Once a Crooked Man (26 page)

The current was slowly but steadily sweeping him downstream towards the Verrazano Bridge and out into the Atlantic Ocean where New York City once dumped its rotting garbage. Not a problem. Long before he got there he would be swimming with the fishes.

Harry couldn't see the shore clearly through the light mist but he reckoned he was about 250 yards out. He calculated the odds. On the positive side, he was a good swimmer and had frequently swum far longer distances in the ocean or while doing laps in the pool. On the negative side, there was the strong current and the disturbing fact that he hadn't swum a yard for at least ten years.

For the first hundred strokes he could hear the music from the houseboat. Now they were listening to
The Damnation of Faust
by Hector Berlioz. As the devil rode his horse to the abyss, the mist swirled about Harry. As the tide took him along the music faded. Soon his sodden shirt impeded his progress, so he stopped swimming and stripped it off. As he did the red suspenders snapped off and sank into the depths.

He swam slowly and rhythmically, the sound of the traffic on the West Side Highway giving him a rough idea of the direction he should aim. The water was not particularly cold, but after a while his body began to chill. To keep his mind positive he filled it with random thoughts, starting with the names of all the movies he had done and locations he had visited. These images were abruptly halted when something scratched his face and he became entangled in the branches of a drifting tree. At first he struggled to get loose but then found he could support his weight on a submerged limb. Able to lift his head out of the water, he took advantage of a welcome breather.

As he floated along on his improvised raft the mist cleared. As if by magic, the brilliant night skyline of Manhattan came into view. In spite of his predicament, Harry couldn't help marveling at the magnificent sight.

To his relief he saw that he had overestimated the distance. Dry land was about a hundred yards away. However, the tide was moving fast and time was now becoming the dominant factor. Abandoning the branch he plunged back into the open water and swam with his energy renewed.

But not for long. Harry was sadly out of shape and his muscles began to let him down. As he weakened, the weight of his pants increased. Lifting his arms out of the water became a Herculean effort. Lethe numbness dulled his senses. And then to his amazement his body became toasty and warm! He felt fine!

He was unaware that his considerate nerve endings were sending false messages to his befuddled brain to help him overcome his imminent death.

 

45

The phone beeped again. Max put the coffee down and retrieved the device from the wastebasket.

“Murphy's in the river,” said Enzo.

“For fuck's sake!” said Max. “I said soften him up a little, not drop him in the fucking river.”

“We didn't drop him in the river. We just wanted him to piss his pants and tell us what we wanted to know. The bastard jumped! I think we scared him a little too much.”

“Could he make it to shore?”

“I doubt it. The current is real strong out there. Tide's going out. I don't think they'll ever find his body.”

 

46

Lizzie had managed to make a small indentation with her nail file under the old door. With her head on the floor, she was able to see the pipe that wedged it shut. The trick was to find a way to dislodge it. At the side of the cubicle doors were lengths of rotted molding. She pried off a piece, lay down again on the floor and pushed it under. It was just possible to tap the bottom of the pipe. After several hundred of these her arms and neck ached but the pipe was loosening. A door upstairs banged. Footsteps crossed the hall. Lizzie threw the molding away and hunched down against the wall.

The door was opened by the man who had abducted her. Behind him in the shadows stood a new figure. “Take her upstairs, Rocco,” he said. “I can't see a damn thing down here.”

Lizzie got up off the floor and put her purse over her shoulder. Rocco propelled her up to the first floor and into what was once the reception office. The other man followed. Rocco slid over a wooden crate and sat her down. A shaft of light from the street shone across her face.

“Where are you from?” asked the stranger still in shadow.

“London,” she replied.

“London, England?”

“Yes.”

“How long have you known Murphy?”

“Harry? Not long. Only a few days, in fact. He said he would show me around New York.”

“Where d'you meet him?”

“In a coffee shop at the top of Regent Street. For your information, that is also in London, England. I was in line to pay when I realized I'd left my change purse in the car. Harry was standing next to me in the queue. He offered to pay for my Cappuccino.”

“Go on.”

“We got to chatting and he said he was going to America this weekend on business. Would I like to go with him? He said he hated flying alone and would pay for my ticket. Well, I jumped at the chance. I mean, who wouldn't? Usually when I go places it's always for work and the company pays. I don't never have no spare time. This was a chance to come over and have some fun.” She grimaced. “Little did I know.”

“What do you do for a living?”

“I do research for a package tour operator that sends tourists all over Europe. I go first to make sure all the hotels and restaurants are up to par and not gone all skanky.”

“Skanky?”

“You know. Gone off. Hotels where they curry cans of dog food. Pass turkey breast off as Veal Scallops.”

“Did he seem nervous on the flight? Jumpy?” asked her captor.

“Far as I can make out, Harry's always jumpy and nervous. That's the way he is.”

“What luggage did he bring with him?” asked the other.

Lizzie paused to remember. “He had two bags. One was blue plastic. The other was old and made of leather. Heavy it was.”

“Where is Murphy now?”

“Don't ask me. All he said when I left was that he had some business to do and expected to be finished in time to take me to dinner. Look, I come over here to bloomin' New York for a holiday and I go out for a little walk around the shops and the next thing I know your mate here is going through my things and chucking everything on the floor. Then he pulls out a gun and tells me he'll shoot me if I cause trouble. Well, I have no intention of causing trouble to you or anyone else. All I want to do is get on a plane and go home.”

The stranger came over and knelt down. Lizzie looked into eyes that were a deep brown. He had strong features but looked tired as if he needed a good night's sleep. He was also in need of a shave.

“I like the way you say ‘research' and ‘bloomin' New York,'” he said quietly.

“Thank you. I'm glad you like it,” she replied flatly.

“I'm afraid your friend Harry won't be taking you to dinner tonight.”

“Why not?”

“Because he's dead.”

Lizzie gave a gasp. “How…?”

“Mr. Murphy fell into the Hudson River. He drowned.”

The man abruptly stood up and walked away leaving her in a state of shock. Almost as suddenly Lizzie found herself taken roughly by the arms and propelled down the stairs. The door to her cell was slammed shut and the pipe firmly dug into the floor.

She stood motionless in the center of the dark, silent space.

Harry Murphy was dead?

For the first time in her life she was totally at a loss. She had fucked up royally. She was a prisoner of a bunch of thugs in a foreign land and she was definitely expendable. The man with the tired brown eyes had openly used the other man's name.

In spite of top-level requests from London, Marty MacAvoy had made no bones about his reluctance to get involved in her scheme.

For all intents and purposes her life was over.

 

47

The uppermost floor of the warehouse where Lizzie lay languishing had originally been a row of five small storage rooms. Vic Bruschetti now used the farthest as his office. The adjoining one housed the very expensive machines he and his associates used to print out counterfeit credit cards. Once a month, bundles of these were delivered to a network of operatives who used them briefly and then destroyed them before any of the transactions could be traced. To provide space for a new project, the wall between the next two had recently been removed. Only the first room was unused.

The merchandise bought by these operatives went to equally untraceable addresses where it was collected, warehoused and then sold openly through Amazon, eBay and elsewhere. Ninety percent of the cash thus generated found its way back to legitimate commercial bank accounts personally controlled by Vic.

To warn of any unwanted snoopers a thin strand of monofilament was stretched six inches above the seventh tread of the top flight of the stairs. This ran from the balustrade through a small plastic ring on the wall opposite and down to a can filled with an amber liquid. Below this was a plate covered with a white powder. The slightest movement of the filament would tip over the cup. When the two substances mixed, a gas would be produced that induced paroxysms of coughing.

Stepping carefully over this wire, Max went up and along the corridor to the last room. He was about to knock on the door when a voice inside said, “Come in, Max. It's open.”

Vic was sitting at his desk typing on his Dell laptop surrounded by piles of papers. Above his head was a row of security monitors. Max pulled out a folding metal chair and sat down. “I don't understand why you keep that goddam thing on the stairs when you have the building on video.”

“May I remind you, Max,” said the young man as he continued to type, “what you and Dad used to say to me? ‘Measure twice, cut once.' I've never forgotten that. Security is an obsession with me. I can't imagine being any other way. Jack drives me crazy sometimes. He can be stupidly careless.”

“Where is your electronic genius right now?”

“Jack took in all our RFID readers. He had to re-engineer them because of a bunch of new FBI modifications. Didn't take him long. He's out delivering them. Should be back soon.”

“Well, let's hope not too soon, because I have something to run by you.” He nodded at the laptop. “Can you quit work for just a moment? I'd like your undivided attention.”

For the next ten minutes Vic listened as Max told him how the Bruschetti brothers were about to close down all questionable activities and take an early retirement.

Vic smiled ruefully. “I'm a bit young for a rocking chair on the porch.”

“True,” said Max.

“I can see why you're doing this and why Dad sent you to tell me. But why does your quitting have to include Jack and me? I don't get the connection.”

“I spoke earlier with Carter. He feels if we're going to do this we have to make it total.”

“That stupid prick would say that,” Vic said with feeling. “But before I answer you, there's something you should know.” He stood up and came out from behind his desk. “Your timing couldn't be worse. Jack and I have been branching out with a new project that is close to completion. When that happens I can guarantee a very big payoff.”

“How much time would you need to finish it?” asked Max.

Heavy footsteps could be heard down the corridor. Vic glanced up at the monitors.

A tall individual appeared in the doorway with flowing hair, a wide forehead and deep-set eyes. Below these were fleshy cheeks, an enormous nose and large lips. The skin was pockmarked and scarred. To compensate for this grotesque appearance, Mother Nature had made Jack Blackthorn exceedingly smart.

Uncle Sam snapped him up when he graduated from MIT and put him to work in a laboratory deep in the deserts of New Mexico. However, the scientist was unable to submit to what he considered excessive secrecy and in less than a year he was summarily fired. Few were willing to hire him and as his debts mounted he compounded his problems with alcohol. In his favorite bar in Queens he casually struck up a conversation with Vic Bruschetti who offered him a job.

“Hello there, Max, my friend!” said the big man with mock surprise. “What an honor! We always enjoy your rare visits to your humble minions.” He looked over at Vic. “Have you told him?”

“Not yet, Jack” came the reply. “Max is here to tell us we have to shut down.”

The big man laughed. “You're not serious.”

“Very,” said Max quietly.

“Why?” Blackthorn took out a cigarette and hung it on his lower lip.

“Never mind why,” said Max. “It has nothing to do with you. All you need to know is that the ride is over. It's time to close up shop.”

“Whoa! Uncle Max! Just a fucking minute.” He lit the cigarette, snapped the lighter shut and sucked the smoke deep into his lungs. “You are going a little too fast. Let's start again, shall we?”

“All you need to know is that this entire operation is over. Finished.
Capish?
”

“We just can't close up shop, Max. You forget, it's not just Vic and me. We got Toshi and a whole lot of guys and gals out there that rely heavily on us. I would hate to think of them becoming suddenly penniless. They might get mad and do something foolish. What do you suggest we do with them?”

“That's not my problem. They'll manage. Tell them what I told you. You've had a great run but it is time to move on.”

“Move on. Good idea, Max. To move on. I take it the only connection between us and your brothers is this building. If we were simply to ‘move on' somewhere else there wouldn't be a problem either for you or for Vic and me.” He gave a snort as he saw the look of doubt on Max's face. “Maxie baby! The digital universe is in the air all around us. It's simple! Relocation! Vic, Toshi and me, not to mention our many enthusiastic young employees, we can operate from anywhere we choose to go. Once we've gone there will be no more nasty connection for you to worry about.”