Naked Greed

12

The following morning, after their usual early-morning carnal cavort, Caroline took her shower and dressed in the change of clothes she had brought in her bag.

“I had a thought,” Stone said.

“Speak it, then, I don’t want to be late.”

“Why don’t we get out of town for the weekend? I’ve got a country place. We can breathe free up there.”

“What a good idea!”

“Can you shake loose from work after lunch?”

“I can go home, pack a bag, and be here by, say, noon?”

“Good. See you then.”

Jerry Brubeck got to his office by eight AM, as usual. He had not slept well, and he knew he was going to have to confront Gino, which always made him nervous. He made coffee and put the cheese Danishes he had bought on the way into the city on a plate, then poured himself a cup. At eight-thirty, right on schedule, Gino bustled into the office.

“Grab some coffee and Danish, Gino,” Jerry said. “We have to talk.”

“Oh, shit, not again.”

“I don’t know what you mean by that, but this is an entirely new talk.”

Gino hung up his jacket, poured himself coffee, took the Danish, and sat down at the table, opposite Jerry. “All right, take your best shot.”

“Part of this you’ve heard before,” Jerry said, “but you’re going to have to hear it again.”

“I’m listening.”

“We’ve got a good business here, but you’re screwing it up.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You and I are in two different businesses. I’m running a modern, state-of-the-art beverage distribution business, and you’re running a mob family that isn’t really there anymore. You’re behaving like your father and his father before him, and you’re raising your son to do the same.”

“I like tradition,” Gino said, taking in a mouthful of Danish.

Jerry spoke hurriedly, to get his thought in while Gino was chewing. “We lost our advertising agency yesterday, because you’ve behaved like a jerk at every meeting we’ve ever had with them.”

Gino swallowed hard. “Fuck ’em,” he said. “We’ll get another agency.”

“They are the best agency in town, and now they’re representing our new competitor from Texas instead of us.”

“So what? That Texas guy is never going to make it. I’ll screw him up so bad he won’t know what hit him.”

“See, Gino, that’s what I’m talking about, that’s no way to run a business. Nowadays you compete by offering your clients good service and prices and by running a good advertising and marketing program. Gone are the days when you beat up the competition or shoot them, but that’s what you still want to do.”

“Listen, Jerry, you count the beans, and I’ll take care of the competition.”

“No, Gino. That’s not the way it’s going to happen anymore.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Yes, Gino, I’m threatening you. You and I each own forty percent of this business, and the rest is owned by other family members. I’ve counted noses, and I have a majority on my side. From now on, Bowsprit Beverages is a strictly legit business.”

“You little shit! You’re running around behind my back getting votes against me!”

“And you’re running around behind my back hiring goons to beat up people, or worse, for all I know.”

“Are you calling my son a goon?”

“That’s what you’ve made him into.”

“Well, he’s not that smart, I’ll admit, so I had to give him something to do.”

“Tell you what, keep him on the payroll until he can find something that suits his unique talents, but don’t let him near a customer or a competitor again.”

“Yeah, he’d like that, doing nothing for money.”

“That’s how it’s going to be, Gino. In fact, I propose that we keep you on salary, but you don’t participate in the business anymore.”

“Not gonna happen, Jerry, and you can’t make it happen.”

“There’s where you’re wrong, Gino. You’re my brother-in-law, and I respect that, but I have the votes to force you to sell out to me at the formula price stated in our contract. Is that what you want? Doing nothing?”

Gino suddenly seemed to get it. He held up his hands in a placating fashion. “All right, all right, we’ll do it your way, but I’ve got something set up, and I’m going to have to go through with it. I promise you, when I’m done, Perado will go back to Texas, and we’ll never hear from him again. You can keep Al on the payroll, but he won’t make any sales calls.”

“What have you got set up, Gino?”

“Don’t worry about it. It’ll all be over in a couple of days, and then you can run the business the way you want to.”

“All right, Gino, I’ll give you a week, then you take a powder from the business, or I’ll buy you out, your choice.”

“It’ll be okay, I promise you.”

Two men watched from the street as the garage door at the Barrington house rose, and a green Bentley Flying Spur backed out of the garage. They watched as the driver got out and went into the house. While he was gone one of the men, Frank, walked past the Bentley, looked around, then bent down and reached under the car for a moment, then went back and got into his own car.

“Did you get it done?” his companion, Charlie, asked.

“Of course I did, didn’t you watch? We can track him anywhere now, and watch him on the iPad. He’ll never know he’s being followed.”

“I’ll believe this when I see it.”

Stone and Caroline gave Fred their luggage and got into the Bentley.

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” Caroline asked.

“No, I don’t think so. Let’s make it a surprise.”

“Okay, I like surprises — good ones, anyway.”

“This is a good one.”

They passed through the Lincoln Tunnel and drove into darkest New Jersey.

“Have we picked up any tails, Fred?” Stone asked.

“No, sir, I’m keeping a watch.”

The car turned into Teterboro Airport and drove to Jet Aviation. A valet loaded their luggage onto a cart. “Your airplane is right down front, Mr. Barrington,” he said, and they followed him through the lobby and out onto the ramp.

The two men in the car across the street watched them. “They’re taking a fucking airplane somewhere,” Charlie said. “Now we’ll lose them.”

“Just wait right here,” Frank said. “I’ll be right back, it’ll be okay.” He walked into the lobby and up to a rear window overlooking the ramp, where he saw Barrington and his girlfriend approach a light jet airplane. He noted the tail number, then went back to the car.

“I got their tail number,” he said.

“So you’re going to send them a postcard? How’s that going to help?”

“We can track the plane, just like we tracked the car.”

“No shit?”

“No shit,” Frank said, switching on his iPad. “You’ll see in a minute.”

This is very nice,” Caroline said after Stone closed the door and they had settled into the cockpit. “I’m a pilot, you know.”

“I didn’t know. What do you fly?”

“Daddy had a Cessna 182, and I learned in that. I’ve got about three hundred hours, total time. What is this airplane?”

“It’s a Citation Mustang, borrowed. I used to have one of these. I’m expecting delivery of a new CJ3+ shortly.”

“Lucky you.”

You’ll find our flight interesting,” Stone said. He worked his way through the checklist, all the while demonstrating how the avionics worked, then he started the engines and radioed ground control for a clearance. Fifteen minutes later they were lifting off Runway One.

Stone explained the moving map as they flew northward.

Caroline peered at their destination. “So we’re going to an island in Maine?”

“Exactly. There’s the airport on the map.”

“That looks awfully small for a jet airplane to land on.”

“And it will look short when we get there,” Stone said, “since it’s only two thousand four hundred and fifty feet long. You’ll notice that we’re flying at only eleven thousand feet. Jets use much more fuel at low altitudes, so that’s to lighten our load, since we started with full tanks. By the time we land, we’ll be much lighter, and that will help us stop short on landing, then help us break ground on takeoff when we return home. It also helps that I’ve done this before.”

“How long a runway do we need?”

“Ordinarily three thousand feet is good.”

“And this one is two thousand four hundred and fifty?”

“Right, but there are only two of us, we don’t have much luggage, and when we take off we’ll be at half fuel, so no problem.”

“I place myself in your hands,” she said.

“That’s not a great compliment, since you’re already in my hands.”

“How long is our flight?”

Stone consulted the instrument panel. “Another fifty minutes.” Half an hour later he pointed ahead of them. “That’s the island. The airport will be right over there,” he said.

“Ah, I see it. You’re right, it looks very short.”

“It will look longer when we get there.” Stone lined up the airplane and started a steep descent. He dropped the landing gear early, helping to slow to approach speed, then set the airplane down, threw in maximum flaps and speed brakes, and taxied off the runway, well short of the end. “Here we are,” he said, “and there’s our ride.” He pointed at a 1938 Ford station wagon and a man leaning against it.

Back at Teterboro, the two men sat in the car and stared at the iPad. “There,” one of them said, “they’ve landed on an island in Maine called Islesboro.”

“What do we do now?” his friend asked.

“Tomorrow morning we rent an airplane. I know just the guy.”