Once a Crooked Man (38 page)

“And what's that?” she asked, a little puzzled.

“He said it all depends on who gets their hands on you first. Where they live, how much money they have, what they do to survive day to day…”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I'm telling you the first six years of your life determine what kind of a person you are. And you have no choice over those.”

He leaned back “I read a book called
Angela's Ashes
and it made me think about how I was raised. How my dad and mom set me up. How I found myself living a life I never chose for myself. It also made me realize I could change. All I had to do was to step out of one story and into another.”

“That is your conscience talking, Max.”

“No, it's me and the time I have left to me in this life.” An odd look crossed Lizzie's face and he shook his head and smiled. “Do you have any idea what I'm talking about?”

“Of course I do,” she said. “It's exactly what happened to me.”

“To you?”

“Yes. I changed. I got out.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Not now, Max. One day maybe. Right now I want to hear all about you.”

 

73

Closely watched by Rocco, Harry went up to the kitchen and scrambled himself some eggs, nuked six rashers of bacon, toasted two slices of whole-wheat bread and helped himself to coffee. Back down by the vault he sat munching at the old poker table. In turn, the salt, the caffeine and the fat each hit his system. Blood flowed to his brain and gave him the glimmer of an idea.

“I may have come up with a solution, Rocco,” he announced to his minder. “And to make it work I'm going to need someone to go to my apartment and bring back my address book. When I left, it was in the bedroom. Probably by the bed.”

Rocco reached into an inside pocket and produced Harry's Filofax.

Harry looked at it in surprise. “Where did you get that?” Then he remembered. “You're the one who trashed my place, right?”

Rocco handed it over.

“I'm also going to need access to a phone,” said Harry.

Rocco reached in another pocket and produced two burn phones and said, “When you've done with these give them back to me.”

With the little silver pencil from his Filofax, Harry made a short list of actors who had the talents to help him with his scheme. As the cellular signal was low in the basement, he told Rocco he had to go upstairs. As they walked, Rocco took him by the arm and Harry roughly shook him off. “You don't have to do that. Just lead the way. I'm in no mood for heroics.”

Up in the dining room a lone figure sat at a table with a bottle of Tequila and a glass in front of him. Harry recognized him right away. It was the man from the warehouse. As he had just tried to kill him, Harry decided this was not the moment for explanations and chose a table in the opposite corner, where he opened up his address book. Rocco stood in the doorway and both men watched him as he made his calls.

“Travis? Harry Murphy. Yes, it has, hasn't it? Yes, I'm very well, thank you. Working? Not right now, but I have a gig I thought might interest you. I won't bother you with it if you're busy. When? Next few days. It's for cable. You are. Great! Right now I have to put a couple of things together and I'll call you back within an hour. On your cellphone? Great. Give me the number.”

Harry repeated this offer to another ten candidates. When he had finished he had narrowed the possibles down to eight. Next he made a list of the tools he would need to do the job. As he wrote he gave Rocco instructions.

“Tell Max we need only new bills. Used ones take up too much space. Preferably hundreds. I don't care how you do it but…”

“No problem,” said Rocco. “What else?”

Harry was impressed. The man had missed his calling. He would have made a great production manager. Tearing off the list, Harry handed it over. “That's what I'm going to need, and by this afternoon. I suggest you go to Home Depot at Fifty-ninth and Third.”

As he wrote down another list, Harry continued. “These will require you to use a little ingenuity. I need three guitars with amplifiers and a drum set. A while back we could have gone down to Forty-eighth and picked it all up at Manny's or someplace like it, but maybe they've all closed up shop. Wherever you do find them, be prepared to put down a pretty hefty deposit. We'll need them for one week. Don't take any substitutes. Get exactly what I've written. If there's a problem call me.”

“I may be able to help you there,” said the man quietly from across the room. “One of the guys that works for me collects guitars. For a price he'd lend them to me.”

Harry took a moment to process this new information and then said, “I was sorry to hear about your buddy.”

Vic stared at him for a moment and then said, “In a way he killed himself.”

Harry couldn't help asking, “How did you get out?”

Vic gave a helpless shrug. “The stairs were burning, but we found a rope in the end room. Toshi and I managed to climb to the roof. If Jack hadn't been so out of shape we could have pulled him up and saved him too. He was just too heavy.”

Harry asked, “What were all those laptops and projectors for?”

“You saw them?”

“Yes. From above. Also the big machine. What was it all for?”

Vic smiled before he spoke. “My name is Vic, but they call me ‘Ali Baba,' as it is rumored I employ forty people. Among other things, I'm an identity thief. And a good one too. Business was going great. That machine you saw spits out new credit cards.”

“And the computers?”

“Those were processing the culmination of three and a half years of intensive and brilliant work that began way back in my college days. I had patiently hacked my way through a maze of European databases to access information that many people would pay a fortune for. All that has just gone up in smoke. My work is what you really killed.” Vic raised his glass. “And that's why I'm here drowning my sorrows.”

“Didn't you have it all backed up?”

“No. And to explain why would take more time than you have right now. So why don't you just tell me what you need.”

Harry gave the list to Rocco who took it over to Vic. Once again Benny came in from the kitchen to keep watch on him as Rocco left. Harry began his calls.

“Trav! You'll never guess what's happened. The network just called back to tell me the project has been given the okay. Yes! Just like that. But it presents me with a bit of a problem. Time is now very short. Could you come over right now? We need to talk. It's a restaurant called Mazaras.”

Harry looked over at Vic and mouthed,
Where are we?

Vic came over and wrote out the address with the pencil. Harry read it out and then added, “It's in the middle of the block. Yes. Italian. Great. See you soon.”

“Why did you do it?” Vic asked quietly when Harry hung up. “The fire, I mean.”

Harry looked him in the eye. “To explain that would take more time than you have right now. Maybe when this is all over we can meet for dinner. It seems you and I got a lot to straighten out.”

Vic pulled a wry face, turned away and pulled out his phone. Harry headed back down to the basement.

 

74

In his career, Harry had worked with a countless number of actors and actresses. Most of these encounters were uneventful and quickly faded into oblivion. But there were a few exceptions where friendships flourished and often lasted for years. In his first and only Broadway musical Harry had made the acquaintance of a flamboyant thespian by the name of Travis Cornelius Atwell.

Travis always dressed the same: a white shirt and discreet tie under a pinstriped suit with a red rose in the lapel. He boasted that he had more original cast recordings than any of his peers. Most of these were done before the introduction of microphones and amplification and as a result his voice was resonant and perfect for commercial voice-overs. These made him extremely wealthy.

Cora ushered Travis down and as she turned to leave he kissed her hand and bid her adieu.

“Good morning, my lad,” he intoned to Harry. “You're up bright and early. Looking a little the worse for wear, if I may say so. Tell me, why are we operating from a dank and dusty cellar? Have you been evicted from your apartment?”

“Interesting you should say that,” replied Harry, picking up his cue. “Work has been a bit scarce lately. Not critical, but enough to make me realize I had to find a way to generate additional income.”

Travis laughed and pulled out a chair and sat down. “I used to go through that ritual once a week in the old days. Usually on Sunday. Never did find the answer. I take it you have.”

“Yes,” said Harry. “Cable television. Someone once told me you can sell anything to cable. With that in mind I looked around for a suitable story. I couldn't find one, so I made one up. These days there are so many channels and so many hours to fill it didn't take me long to find a network.”

“Capital!” said Travis enthusiastically. “Tell me more.”

“I told them that I'd heard about these four middle-aged men from a small town called Stroudsburg.”

“I know it. A few miles south of Scranton?”

“The very one. As kids they went to a Beatles concert, got hooked and formed a cover band. They called themselves the ‘Jersey Jumpers.' They've played ever since at local gigs for fun and amusement. Strictly amateur and always Beatles music. As the lead guitar is about to turn fifty, the others decided to give him a special birthday present. They made arrangements for the group to perform at the Cavern in Liverpool, England.”

“Did the cable guys take the trouble to check out your story?”

“Fortunately, no. They took my word for it.”

“Shades of Williams and NBC!” said Travis, and clapped his hands. “You are a genius.”

“I told them I thought it would make a great one-hour special. They agreed on the spot and promised me a little up-front money.”

“You are a mastermind!”

“Last night, the producer called to say they wanted the finished product as soon as I can get it to them.”

“Where do I come in?”

“You're the guy with the birthday.”

“George or John?”

“Your choice.”

“John of course,” said Travis reverently. “Such a tragic end.” He rose up and paced the room. “I haven't plucked the strings for a while, but that shouldn't be a problem. Who are playing the other parts? Do I know them?”

“Well, that's why I called you first. I thought while I deal with all the logistics you could help me get a hold of the others. I made some preliminary calls to the guys I know who can sing and play.” He produced the list. “But feel free to call anyone you like.”

Travis took the paper, put on his reading glasses and gave it a peremptory glance.

“How soon do you want them?”

“By two o'clock today,” said Harry. “Do you think you can select three guys by then?”

“This is Manhattan, my dear boy; I could provide you with the entire cast of any musical you can name.”

“In that case, get them here for a meet and greet. The instruments will be here and we can try a couple of the songs.”

Travis pushed the list into his pocket and looked around the basement.

“What is this place?” he asked. “Friends of yours, are they? Certainly was a pretty filly that brought me down here.”

“I've eaten here for years,” said Harry casually. “The owner owes me a favor. We can make all the noise we want down here and the food is fabulous.”

“When are you planning to leave?”

“Almost immediately. That will mean each one must have a current passport. And I'll need everyone's date of birth.”

“What are you offering?” asked Travis, coming to the most important point.

“For two days' rehearsal, two days' travel and the two days in Liverpool I suggest seventy-five hundred dollars for you and thirty-five hundred dollars apiece for the others with Business Class seats and all hotel and expenses paid.”

“Return tickets in hand?”

“Absolutely. Cash up-front too. Fifty percent in advance.”

“Very generous.” His bushy eyebrows rose. “Are you sure this contract is for cable?”

Harry forced a laugh. He had offered more than he should but if Travis turned him down he would be back to square one. The two men shook hands and hugged briefly.

“No need to mention this to agents,” Travis suggested as they broke apart. He held up an imaginary cigar. “We ain't no actors. We guys is Pennsylvania coal miners. We don't need no agents.”

“Capital!” said Harry, mimicking his friend.

Travis left. Harry called American Airlines to check flights from JFK to Heathrow. He was told he would have no problem getting seats. Next he arranged to pick up two minivans at Avis when they arrived in London. Lastly he made the room reservations in Liverpool.

At eleven Enzo came down, swung open the door of the vault and began the transfer of money out of the vault.

Just after midday, the guitars and drums magically appeared packed in Anvil cases as Harry had requested. Harry opened one of the cases and carefully took out the guitar. His theory would only work if every interior surface was covered with thick padding. It was.

Rocco arrived with a Canon S400 digital camera and a Sony CD player. In another bag were a bunch of Beatles CDs.

“And the tools?” Harry asked.

Rocco pulled out an orange plastic bag from under his coat. “From Home Depot like you said.”

Harry put everything up on a shelf. With Rocco's help he cleared the center of the room. As they set up the heavy amplifiers Rocco asked, “We're not taking all these on the flight, are we?”

“No way,” said Harry as he plugged one into a wall outlet. “All we need are the instruments. If you want to save the Bruschettis a buck or two you can take these back after the rehearsal and get your deposit back.”