself time to think.”

“Where is Villiers now?”

“How the fuck should I know? He wasn't too happy at being shot at.”

“And the suitcase of money?”

“In my apartment.”

“Are you sure?”

“It was there when I left.”

“Why didn't you bring it with you?”

“I thought it better to make the calls and get into direct contact with Max like Villiers said. I didn't think it was a good idea to deal with strangers.”

“Would it surprise you to know we already searched your apartment?”

“And?”

“There was no money.”

Harry acted surprised. “You're kidding me.”

“Maybe your girlfriend took it.”

“Why would she? She doesn't know anything about any of this. I just brought her along for someone to talk to. I hate being alone.”

“How did you bring so much cash into the States?” EB asked.

“I hid it in the lining of a case.”

“Really!” said EB skeptically. He turned to the man in the doorway. “I think it's time to get rid of our friend here. Go get Carlos.”

Harry had faced death on several occasions: before a firing squad, as a condemned kidnapper being led to the gallows and as an unfulfilled research scientist with a terminal illness. Each time he had searched his soul for incentives to give his characters a ring of truth. Although these performances were some of his best, none of them had actually prepared him for the real thing.

Carlos was a thug with a thick neck, one earring and scars. Harry made a desperate dash for the ladder but his foot slipped on the narrow rung and he fell backwards to the floor with a crash. EB stood aside as the two men carried him out to the stern and dumped him on the portside seat. While Carlos stood over him, Karl went forward. No doubt to mix the concrete.

Harry was going to be flung into the murky waters of the Hudson and his lungs would fill with water as he struggled to breathe. How long would the agony last? How long would it be before his brain, starved of oxygen, slipped him into oblivion? Or would it be an instant death as his heart stopped with the valves frozen in sheer terror?

EB came over and sat beside him. Harry could smell his cologne. “Do you remember anything else that might be of use to us?” he said. “Any little detail?”

“I've already told you everything I know!” squirmed Harry.

“No, I don't think you have; I think you're keeping something very important from us.”

“No I'm not!”

“That is such a shame.”

Karl appeared dragging a length of heavy chain. Carlos leaned over and grasped Harry by the shoulders.

“Hold it!” said EB.

“What?” said Carlos.

“Shut up!” said EB. “Listen!”

A chopper was approaching from down the river.

Carlos pulled out a small automatic from his Windbreaker and aimed it at Harry's zipper.

Seconds later the mist was swept away by the downdraft from the whirling blades. A searchlight snapped on and floodlit the boat. Overhead there was a crackle of static.

“You are operating without lights,” said an amplified voice. “Do you have an emergency?”

Up on the bridge the helmsman threw a switch and running lights came on from stem to stern. His laconic reply was also heavily amplified. “Sorry. We had a minor electrical problem. We just fixed it.”

The pilot hesitated for a moment as if he was deliberating what to do but then banked away. The helmsman started up the engines and the cruiser went slowly ahead as the helicopter made a complete circle and headed south. Once it was out of sight the helmsman spun the wheel and set a course for Jersey, opening the throttles wide. The hull leaned over in response to the sudden surge. Carlos lost his balance and gave a slight stagger. The automatic was momentarily thrown off target.

Harry had no desire to be listed in the end of year AFTRA/SAG obituary page so he let out a tremendous scream, kicked hard in the direction of Carlos's scrotum and flung himself backwards over the side. The plunge upside down into the Hudson made him gasp. His mouth filled with water and for a moment he lost control of his lungs and breathing. His clothes became heavy and he had to struggle hard to get to the surface. Once there he was able to recover sufficiently to take a big gulp of air. A searchlight on the upper deck of the
Gazelle
started to sweep the water, but Harry and the boat were moving apart and the beam never came close. Everyone in the boat was yelling as Harry kicked off his sneakers and trod water. Then the light on the boat went off and the boat and its unsavory crew disappeared with a roar into the dark night.