Quick & Dirty

53

Cheech, the capo who ran Rocco Maggio’s crew, sat in comfort on the living room sofa in Sol Fineman’s apartment while his boys reduced the place to rubble. He was nearly through with the Daily News crossword when one of them came to him.

“Okay, boss, we’ve been through the place, and we haven’t found anything. You want to take a look?”

Cheech wearily put his crossword aside and followed the man into the single bedroom. The pillows, mattress, and box spring had been gutted, and bits of feathers floated in the air. He walked into the kitchen, opened a couple of cabinets, and looked around. “What’s that?” he said, pointing at a black plastic garbage can.

“It’s a garbage can,” his guy replied.

“What’s that stuck to the bottom?” He pointed at a piece of paper stuck to an inside corner.

The man picked up the garbage can, peeled a portion of a sheet of paper from the inside, and handed it to Cheech.

Cheech regarded the scrap with interest.

“What is it, Cheech?”

“It looks like part of a property tax bill from Dutchess County, upstate. The guy’s paying twenty-four grand a year — must be a nice house.”

“Is it Fineman’s house?”

Cheech shook his head. “Belongs to some guy named Blankenship. The first name’s missing.”

“How about an address?”

“One hundred Riverview Road, Cold... The rest is missing.”

“There’s a town up that way on the Hudson called Cold Spring, or something like that.”

Cheech produced an iPhone, tapped the map app, and typed in the address and Cold Spring New York. “Cold Spring,” he said. “Across the river from West Point. Okay, let’s go take a look at Mr. Blankenship’s house.”

Mr. and Mrs. Blankenship got up early and had breakfast at an IHOP across the road from their motel.

“So what’s your plan for the day?”

“I thought we might buy a new car,” he said.

“The Toyota is less than a year old.”

“Something nicer, something that isn’t connected to New York State.”

“Ah.”

They drove the Toyota into the town, down a broad street filled with car dealerships. “How about this one?” he said, swinging into Callahan Mercedes.

“Why not?”

The two of them prowled the lot, and she stopped in front of a large white SUV. “I like SUVs,” she said. “You can get a lot of stuff in them.”

He took a good look at the plush interior, then at the window sticker; the vehicle was loaded. A man in a suit approached them, his hand out. “My name’s Callahan,” he said. “This is my dealership. Something I can show you?”

“I’m interested in the G550,” he said. “It looks pretty loaded. Is there any option that isn’t on the car?”

Callahan looked at it. “This one’s got everything. We order a few loaded-up vehicles every year.”

“What can you offer me as a discount?”

“We deal in list prices only. You got something to trade?”

“The Camry there, it’s got only six thousand miles on it.”

Callahan made a cell call, and a service technician came running out.

“The keys are in it,” Blankenship said.

“Looks clean to me,” Callahan said, “but I’ve got to run it by my service manager. Why don’t we go inside and have a cup of coffee?”

They were finishing their coffee in Callahan’s office when the service man came in with a sheet of paper. Callahan looked at it. “Nice Camry you’ve got there.”

“Easy to sell, too,” Blankenship said.

“Tell you what,” Callan said, “eighty-one thousand dollars and your car.”

“You’re going to make a profit on both cars,” he said. “You can do better.”

Callahan sucked his teeth and shook his head.

“Mr. Callahan, how do you feel about cash?”

“I’m fond of it. You mean you don’t need a loan?”

“I mean I don’t need a loan or a checkbook.”

“Oh, you’re talking about currency?”

“I am.”

“You understand, there are banking laws I have to comply with. I have to fill out a federal form if I deposit more than ten thousand dollars.” He scratched his head. “Besides, what would I do with eighty-one thousand in cash?”

“Seventy-five thousand,” he said. “You’ll think of something.”

“I don’t know...”

“Remodel the house? Buy the wife a fur coat or two? Take a really nice vacation?”

Callahan’s face broadened into a smile. “Oh, what the hell? Where’s the money?”

“A stone’s throw,” Blankenship said. “I’ll go get it. You do the paperwork.”

“What’s your address?” Callahan asked.

“Oh, we’ve just moved out and haven’t found a place yet. This seems like a nice town. Give us a nice address here.” He could hardly register it at his Cold Spring address. “I’ll be right back.”

He went out to the Camry, opened the trunk, and then entered the combination of the two locks on a large aluminum suitcase. He found a shopping bag in the trunk and put seven bundles of $10,000 each into it, then counted out $5,000 from another bundle and stuck the rest in his pocket, then he walked back into the dealership and set the shopping bag on the desk. “The bundles are ten thousand each. There’s seven and a half bundles.”

Callahan took out a bundle at random and riffled through it. “Looks good to me,” he said. “Sign right here.”

Blankenship picked up the pen and signed.

“You’re now a resident of one of our nicest neighborhoods,” Callahan said. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll send somebody down to the DMV and get you a tag, a registration, and a title. Another cup of coffee?”

They both had another cup and a doughnut. Half an hour later, the Blankenships were driving east on the interstate. At the first exit they got off, drove under the bridge, and got on again headed west.

“Our next stop is a little town called Anderson, Indiana, which has a very nice airport. We can leave the car there for a couple of days.” Then he explained his plan to her.

“I like it,” she said.

He ran a hand up the inside of her thigh and made contact. “I always know what you’ll like,” he said.