Critical (19 page)

"So, how are our investments going?" Vinnie asked. When it came to business, Vinnie didn't waste a lot of time. Michael had been doing business with Vinnie for more than a decade. It had started small when Michael had joined Morgan Stanley and come to Vinnie with the idea of laundering the Lucia organization's take from drugs, loan-sharking, gambling clubs, fencing, extortion rings, hot-car rings, and hijacking, mostly from Kennedy Airport. Michael had proposed to use the money as venture capital for IPOs through a series of shell companies, and the relationship had proved remarkably beneficial to both parties. Michael not only laundered the money but often doubled it, whereas previously Vinnie had to pay for such a service. With ever-increasing capital available as Vinnie had become more and more comfortable, Michael had been able, on amicable terms, to leave Morgan Stanley and establish his own boutique investment-banking firm.

"To be truthful," Michael said, in response to Vinnie's direct question, "there's a problem I need to talk to you about."

"Oh, really?" Vinnie questioned with the deliberately calm, soft voice that made Michael's hackles rise.

"I'm afraid so," Michael said. His voice had a quavering quality that he hoped only he could hear.

"Carol, honey," Vinnie said. "Could you excuse us? Mikey and I need to talk."

"I'm not finished with my spaghetti," she whined.

"Carol!" Vinnie said in a slightly lower tone and looking at her askance.

"Oh, all right," Carol responded, throwing her napkin on top of her plate. "But where am I supposed to go?"

"Wherever you like, doll. Freddie or Richie can drive you."

After watching Carol depart, Michael regained his seat and again faced Vinnie, who stared him down. Michael inwardly squirmed.

"I hope this trouble isn't about Angels Healthcare, because if it is, I'm getting a bad feeling," Vinnie said at length.

Michael cleared his throat and was about to speak when the waiter appeared tableside with a steaming plate of spaghetti, a glass, and flatware. Sensing the tension, the waiter quickly laid out the place setting, poured wine into the glass, and disappeared.

"It is about Angels Healthcare," Michael admitted. "Angels Healthcare needs more money to keep the doors open. The problem has been getting rid of the bacteria. The bacteria required shutting the ORs, which turned off the revenue spigot."

"That's the same story I heard a month ago," Vinnie said. Although his voice stayed calm, his eyes reflected his rising ire. "My recent loan was supposed to cover expenses until the IPO."

"That was my understanding as well, until my ex told me differently an hour ago," Michael said, with the idea of transferring responsibility to her.

"Why didn't it happen?"

"The ORs stayed closed longer than expected, keeping revenue down, and the disinfecting process cost more than expected."

"Are the ORs open now?"

"Yes, but it will take a few weeks for the doctors to trust that the problem is over."

"Is it over?"

"Yes, that's my understanding."

"Your understanding about how much money was needed missed the mark. What makes you think your understanding about the infection problem is any more accurate?"

"I don't know," Michael said with a shrug. "I can only relate what I'm told."

"How much money is needed to get through the IPO?"

"I was told two hundred thousand."

Vinnie went back to drilling Michael with his eyes. Michael flinched first and glanced down at his food. Under the circumstances, he didn't know which was more disrespectful: eating or not eating. The last thing he wanted to do was irritate Vinnie over manners. Vinnie could be touchy about such issues.

"Eat!" Vinnie said, breaking the silence.

Michael wasn't hungry, but he picked up a fork and struggled to twirl a mouthful of spaghetti.

"I'm not at all happy about all this," Vinnie said. He leaned forward menacingly. "I'm starting to feel like your lackey. First you come to me for money, next it's about an accountant who wants to blab to the Feds about the negative cash flow, and now it's more money. When does this end?"

"I never expected any of this," Michael said in his defense. "But it's still a great investment. Trust me! I wouldn't have committed your money if it wasn't. I've even hocked just about everything I own to maximize my own position."

"In all honesty, I don't care about your money," Vinnie said. "I care about the money I'm responsible for. I don't want it to be lost. I'd have a lot of explaining to do."

"The money is not going to be lost," Michael said decisively even though he wasn't as sure as he sounded. "Worst case is the IPO is postponed."

"I don't want that to happen, and I'm doing my part. I've already kicked in an extra quarter of a mil. I'm also dealing with the accountant issue."

"You haven't spoken to him?" Michael asked with alarm.

"Oh, I've spoken with him. Even Franco and Angelo have spoken with him."

"He's not being cooperative?"

"I wouldn't say that. I'm absolutely sure he's not going to file. It's just his secretary is an unknown quantity who, unfortunately, has a copy of the potentially troublesome report. It seems we have to talk with her as well."

"I'd never thought of that," Michael admitted. "Good idea!" He was relieved. The last thing he needed was the resurgence of a problem he'd thought had been solved. Although Michael liked doing business with Vinnie, he didn't want to know where the money came from or any of the details of Vinnie's operations. Michael's imagination was enough, which was why he was as nervous as he was in the current imbroglio.

"The point is, Mikey, I'm certainly doing my part," Vinnie continued, "and I'd like you to do yours. If more money is needed to get Angels Healthcare though the IPO, it comes from you."

"But --" Michael started.

"No buts, Mikey," Vinnie said calmly, interrupting Michael. "We've known each other for a long time, but this is business. I want this IPO to go through. You've been a good salesman and have raised my expectations. If the IPO doesn't happen as you've described, I'm going to blame you, and we'll no longer be friends. At that point, you'll be dealing exclusively with Franco."

Michael tried to swallow but couldn't. His throat had gone dry Instead, he reached for his untouched glass of wine and took a sizable swig.

DETECTIVE LIEUTENANT Lou Soldano looked at his watch. It was almost one-thirty in the afternoon, which explained why his stomach was growling. After leaving the medical examiner's office that morning sometime after eight, he'd driven home to his apartment on Prince Street in SoHo and passed out on his couch. He'd been so exhausted that he didn't even make it into his bedroom.

When he'd awakened at noon, all he'd had was coffee while he shaved and showered. At that point, he'd called the OCME. He was curious about what Jack had found on the two homicides whose autopsies Lou had skipped. Jack was still in the pit and unavailable, so Lou asked to be connected to the NYPD liaison, Sergeant Murphy. Lou's biggest concern was the apparently gangland-executed, unidentified floater. What he wanted to know was whether Murphy had any leads as to the identity through Missing Persons. There hadn't been any calls about a missing Asian-American male, which made Lou even more curious. One way or another, Lou was becoming progressively interested in the case, in hopes of trying to prevent more bodies from popping up. In addition to the way the individual was shot, the fact that he had been tossed far out in the harbor strengthened Lou's conviction that the homicide was organized crime-related. In the spring, summer, and fall, such bodies were invariably buried in the woods upstate. In the winter, when the ground was frozen, they were tossed into the river or, if the perpetrators were more resourceful, into the harbor or even out beyond the Verrazano Bridge.

With his stomach growling, Lou began to look for a fast-food outlet. He was in his old PD-issued Chevy Caprice. He had a sentimental attachment to the car as the only connection to his previous life, since he was divorced and both his kids were in college.

"My God! Johnny's Sub is still here!" Lou said out loud, catching sight of the joint on his left. He snapped on his turn signal and quickly slowed, only to be blasted by a car horn six inches from his vehicle's rear. Lou rolled his window down and motioned for the irate driver to pass him, all the time trying to maintain his composure. Eventually, the guy took the hint and, still leaning on his horn, passed Lou. As he did so, he gave Lou the finger.

"Some things don't change," Lou murmured philosophically. He was in the familiar environment of Corona in the borough of Queens. Not only had he grown up in the immediately neighboring Rego Park, but when he'd been assigned to the Organized Crime unit of the NYPD, after having been a patrolman for three years, he'd spent a lot of time in Queens, both because he knew the area and because there was a lot of organized crime going on. During the six years he'd spent in the unit, he'd been promoted to sergeant and then to lieutenant when he switched to Homicide.

Lou made the turn into the restaurant's parking area. The establishment itself was a mere stand in the middle of an expanse of macadam. Patrons had to park, go up to the window, and order. When the appropriate number popped up, the patron had to hike back to the window and then eat the foot-long sub in his car. Lou could remember patronizing the place in high school when he got his first jalopy.

Fifteen minutes later, Lou couldn't have been happier as he indulged both his appetite with his old favorite sub called Johnny's Meatball Extravaganza and his nostalgia. It warmed his heart to remember coming to Johnny's late at night with Gina Pantanella during his senior year of high school. He'd parked way in the back, had the same sub, and then got laid.

The other reason Lou was content was that Johnny's was directly across the street from the Neapolitan. From his years in Organized Crime, he knew the restaurant was the de facto office of Vinnie Dominick, who ran the Queens arm for the Lucia family. Lou knew that the fragile equilibrium between the traditionally competing crime powers in the area -- namely, the Lucias and Vaccarros -- was being challenged, mainly by new Asian gangs in Flushing and Woodside. Lou had it in his mind to find out if this situation had anything to do with the floater, and he zeroed in on Vinnie Dominick because Vinnie's counterpart in the Vaccarro organization, Paulie Cerino, was in the slammer. But it wasn't Vinnie who Lou was going to approach but rather one of his flunkies, Freddie Capuso. Back when Lou was still working Organized Crime, he'd recruited Freddie as an informer, and Lou still had something to hold over the kid. Serendipitously, Lou had discovered the boy was living a dangerous, duplicitous life as a kind of double agent. Although ostensibly working for Vinnie, he was passing information to Paulie, sometimes real, sometimes misinformation. At the time, Lou had wondered how the kid could sleep at night, because if either side had known what he was up to, he would have simply disappeared, probably feeding the fish out beyond the Verrazano Bridge.

Lou wasn't certain Freddie still worked for Vinnie or if he was still alive, but he intended to find out. He guessed Vinnie was around, because there was a black Cadillac double-parked in front of the restaurant. The only trouble was that it was a vintage model, which Lou doubted was Vinnie's style.

All at once, Lou stopped chewing. Someone emerged alone from the restaurant. For a second, Lou thought it was Vinnie because of the hairstyle and the clothes. Lou was confused because Vinnie would never come out by himself. But then, as the man ran across the street directly at Lou, Lou saw that it wasn't Vinnie. It was someone Lou didn't recognize but who was acting suspicious. He was either nervous or afraid as he fumbled with his remote while repeatedly glancing up and down the street and back at the restaurant. A second later, he was in the car, then pulling out into the street, where he made an illegal U-turn before accelerating with screeching tires in the direction of Manhattan. Lou tried to get the tag number, but he wasn't fast enough. All he'd managed was 5V and the fact that it was a New York plate.

Lou looked back at the restaurant, half expecting one of Vinnie's men to come bursting out the door in hot pursuit, but it didn't happen. All was serene. Lou relaxed back into his seat and took another bite of his sub. While he chewed, he pondered what the meeting was between Vinnie and the Vinnie lookalike that had made the stranger as nervous as he'd seemed to be. Lou guessed it was about money, and considering the guy's clothes and the fact that he drove an SUV, Lou suspected it had to do with gambling. And if it did, and the guy owed Vinnie big money, he was in a lot of trouble. Vinnie and his counterparts didn't tolerate people owing them money for very long. If they did, the whole house of cards would collapse. Thinking such thoughts made Lou wonder if that was the story with the floater. Maybe it wasn't indicative of an incipient syndicate war but merely the elimination of a deadbeat.

All of a sudden, Lou again stopped chewing. A new black Cadillac sedan with heavily tinted windows appeared stage right and proceeded to pull up behind the older model. In the next instant, Lou tossed his sub to the side, scattering bite-sized meatballs on his car's front passenger seat. He was out of the door in a flash and across the street as the driver of the Cadillac was rounding the car's rear. For once, luck was on Lou's side, since the driver was Freddie Capuso, and he was alone.