Old Flame (6 page)

CHAPTER

14

K
enny Apple wanted to meet Danny.

I called him. He was holed up in a friend’s apartment on Surf Avenue in Coney Island. Kenny and I hopped the N train at Times Square and took it to the end of the line.

During the train ride, it occurred to me that Kenny might be useful in other ways.

“Dave tells me you’re an accountant,” I said.

“CPA, actually.”

“How does an accountant, and an Orthodox Jewish one to boot, wind up working for my brother in, uh, a non-accounting capacity?”

“Let’s say it’s the result of a life not well lived.”

“Care to be more specific?”

He looked up as the train entered the 14th Street station.

“Why not,” he said. “We’ve got another hour ahead of us.I was a gambler, a very bad gambler, it turns out. Bet on anything. And lost on everything. I had my moments here and there, but overall I took a bath. When I ran through my money, I used my clients’ money. You know how it goes.”

As a Master of Addiction, I did indeed.

“How did you meet Dave?”

“Through Nick, who held my markers. I was betting with one of his bookies. The guy insisted on payment. I couldn’t come up with the money, so one day he brought along a shylock who offered me terms at the point of a gun. So, I agreed.”

“Who wouldn’t?”

“Then,” he said, “I hit a particularly bad streak and couldn’t come up with the vig. By this time, the interest and principal approximated the debt of a Third World country.”

“And Nick was unhappy.”

“Very. Nick sends the shylock and two very bad guys to see me. Figuring something like this might happen, I bought a gun. The shylock sets up a meeting in some deserted area right off the Belt Parkway, in the Gravesend section of Brooklyn.”

“How appropriate.”

“I thought so too. I got there early to scope the place out. I knew what was up. The shylock pulls up and the two goons get out with guns in their hands. I popped them before they had taken two steps. The shylock hits the gas, and he’s gone.”

“Very impressive. Where did you learn to shoot?”

“I didn’t. Apparently it’s a gift. The next one I hear from is Nick. This time the meeting is at Rockefeller Center, at noon. Plenty of people. We talk, and he offers me a job.”

“To work off the debt.”

He nodded. “And a little bit extra for me,” he said.

“How do you square this with your religion?”

He smiled a wry smile. “Ultimately we all have to pay for our sins, don’t we?”

“How would you like to do a little forensic accounting for me?”

“It would be a pleasant change.”

I told him what I knew about the Minority Opportunities Bureau and the files that Torricelli had conveniently left on his desk for me to take.

“Would you take a look?” I asked.

“What are you looking for?”

“That’s what I need you to figure out.”

The train crossed the Coney Island Creek and, a few minutes later, pulled into the station.

When we were kids, Coney Island was the Steeg family’s preferred summer vacation spot. Now, with about three months to go before the season started, Coney was like an aging courtesan who knows that no amount of makeup will ever hide the fact that her days were numbered.

Kenny and I picked up a bagful of hot dogs at Nathan’s and met Danny on the boardwalk. To our right was the Parachute Jump, to our left the Wonder Wheel, and out in front, the Atlantic Ocean. We sat on a bench facing the Atlantic. It was low tide, and seabirds were busy pecking at the tidal sand in search of a meal. Out on the ocean, a stiff breeze kicked the whitecaps into high gear. On the beach, a guy in a Navy watch cap and a green windbreaker waved a metal detector, combing the sand for buried treasure. Every so often he stooped to pick something up, examine it, and toss it away.

“Let’s start at the beginning,” Kenny said.

Danny threw his half-eaten hot dog into a trash basket.

“I don’t seem to have the stomach for food lately,” he said. “Can’t hold anything down.”

“I understand, Danny,” I said, “but you’ve got to concentrate here.”

He turned to Kenny. “Steeg wasn’t very big on the details. You’re here, why?”

“Personally, I don’t give a shit. But some people are interested in saving your ass,” Kenny said. “Now, like I said, let’s start at the beginning.”

Danny repeated what he told me. He met some techies, joined the company as marketing director, and then everything went to shit.

“Nice story,” Kenny said. “Boy from humble beginnings meets two techie whizzes working out of their garage and they start a company that goes on to rock Wall Street. The American Dream. Is that about right?”

“Pretty much.”

“Do me a favor,” Kenny said. “Stop pulling my pud.”

“Whataya mean?”

“I mean, it’s horseshit. Them I can understand. Why you? What qualified you to be the marketing director?”

Danny sprang from the bench and turned to me. “I don’t need this shit, Steeg.”

“Actually, I was thinking the same thing,” I said.

Danny sat down, albeit reluctantly. “It was marketing and sales, and I had contacts,” he said.

Kenny pressed him. “With who?”

“The odd-lot guys. You know, companies who handle distressed merchandise.”

“More bullshit,” Kenny said. “They already have plenty of outlets to move their goods. They don’t need you.” He turned to me. “We’re wasting our time here, Steeg.”

Apparently we were, and it was on me for letting friendship blind me to Danny’s line of patter. “Here’s the deal, Danny,” I said. “Either you stop the bullshit, or you’re on your own. Your choice.”

Danny dug his hands deep into his jacket pockets.

“OK,” he said, “here’s what went down. The techies. The guys who founded the company. I met them at a Texas Hold ’Em game Frank Geraghty was running in a loft in the West Village.”

“The last I heard, Geraghty was doing a three-year bit in Dannemora,” I said.

“You’ve been out of touch. He’s been out almost two years.”

“And apparently back at it. Some people never learn.”

“Story of my life,” Danny said. “The techies fancied themselves high rollers. I mean, back then the company was kicking off three, four hundred grand a month. Expenses were low, so there was plenty of money to indulge their Doyle Brunson fantasy.”

“Why were you at the game?”

“I was the shill. Lost early and came back strong when the pot was right. Geraghty paid me a couple a hundred a night. When the techies showed up, we played them like fish.”

“They had it coming,” Kenny said.

“You got it. The first couple of times we let them walk off with maybe ten large. Made it look easy. Then we put the hammer to them.”

“How much are we talking?”

“Quarter million. A lot of money even for them. Geraghty figured it was enough.”

“But you saw potential,” I said.

“Yeah. You know how it is when you’re gambling. People talk. Like to brag. Even when they’re going down the tubes. Well, these guys couldn’t shut up. Went on about how the two fifty was a drop in the bucket. Not even a month’s worth of sales.”

“And it got you thinking,” Kenny said, “that there may be a way out for them.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Is this where China comes in?” I said.

“That’s a piece of the bullshit I laid on them, but it never happened. I told them I could get them high-end electronics at a fraction of the cost, and if they pop it on their website it would move like a son of a bitch.”

“So instead of candles that retailed for maybe ten bucks, they could be moving sound systems and flat screens.”

“Exactly. And instead of three, four hundred a month, they would be doing ten times that.”

“And they bought it.”

“They did, the greedy bastards.”

“Where did you get the merch from, Danny?”

“I knew some guys who heisted the stuff. I paid them ten percent and sold it back to the company at twenty percent.”

“And you were on the company’s payroll?” Kenny asked.

Danny smiled. “A guy’s gotta make a living,” he said. “We put it up on the site and the stuff flew out of the warehouse.”

“But,” I asked, “didn’t the slippage go down?”

“Dropped like a rock. Those schmuck engineers had their heads so far up their asses that they forgot their business model.”

“How did you meet Barak?” Kenny asked.

“Actually, he found me.”

“How?”

“I get a call one day. Guy says he’s seen the website. Thinks the concept is pure genius. Says he’s been ordering lots of merchandise. I do a quick check, and he’s right. Fifty grand an order. Says we can make even more money. Wants to talk.”

“So you meet,” I said. “Without the owners.”

“Yep. See, by this time I realize that there’s just so much merchandise my guys can heist before it all blows up in shit, so I’m pursuing the China angle. If it works for Wal-Mart, why shouldn’t it work for me? You got factories there that are churning out really great products and slapping brand names on them. And, since they pay their workers dick, cheap as hell. Why can’t they slap my brand name on?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“And it would have worked if I had enough time.”

“Let’s get back to Barak,” Kenny said.

“So we meet. And so far, he’s been getting his rebates, every penny, like clockwork. But he’s concerned.”

“It’s too good to be true,” I said.

“Yeah. Wants to double his orders. Wants assurance that everything is going to be OK.”

“And even though you know the business model is broken, you give it to him.”

“Right.”

“Why?”

“The assurance came with a price. He wants guarantees, he’s going to have to pay for them.”

“You’re kidding me! You’re hosing your employers, hosing your hijackers, and now you’re sticking it to Barak.”

“What can I tell you? It was the brass ring. Doesn’t come around too often. And, as for Barak, I didn’t know who the fuck I was dealing with. Who knew the guy’s a psycho killer?”

“And now the greed has come home to roost,” Kenny said.

“Hey, it was a shot,” Danny said.

“More importantly, Barak wants his money,” I said.

“It’s beyond that,” Kenny said. “He wants Danny Reno.”

“Where are the techies?” I said.

“Beats me! Maybe the feds got them locked away somewhere, or maybe they cashed it all in and went where no one could find them. Or—”

“Maybe Barak has them,” I said.

That possibility had apparently not occurred to him. His shoulders slumped and the color drained from his face.

“Now what?” he finally said.

Kenny and I looked at each other. I didn’t have an answer. Neither did Kenny.

Out on the beach, the guy in the windbreaker knelt down, picked something up, studied it, and tossed it into the ocean with a cry of disgust.

CHAPTER

15

D
uring the subway ride back to Manhattan, Ginny called.

The urgency in her voice was palpable. She was in town and wanted to meet at Feeney’s. She wouldn’t talk about it on the phone.

Ginny and her brother Liam were in a side booth when I arrived. Three empty beer bottles sat on the table. The fourth was clenched in Liam’s hand. Ginny’s hands were wrapped around a mug of coffee.

Liam Doyle always wore an annoying little smile that said he knew something you didn’t. But this time Liam’s stupid smile had company: a leather vest garlanded with chains, and thick-soled Grinders on his feet.

Fancy that!

It had been about eight years since I had seen him. It had been at his arraignment. The charge was lifting a couple of six-packs from a bodega. The trouble was, Liam was a regular customer who knew the owner, a cop named Figueroa, who happened to be working the register when Liam strolled out with his booty. The security cameras caught him, and so did Figueroa, who leaped the counter and beat the living shit out of him.

I worked it out by convincing Figueroa that kicking the crap out of Liam was all the satisfaction he needed, and convincing the DA that someone as stupid as Liam would last about twenty minutes at Rikers. He got off with a conditional discharge, which meant he had to keep his nose clean for a year, and all charges would be dismissed. That lasted exactly two weeks. Lifting hubcaps was the charge. Interesting crime. Liam didn’t own a car and had no interest in selling hubcaps. He just liked the way they looked on his bedroom wall. Little did I know Liam was an aficionado of hubcap art.

Ginny didn’t bother asking me to intervene that time.

“Hey, Steeg. Long time no see,” Liam said.

“Liam,” I said, with a nod. “Keeping out of trouble?”

He took a swig of beer and leaned back. His stupid smile was on overdrive. “I got no troubles,” he said.

“Glad to hear it. What have you been up to?”

“A little of this, a little of that.”

Liam was one of those people who spilled his guts when ignored. I turned my attention to his sister.

“Ginny, you called.”

Before she could answer, Liam jumped back into the conversation.

“There’s a couple of things I’m working on,” he said.

“I hope they work out.”

“Yeah. No more sucking hind tit for me. Them days are over.”

“Good. Everyone needs to catch a break.”

“The way I see it, you make your own breaks. I mean, you see an opportunity and you jump on it.”

“The soul of capitalism. It’s what makes this country great.”

His brow furrowed trying to make the connection. Finally, he gave up.

“Whatever,” he said. “I got me a business.”

“Good for you, Liam.”

“Yeah, I’m a middleman.”

“Really!” I said. “And what do you middle?”

“I’d rather not talk about it, if you know what I mean.”

“I do. When you’re in business, you can’t be too careful. Trade secrets. Corporate piracy. The threat is everywhere.”

“You got that right,” he agreed.

We sat quietly for a while. He took another swig of beer and wiped his mouth with his shirtsleeve. “But seein’ as you’re family and all, and you know my partner, what harm could it do?” he said.

“I know your partner?”

“Your old buddy Danny Reno. We’re into electronic equipment. Entertainment systems. Expensive stuff. I could fix you up with a plasma TV, if you’re in the market. Insider price.”

Danny Reno?
Talk about six degrees of separation!

Liam heists the merchandise; Danny Reno fences it to his own company for a big payday, and then sells it to Barak for an even bigger payday, and promising a hundred percent refund. Liam, the brainiac, takes all the risks for pennies on the dollar. The guy was living proof of the axiom “Stupid is as stupid does.”

“Thanks, but I don’t have a spare wall,” I said.

“Well, the offer stands. Anyway, for the first time, I’m making real dough.”

“I’m glad things are turning around for you.”

“It’s like Jeanmarie says, ‘If at first you don’t succeed . . .’ ”

“Words to live by.”

“I haven’t seen Danny around lately, though.”

“Probably out prospecting for more opportunities,” I said.

“Yeah. I gotta hand it to Danny. The guy’s always thinking.”

“So it seems,” I said.

“Well,” he said, sliding out of the booth, “I gotta boogie. See ya, Steeg. And you,” he said to Ginny, “stop worrying, OK? Steeg’ll take it from here.”

Ginny said nothing.

After he had left, I asked Ginny the burning question. “Take what from here?”

“I moved in with my parents, and Liam appointed himself my bodyguard.”

“Now, that sounds like a plan. Protect you against what?”

She reached into her pocketbook, withdrew an envelope, and handed it to me.

“What’s this?”

“Read it.”

I did. Another death threat, but this time it was directed at Ginny.