Naked Greed

7

There was a repeat performance before breakfast, then Caroline showered, dressed, and left for work. Stone was slower to move after such exertion. It was nearly ten when he made it to his desk, and he thanked himself for staying fit. On days like this, fitness got him out of bed.

Shortly before noon Pepe Perado called.

“How’s it going?”

“Very well, thank you. My team is here at Marty Winkle’s, burrowing into things. I wanted you to know that the two cops are still with me.”

“Is Mike Freeman’s security team still with you, too?”

“Yes, but I have the feeling those two men are just waiting for an opening.”

“Your security people won’t give them one. If you think it would help, I can have them spoken to.”

“What would be said?”

“Not much. Discouragement can take other forms.”

“I don’t want them beaten up.”

“I wasn’t suggesting that, but you might remember what they were going to do to you. They could very well have put you in the hospital, or worse.”

“Perhaps I should be armed.”

“You should not be. The City of New York takes a very dim view of visitors, even citizens, walking around unlicensed, carrying weapons. Being discovered in that condition can radically alter your favorable opinion of our fair city.”

“I understand.”

“I’m glad. I will take steps to discourage your unwanted entourage.”

“Thank you.”

Stone called Mike Freeman at Strategic Services.

“Good morning, Stone.”

“Good morning, Mike.”

“Are my people doing their job?”

“They are, but a bit more needs to be done.”

“I’ve heard that your client is still being troubled by unwanted presences.”

“He is. Could you have these men spoken to?”

“How forcefully?”

“Without violence, if at all possible. My client wants it that way.”

“Stone, I’ve done a little research on the people who employ these ex-cops. Apparently, these two are part of a coterie of enforcers retained by the Messrs. Brubeck and Parisi, who are rather old-fashioned in their methods, both arising from criminal stock. They protect their turf by crude methods and enlarge it the same way.”

“I should have thought that energetic sales would preserve their turf better.”

“Oh, their sales force is buttressed by energetic fellows, too. They really need to be put out of business.”

“Dino is taking a look at that. In the meantime, Pepe Perado is trying to make a business deal, and the unwanted attention is, understandably, making him nervous. He will be a good client, I think, and I don’t want him folding his tent and stealing back to San Antonio.”

“I understand. I employ some men who are artists in the intimidation business. Question is, should they address the two ex-cops or their employers?”

“Good question.”

“It might be more efficient to deal with the root, rather than the branch.”

“You have a point.”

“Leave it with me, then.”

“I’ll wait to hear from you.”

They both hung up.

Later that day, Jerry Brubeck and Gino Parisi left their offices and walked to the garage where their cars were parked. Brubeck lived in New Jersey and Parisi in Corona Park, Queens.

It was Parisi who noticed first that their cars were blocked by cars parked behind them. “Let’s go, Jerry,” he said, tugging at his partner’s sleeve.

“Huh? What’s up?”

“Let’s just go.” Parisi turned and propelled his partner toward the elevator, but their way was blocked by two very large men, both with battered faces and unwelcoming visages.

They tried to go the other way, but two other men blocked that, too.

Each of the men held a short black tube in his hand.

Parisi unbuttoned his jacket and came up with a snub-nosed .38 revolver. As he raised it, something hard came down on his wrist, and the gun clattered to the concrete floor. The short tubes the men held had become longer: steel batons. Parisi swore and clasped his wrist. “If it’s broken I’ll have you taken out,” he said to the man who had struck him.

“Shut up and listen,” the man said. “You are paying unwanted attention to a gentleman visiting from Texas. This will stop now.”

“You don’t know who you’re dealing with,” Parisi said.

“We know exactly who we’re dealing with,” the man replied. “You are the ignorant one. You’re in over your head, and if you persist, bad things will happen to you.”

“To you, not me,” Parisi said.

The man swung his baton and connected with a knee, and Parisi went down. “Would you like me to use it on your face?”

“No!” Brubeck said, suddenly coming alive. “We get the message, so back off.”

“We’ll do that,” the man said. “But just this one time. Don’t make it necessary for us to come back.” The four men got into their two cars and drove down the garage ramp at a leisurely pace.

Brubeck helped Parisi to his feet. “You want a hospital, Gino?”

“They’re the ones gonna want a hospital,” Parisi replied, dusting himself off and rubbing his wrist.

“Gino, we don’t want a war,” Brubeck said. “Wars cost too much.”

“You think I’m going to let Perado get away with that?”

“I think it’s best if we forget about Perado.”

“He’s going to buy out Winkle,” Parisi said.

“We should have made Winkle a better offer. There’s no chance of a deal now, and we don’t really know who we’re dealing with here.”

“I’ll find out,” Parisi said.

“Gino, if you do this, we’ll have to kill somebody. We’re going good, here — don’t fuck it up.”

“I’m going to fuck them up,” Parisi said. He got into his car and drove toward the ramp.

“Oh, shit,” Brubeck said aloud to himself.