A Season for the Dead

Thirteen

What do I think? Michael, Michael."

Neri couldn’t stop laughing, couldn’t stop slapping Denney on the shoulder.

“You make a good cardinal. Why’d you ever think you could make a good banker too?”

“It was what was asked of me,” Denney replied sharply. “I know my duty.”

Neri’s big face became serious. “And I know mine. You truly believe this money, this hidden crock of gold, is news to me.”

Denney turned to Crespi, astonished. The little man’s face flushed.

“I said nothing,” he complained. “He’s making this up.”

“I don’t lie,” Neri grunted. “I’m too rich to have to lie these days. I told you: This place leaks like a sieve. I’ve known your little secret for weeks, Michael. I’ve had time to consider it. Carefully. To talk about it with my associates too. What I have to say to you now is painful, but say it I must.”

The door opened. Hanrahan walked in, making his excuses. Denney looked at him in despair. This was all going wrong. Neri had advance knowledge. Denney couldn’t begin to guess how, or what this might mean.

“The choice before me,” Neri continued, “is simple. Do I lose a friend? Or do I lose a fortune? Do I throw good money after bad for old times’ sake? Or do I take what I can and be grateful for that?”

“This is a pittance,” Denney complained. “It’s a fraction of what we could earn if we go back in business. And you need a bank, Emilio. You can’t live without that.”

“Banks, banks,” Neri snarled, waving a dismissive hand at Denney.

“You live in the past, Michael. It’s the secret, small corporations that attract the interest of those cold-blooded lawyers in the first place. Why waste all our time and money on them when it’s simpler just to go to someone more established and pay him for a mutual relationship? It’s in the nature of the world we live in now that men like us may hide more easily in the light of day. Scurrying around in dark corners merely calls attention to ourselves. Sadly”—Neri seemed genuinely surprised by this insight—“that’s what seems to come naturally to a man like you. Perhaps it’s in your background. Perhaps it comes from this place. If the latter, then more fool you, because they’ve abandoned you, Michael. Even if you don’t know that yourself.”

“What?” Denney knew he was out of favor. But a renewal of his business interests, some clearing of debts, these were actions that would surely begin to clear his name…

“I want my cut of this money,” Aitcheson said. “I want it now and I want it based on what we invested in the first place.”

“You’ll walk away with pennies,” Denney repeated.

Aitcheson stabbed an angry finger at him. “I’ll walk away with something. Listen to me well, Michael. I was on the phone to someone in the Justice Department only yesterday. This present state of limbo isn’t going to last. They’re closing Lombardia for good soon, not just suspending us. They’re preparing the warrants. Your name’s on the top. No one else’s right now, and as far as the rest of us are concerned that’s the way it’s going to stay.”

Denney glared at them. “You knew this? All of you? You didn’t think to tell me?”

Crespi stared at the table. Neri looked bored.

Aitcheson sighed. “You’ve been living in la-la land these last six months, Michael. Thinking you can bribe your way out of this mess. It isn’t going to happen. Even if it were possible, Emilio’s right. Letting you back into the game would just mean we open up a black hole again. You’re finished. Face it. We have nothing left to discuss. I wash my hands of you.”

Neri glanced at Hanrahan, then nodded at the ceiling. “They do too. He doesn’t know?”

Denney felt hot, confused. He looked into Hanrahan’s eyes and saw the future begin to fall apart.

“You don’t have a deal?” Hanrahan asked. “After all this work? All this time?”

Neri shook his head. “My dear Irish friend. Please don’t act so surprised. Do we look like fools?” He paused, enjoying this. “Well. Tell him…”

Hanrahan grimaced, then pulled out his phone. Denney heard him calling the janitorial staff, asking them to send a couple of men around. “If there’s no deal,” he said, “things are very different.”

“What are you doing?” Denney demanded. “What the hell is going on here?”

Neri smiled at the apartment, appreciating the Murano glass, the mirrors, the paintings. “Nice place,” he said. “They’ll be scratching each other’s eyes out to see who gets it next.”