Naked Greed

56

Ryan picked up his dry cleaning and laundry and packed a three-night bag, just in case. He was as horny as he had ever been in his life. It had been weeks since he’d gotten laid, and he was very itchy.

He took five grand from his stash in the safe he had bolted to the cement floor in his closet. He thought about taking ten grand, but the last time he’d had a pocketful of money, somebody had stolen it, and he still didn’t entirely trust her. While he was at it he took the bank bands off the cash and replaced them with rubber bands, then burned the bands in the sink and ran them through the garbage disposal.

He showered and shaved and dressed in a freshly pressed suit, so as to fit in at the Four Seasons. He would allow an hour and a half for the drive into the city, twice as long as usual, because it would be rush hour, and the tunnel would be jammed. He drove out of the garage at four-thirty, and as he passed the front of his building he saw two black sedans drive up to his building, and one of them had a state seal on the door. What the hell, they weren’t looking for him; he drove on toward the city.

Dino called Stone.

“How you feeling?”

“Chipper, fine. Didn’t we have this conversation before?”

“Not after last night.”

“What about last night?”

“Aren’t you just the tiniest bit hungover?”

“Why should I be hungover?”

“Because last night you drank as much as I’ve ever seen you drink, and I had to put you to bed.”

“What are you talking about? I put myself to bed, the way I always do, unless Viv is home, then she puts me to bed. By the way, Viv is why I called. I agreed a while back to speak to some of her client’s employees at a gathering this evening, and she just called to tell me that the client is bringing his daughter, who she would like you to partner with at the dinner.”

“Do I have to listen to you speak?”

“I’m the entertainment — you’re a lucky guy.”

“What’s the woman like?”

“I hear she resembles a camel, but that’s right up your alley, isn’t it?”

“All right. What time and where?”

Dino told him.

“Hey, what happened about going to New Jersey?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Last night you said you and I were going to go out there and arrest Gene Ryan.”

“Are you crazy?”

“Certainly not. We were going to collar the guy and bring him back.”

“An ex-cop and the police commissioner were going to arrest a guy in Jersey without an extradition warrant and bring him back to the city?”

“That was your plan, as I recall.”

“Listen, pal, you must have been a lot drunker than I was. See you at seven.”

Two NYPD detectives and two New Jersey state cops found Ryan’s apartment and hammered on the door. Nothing. They hammered more and still, nothing.

“So what now?” a Jersey cop asked. “You want to break it down?”

“Anybody here object to a little, ah, informal entry? Just to have a look around?”

“You think we do that sort of thing in New Jersey?”

“Sure, I do.”

“Go ahead, if it makes you happy,” the Jersey cop said.

The detective produced a set of lock picks, and two minutes later they were inside.

“Hey, nice place,” the Jersey cop said.

“Better than I had thought,” the NYPD cop replied.

They had a look around. The furniture was handsome, the prints on the wall were nice, and the clothes were neatly put away in the closet/dressing room.

“What have we here?” the Jersey cop asked, pointing into the closet.

“I’d say that’s a thousand-dollar safe,” the NYPD cop replied.

“I guess you want to look in there, too, huh?”

“I’d love to know what’s in there, but I’m no yegg. Anybody here can open that safe without dynamite?”

All heads were shaken.

He looked through all the clothes. “There’s nothing in this place that even identifies the occupant,” the NYPD cop said. “We may as well get the fuck out of here.”

“Great minds think alike,” the Jersey cop said. “You guys let us know when you know what you’re doing, and we’ll come back for another, hopefully more fruitful, visit.”

They locked up and left.

Ryan gave his car to the doorman at the Four Seasons, and somebody drove it away and did God-knows-what with it. He couldn’t see a garage. He checked in, got two key cards, and sent his bag up to his suite with a bellman and a fifty-dollar bill.

“Unpack for me, will you?”

“Yes, sir,” the young man said, and trotted away.

Ryan found the bar and settled into a booth. He waved the waiter away. “When my lady gets here.”

At the stroke of six o’clock, Sylvia Mays, if that was her name, strolled into the bar, towing a single bag on wheels, and he rose to meet her. She slid into the booth beside him, and the waiter appeared. “What’s your pleasure?” Ryan asked.

“Knob Creek on the rocks,” she said.

“That and a Macallan Twelve,” Ryan said, “and will you ask a bellman to take the lady’s bag up to my suite? Ryan’s the name, I just checked in.”

Booze was served, and he looked her up and down. “Very nice,” he said, “even nicer than before.”

“You’re looking pretty good yourself,” she said.

They chatted for a bit.

“What time is dinner?” she asked.

“I booked in the restaurant at eight.”

She stroked his thigh. “That gives us an hour and a half, doesn’t it?”

They were in the suite and undressed in a flash, and Ryan thought she looked even better naked than clothed. They were pretty quick, then they rested in each other’s arms.

“It’s a very nice suite,” she said. “Thank you.”

“And you are very nice in the sack,” he replied.

She fondled him. “How about a replay?”

“Whatever you say.”