From what Mookie had said, things were going very wrong. And worst of all, it had to be on a job for Jules Kenworth.
Taperelli took a deep breath, blew it out angrily, and reached for the phone.
12
Jules Kenworth stood alone in his conference room, gazing down at the huge mahogany table at which he held sway over not just board members but executives, investors, politicians, and would-be bigwigs of all stripes. Kenworth was a mogul’s mogul, often imitated, never equaled. He ruled his empire with an iron hand, and had no patience for anyone not on board with his latest venture. His business was real estate. His default mode was acquisition and construction.
The centerpiece of the table was, as always, his current project, in this case the forty-six-story luxury office building he planned for Lower Manhattan. The meticulous scale model, an engineering marvel in its own right, was a beauteous thing to behold.
The phone on the conference table rang. The call must be important or his secretary would not have put it through.
Kenworth picked up the phone. “Yes?” he snapped.
“Tommy Taperelli,” his secretary replied.
Kenworth didn’t bother to acknowledge her, just clicked the line over. “What?”
Taperelli was used to such briskness from the billionaire developer, and put up with it gladly. Just to be associated with Kenworth upped his stock a hundredfold. Kenworth, on the other hand, was proud of his mob connections. While he would not be caught dead with the likes of Mario Payday, Kenworth was happy to be seen associating with a sophisticated wise guy like Tommy Taperelli.
“I just got a call from court,” Taperelli said.
“Don’t tell me they took the plea bargain.”
“No, but the lawyer didn’t show. Sent another guy in his place.”
“Any good?”
“No, but he’s slow. The case could drag on.”
“No good. I want the kid in jail where you can lean on him.”
“I know.”
“I don’t think you do, or I wouldn’t be getting this phone call. Let me spell it out for you. Councilman Ross fucked me on this deal and now his kid is going to pay. Because no one fucks me on a deal. No one. I want him in jail, where you can arrange for his ‘health benefits’ and his ‘social calendar,’ until his father realizes what a horrible mistake he made. I want him there now. Not next week. Now.”
“I know. I know.”
“This new lawyer is a problem. I don’t want to hear about problems. I just want them to go away.”
“I understand.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Make the problem go away so I don’t get any more of these phone calls.”
Kenworth slammed down the phone.
He was righteously pissed. This had to happen, and not just for revenge. Kenworth had practical reasons for needing the kid in jail.
The bone of contention was a zoning ordinance. The councilman had refused to grant an easement on the height restriction on his building, which would have allowed him to add thirty floors. Kenworth stood to lose an astronomical amount if he couldn’t change Ross’s mind before the council voted next week.
Kenworth shook his head deploringly. Things were getting really bad when you couldn’t even trust a mobster to get the job done.
13
Stone Barrington was at the desk in his home office tidying up legal matters when his secretary, Joan Robertson, poked her head in the door. “Dino on three.”
Stone picked up the phone. “Hi, Dino, what’s up?”
Dino wasn’t happy. “I have an ethical problem.”
“Wait until she’s eighteen.”
“Not that problem. The detectives investigating the shooting took Yvette’s information. I ran it, which I shouldn’t have done, I know. But I have, and now the question is — do I tell Herbie what I found?”
“Don’t tell me she’s a call girl.”
“Actually, yes.”
Stone laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“Well, it means Herbie is running true to form.”
“Yeah, but in this case he doesn’t know it and he’s very happy. So what do I do?”
“What do you mean?”
“The question is, should we tell him?”
“Why spoil his fun?”
“You call that fun?”
“Well, it’s better than not having a date for the prom.”
“You don’t think he can interest another woman?”
“That’s not the point. He’s in love.”
“With a hooker.”
“Well, nobody’s perfect.”
“Stone.”
“I’m disappointed. Herbie was so happy at dinner. Then he’s shot at, shanghaied into court, and his girlfriend’s a hooker.”
“I could have a talk with her. Maybe she’s changed her ways.”
“Or you scare her off and break Herbie’s heart,” Stone said.
“It’s going to happen sooner or later.” Dino exhaled into the phone. “There’s something else.”
“What’s that?”
“She gave him an app for his iPad — Find My Phone.”
“What’s that?”
“If you misplace your iPhone, it tells you where it is.”
“With a beeping noise?”
“Yeah.”
“Can’t you just call it?”
“Not if the ringer’s off. This thing tells you even if the ringer’s off. And if your phone happens to be in the next county, it shows you on a map.”
“That’s great.”
“Yeah, but—”
“But what?”
“Kind of funny thing to give a guy.”
“It actually sounds practical.”
“Yeah, for her. If she has his iPad, she can open the app and tell exactly where he is at any given time.”
“Wouldn’t he have his iPad?”
“Do you take yours to dinner? So she can check on him. Even if she doesn’t have his iPad, if she just has his account and password, she can call it up on hers.”
“Why would she need that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe so he won’t come home while she’s boffing the cable guy.”
“Oh, gee,” Stone said. “Why do you always think the worst of people?”
Dino shrugged. “I’m a cop.”
Yvette came out of La Perla with a smile on her lips and a credit card in her purse. Being engaged to Herbie Fisher was a very nice gig. She’d taken the job on, researched it well, knew everything there was to know about the man. Even the fact that he was Herbie Fisher when he won the lottery, and was Herb Fisher now. She called him Herbie, which was a pet name for her, and at the same time a subconscious reminder of the old days before the lottery when he used to be wild. He’d won thirty million. He’d run through half of it, but half remained, plus the generous salary he pulled in from his partnership at Woodman & Weld. If she could just keep him on the string until they were married, she’d be on easy street.
Hell, she was on easy street now. Being engaged to Herbie was a particularly nice job.
Yvette had just stepped off the sidewalk when she felt a hand on her shoulder.
She spun around and gasped. “You!”
The young man grinned. “Hi, sweetie.”
“Donnie! What are you doing here?”
“I got lonely.”
Whereas Yvette had cleaned up her act for the Herbie sting, her boyfriend, Donnie, hadn’t cleaned up his at all. He looked like exactly what he was, a low-life creep.
“Donnie, we talked about this. You have to stay away.”
“Why?”
“Because you want money, Donnie. Lots and lots of money.”
“I want some now.”
“Soon, sweetie. We’re so close.”
Donnie grinned, the shit-eating grin she somehow found adorable. “I’ve had some minor setbacks. You know how it is.”