Unnatural Acts

6

Herbie’s Maybach slid to a halt in front of the La Boheme coffeehouse, an institution that, improbably, was the headquarters of a large criminal enterprise. From three or four of the dozen tables inside transactions took place more quickly than if a mainframe computer had been running the numbers. Carlo Contini, heir to the empire of Carmine Dattila, aka Dattila the Hun, sat out his days there doing mental calculations that gave lie to his outward appearance, which was that of an Italian-American gentleman who operated a fruit stand. No fancy suits for Carlo, just a short-sleeved shirt and a pair of baggy gray trousers. When he took his wife out to dinner, a suit appeared, laid out on his bed with an appropriate shirt and tie, and Carlo had no objection to wearing it, but here, at La Boheme, he was camouflaged as one of the layabouts who alternated drinking grappa with playing bocce in the back garden.

Herbie’s appearance at La Boheme caused everyone present to freeze in position, except for a few who inserted a hand into a jacket, just in case. Herbie commanded this sort of attention because, a few years before, distraught over Dattila the Hun’s attempts to have him murdered, he had walked into the place and put two Federal hollow-point. 45 slugs into Dattila’s head. No one had even moved, because the feds had been there a moment before and relieved people of all artillery. Now Herbie was back, and the patrons found this disturbing.

Herbie walked over to Carlo Contini’s table, where he sat with his younger brother and consigliere, Gino, and pulled up a chair. “Hi, Carlo,” Herbie said.

“You want to place a bet, Herbie, there are guys for that,” Carlo said, then feigned ignoring him.

“Nothing like that, Carlo,” Herbie replied. “I’m here on bigger business.”

Carlo regarded him coolly. “A loan? Talk to Gino.”

“No, Carlo, I’m here to settle a large debt.”

“You don’t owe me, Herbie.”

“No, but a young man named Brennan does.”

“Fink?”

“Dink. There’s a difference.”

“So, what are you to do with it?”

“I’m the boy’s representative, and I’m here to settle his debt, as I’ve already mentioned.”

“Kid owes me two hundred and thirty K,” Carlo said, not bothering to consult a ledger. “You good for that?”

“I said ‘settle,’ Carlo, not get rolled.”

“With the vig, it’s two hundred and thirty K,” Carlo said.

“I propose that we settle the entire debt, including the vigorish, for two hundred even,” Herbie replied. He set the cheap plastic briefcase on the table. “It’s right here.”

“It’s two hundred and thirty K,” Carlo said, with conviction.

“Carlo, let me put this in the form of a proposition,” Herbie said. “I give you two hundred K right now, in clean Benjamins, and you agree never to take another bet from the Brennan kid and to forget his name.”

“From what I hear, his old man can afford two hundred and thirty K,” Carlo said.

“Carlo, his old man can buy and sell you before breakfast and not even dent his bank balance, but he’s a serious person, and he’s making you a serious offer. There is an alternative, though.”

“Yeah? What’s the alternative?”

“Use your imagination, Carlo. Imagine the NYPD, the FBI, and the IRS crawling over your life like an army of ants, while Dink’s old man files a civil suit against you that will take ten years and ten million in legal fees to settle. All these things can happen within twenty-four hours.”

Carlo took a deep breath and let it out. “I’m not an unreasonable man,” he said, placing a hand on the briefcase.

Herbie pulled the briefcase a little out of his reach, then produced a one-page document and pushed it across the table. “Sign this, and we’re done,” Herbie said.

“I don’t sign stuff,” Carlo said.

Herbie pulled the briefcase a little farther away.

“What’s it say?” Carlo asked, taking a pair of reading glasses from his shirt pocket. He began to read to himself while moving his lips.

“It says that you are accepting two hundred thousand dollars in payment of all gambling or any other debt owed you by Dink Brennan, and that you agree never to accept another bet from him or contact him ever again.”

“You expect me to admit to gambling in writing?”

“It’s the way people like Mr. Brennan do business, Carlo. Since the two of you are not acquainted, Mr. Brennan won’t take your word. Come on, what’s the harm? The paper will reside in his safe and will never see the light of day.” Herbie pushed the case back to where Carlo could reach it but did not let go of the handle.

Carlo sighed and signed the document, and Herbie released the briefcase, which vanished under the table.

“Never see the light of day, unless you violate the terms of the agreement,” Herbie said, standing. “Take care of yourself, Carlo.” Herbie turned and walked out, trailed by the Leahys, one of whom left La Boheme walking backward.

Herbie situated himself in the backseat of the Maybach. “Drop me at the Seagram Building, Willie,” he said, “and put the car back in the garage, if you will.”

“Sure, Herbie,” Willie said. “And by the way, nicely done.”

“Thank you, Willie, and the same to you and Jimmy.” Herbie picked up the rear-seat phone and pressed a speed dial button.

“Woodman and Weld,” Joan said, “Stone Barrington’s office.”

“Hey, Joan.”

“Hey, Herbie, how you doing?”

“Couldn’t be better. Is he available?”

“Sure.” There was a click.

“Herbie?”

“Hey, Stone.”

“How’d it go?”

“It went like this: Dink is now housed in the funny farm, having committed himself and signed a durable power of attorney, naming me, and Carlo Contini is a happy man. I have his signature on a well-worded receipt that will keep him forever away from Dink.”

“Well done,” Stone said.

“Will you convey that to Bill Eggers?”

“No, I think you should convey it to him yourself, and bask in the warmth of his gratitude.”

“I like the sound of that,” Herbie said. “See ya.” He hung up as the Maybach glided to the curb at the Seagram Building.

Three minutes later, Herbie was entering Bill Eggers’s corner office. “Good afternoon, Bill.”

“Is it?” Eggers replied.

“Dink Brennan now resides at Winwood Farm,” Herbie said, taking documents from his pocket and handing them to Eggers, “and Carlo Contini has accepted our offer. It’s all there.”

Eggers tossed the documents on his desk without looking at them. “I just had a call, Herbie,” he said. “Dink Brennan escaped from the vehicle transporting him to Winwood Farm and is abroad in the land.”

Herbie felt as if he had been struck in the chest. “Well, Bill, I did as I was asked. I’m not in the escaped lunatic business.”

“You are now, Herbert,” Eggers replied.