Naked Greed

42

On Monday morning Stone sat down at his desk and called Captain Dan Harrigan, chief of detectives. Harrigan had been on the squad at the 19th Precinct when Stone and Dino were partners; he had been a good guy and a good detective, enough of both that Dino had wanted him for chief. Dan affected an Irish brogue, even though he was three generations away from the Old Sod.

“How’s Dino?” Harrigan asked. “Sure, he won’t see anybody but you and Vivian.”

“He’ll come around, Dan. He’s a little too worried about how he looks. He’ll be more receptive to visitors when the swelling goes down.”

“Man, he’s lucky to be alive.”

“He is that, and he already has a theory of who the shooter was.”

“No kidding? I heard he didn’t see or hear anything.”

“He knows that the shooter was wearing motorcycle clothes and a helmet, and he has a strong feeling that he’s Gene Ryan.”

“The ex-cop who’s been after you? We’ve been looking everywhere for that guy.”

“Well, keep looking — Dino’s convinced that Ryan is the perp.”

“Why would Ryan want Dino dead? What’s his motive?”

“He wants me, and I was unavailable, so he went after Dino.”

“That’s his motive? That he’s pissed off at you?”

“Stranger things have happened. Ryan drove a motorcycle, you know, he used it when he fired a pistol into my car.”

“And we found the thing in the East River. My theory is that he was riding it when it went in, and his body just hasn’t turned up yet.”

“That’s a plausible theory, Dan, but Dino isn’t buying it, and I think it would be a good idea to get your thumb out of your ass and find Ryan before Dino gets out of the hospital. You and I both know that once he has an idea in his head, he’s not going to let go of it until it’s been nailed to the wall and thoroughly inspected.”

“I’ll give you that, Stone, but I don’t want to waste a lot of resources hunting a dead man. Does Dino want us to drag the East River?”

“I think you’d better work on the theory that Ryan is still walking and talking. Why don’t you roust Gino Parisi’s kid, Al? The two of them were partners when they were working for Gino.”

“Didn’t you hear? Al inherited his daddy’s part of that drinks distribution business, and his uncle, Jerry Brubeck, bought him out of it. He’s rich now — he bought a Mercedes.”

“I’m happy for him, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t know where Gene Ryan is, and it ought not to be hard to find Al. You might start by finding out at what address he registered the Mercedes.”

“The kid’s from Jersey, I’ll make a call.”

“While you’re at it, why don’t you ask if Gene Ryan has registered a motorcycle in Jersey?”

“I’ll call right this minute,” Dan said. “Give my best wishes to Dino when you see him.”

“Certainly, Dan.” Stone hung up.

At that moment, Gene Ryan was standing in line at the New Jersey Motor Vehicles Department, with the registration documents for his motorcycle in hand, along with an application to exchange his New York driver’s license for a New Jersey one. Ryan was an orderly guy, and he liked to keep things neat. He looked at his watch and at the display of the number being called. It was 52, and his number was 72. He sighed deeply.

Half an hour after Stone’s call, Dan Harrigan called back. “Stone, we ran Gene Ryan’s name in Jersey and came up with zilch.”

“How about Al Parisi?”

“Him, we found. There’s two of New York’s finest on the way to brace him as I speak. I’ll get back to you.”

Al Parisi looked out the window of his new house and saw two guys get out of an unmarked car with New York plates and start up his front walk. He pulled his necktie snug and went to the front door.

He got there before they even rang the bell. “Good morning, gentlemen,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

“Alfredo Parisi?”

“That’s me.”

“Mind if we come in for a minute?” The man flashed a gold badge.

“Not at all,” Al said, unlatching the screen and holding the door open. “Come right in.”

Al’s first thought was that somebody in the poker game had called the cops, but why the NYPD? He showed the two detectives into the living room, like the upright citizen that he believed himself to be.

“Are you the Alfredo Parisi formerly employed by a New York City beverage distribution business?”

“I’m a former owner of such a business,” Al said. “I sold out to my partner.”

“Yeah, we heard that,” the detective said. “Your old man, Gino Parisi, left you his half.”

“That’s correct. If you gentlemen have any business with the company, you should contact Mr. Jerry Brubeck. I’ll be happy to give you his number.”

“Yeah, we got that. When you were with the company, you worked with a Mr. Eugene Ryan, is that correct?”

“That’s right, Gene and I were in the client services department.”

“Where can we find Mr. Ryan? We’d like to speak with him.”

Al offered them a blank stare. “Gene lives in Queens. I forget the address, but he’s in the phone book.”

“Not anymore. We’d like his current address.”

“Gee, I don’t know, I haven’t seen Gene since our last day at work. We were never close friends.”

“Do you know what kind of motorcycle he drives?”

“Yeah, he has a Honda 250 — he talked about it a lot.”

“We found the Honda at the bottom of the East River.”

Al managed a look of concern. “Jesus, I hope he wasn’t riding it at the time.”

“We’re not sure about that just yet.”

“I wish I could help you, I just don’t know how.”

“We’ll keep in touch.” The cops got to their feet.

“Please let me know if I can be of any further help,” Al said, as he showed them out and closed the door behind them. He watched until they drove away, then found the throwaway cell phone and called Ryan.

“Yeah?”

“Gene, it’s Al.”

“Yeah, I thought, since you’re the only one with this number.”

“A pair of detectives from the NYPD were just at my house, looking for you.”

“Well, they didn’t find me, did they? Or did you give them my new address?”

“Of course not. I told them I hadn’t seen you since our last day at work. They asked what kind of motorcycle you were driving.”

“And what did you tell them?”

“A Honda 250. They said they found it in the East River. Are you playing dead?”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea — I’m dead. You tell everybody who asks you.”

“This couldn’t be about the poker game, or they would have been New Jersey cops.”

“Right.”

“So what is this about?”

“Beats me, maybe some old beef, or something. You just keep playing it the way you did, and everything will be fine.”

“Okay, pal.”

“And let me know if you come up with another job.”

“I’ll do that. Bye.” Al hung up. What the hell was going on with Gene? he asked himself. He didn’t know, and he really didn’t want to know.

An hour later Ryan left the DMV with his car and motorcycle properly registered and a new driver’s license in his hand. Time to do some shopping for a new car and a better apartment.