“Let’s get something to eat,” Buda said. “I’m starved.”
The restaurant and bar was situated in a rather ordinary-looking two-story wood-frame house painted a deep green with white trim. Except for the lighted sign announcing SWISS HOUSE INN in front of the building next to the road, the structure didn’t look much like a restaurant, more like another house along the road only in better shape. The parking lot was fairly full, so it was obviously a popular place on a Friday night. Burim walked in the door first and the lady at the door made a fuss of him, asking after his health and saying his table was ready. Buda guessed he’d called ahead and was a frequent patron. Other diners who had been waiting to be seated took one look at the group and to a man and woman decided not to make an issue with the men who jumped the line. They were all in oversized leather jackets, the accepted attire of the Albanian mafia.
In the back of the busy restaurant was a single booth situated partway between the kitchen and the main room. The only traffic was from staff coming out of the kitchen, several of whom made a point of saying hello to Burim.
“So they know you in here,” Buda said. He was mildly disappointed. If he’d known Burim was a regular, he wouldn’t have agreed to the location.
“I’m a big tipper,” Burim said, winking at Drilon across the table.
Buda studied the two men. Drilon was sweating and looked distinctly uncomfortable. Burim was relaxed and exuded calm confidence. Burim got the looks and the brains, Buda thought.
“What can I get you guys?”
It was the hostess doing double duty. They ordered four beers and the special, schnitzel, all around.
“So here’s the deal, gentlemen,” Buda said. He dove right in, dispensing with small talk. “I’m doing a job for someone and halfway through, there’s a problem. The problem is this girl who is sticking her nose in, investigating a situation and making things very difficult for me. We tried to dissuade her, but it didn’t work. The sensible course is to eliminate the problem, so I clear it with my client, who is willing to pay a hundred grand for the extra work, meaning to take care of the meddling bitch.”
Buda paused to take a sip of water and he glanced at Fatos. Fatos knew the contract was for $250,000, but there was no reason these guys had to know.
“If, as might be the case, this girl is your daughter, then you have to take responsibility for her, and you and me, we’ll share the money. But that means it’s your responsibility to make absolutely sure she desists from investigating this case, from poking around, from talking to people, from thinking about it, from dreaming about it. And if she isn’t your daughter, then we will fulfill the contract and you must promise not to mention anything about what we have done. In that case you get a quarter of the money for your inconvenience.”
“Where is she right now?” Burim asked. At that point he was anticipating meeting her.
“Not far from here. She’s perfectly safe.”
“And what was she sticking her nose into, as you put it?”
“I’d rather not say. Ah, our food already.”
The steaming plates of schnitzel and noodles arrived. Remembering Prek’s request, Buda ordered four more to go.
“The key point is,” Buda said, poised with a forkful of veal, “that she stops doing what she’s doing. I have to tell you, she’s making things very dangerous for me. It would be good if she went on a long vacation.”
“I’m sure we can arrange that,” Burim said. He had no reason to believe he could make that happen, but he liked the idea that there was to be a payday in this for him. “Right, Drilon?”
“Sure.” Drilon was facing his own set of demons, but he had little choice but to play along. He pushed a noodle around the edge of his plate with his fork.
“We’re happy to help you, Mr. Buda, but we are incurring some more expenses here,” Burim said.
“Don’t worry,” Buda said, “we’ll take care of dinner.”
“No, really, your money is no good here. There will be other expenses, for the girl.” Burim had already decided the girl had to be his missing daughter. The coincidences were too extraordinary. And if the girl’s personality resembled that of his late wife, he was going to need some cash to even hope to control her.
“Of course,” Buda said. He had been expecting this. “I think ten thousand is a fair amount for the girl.”
“For her inconvenience,” Burim said. Buda nodded at Fatos, who leaned back and shuffled some bills under the table and presented Burim with a thick wad folded in half.
“Either way,” Buda said, “daughter or no daughter. If she is not your daughter, you can keep the cash for your expenses.”
“You have been very thoughtful,” Burim said.
“And you have been very cooperative,” Buda said.
Buda and Burim shook hands across the table, and in turn all four men shook hands, making the agreement as binding as any legal document in Albanian tradition and logic. The men finished their meal quickly, and with the takeout in hand, they left. Burim, having left three twenties on the table as a tip, was detailed to follow Buda, who would lead the way in a motorcade of sorts.
As Burim walked out of the restaurant, he patted his pocket with the fresh bulge of cash and smiled, thinking it was going to be an interesting and profitable evening.
61.
GREEN POND, NEW JERSEY MARCH 25, 2011, 11:15 P.M.
There was nothing the occupants of the summer house could do but wait. Prek sat next to Neri on one couch with Genti and Pia sitting opposite. He had thought about tying her up, as he should have done before, but he didn’t want to make a worse impression than he had to. Besides, the girl wasn’t going anywhere. Prek had found an old T-shirt in a closet and gave it to Pia to wear along with one of his own New York Jets sweatshirts he kept at the house. The jersey came halfway down her thighs. She also wore a pair of soccer socks pulled up to her knees. She had draped a towel over her shoulders, but she was still shivering.
Pia sat and glared at Neri. That was the guy who had touched her, she was sure of it. She stole glances at the other guys too-the one who seemed to be in charge with the thick scar on his upper lip, and the guy with the dominating nose. She wasn’t entirely certain but believed they were the men who had attacked her the night before. She recognized their voices.
Prek cradled a gun in his hand. He wondered if he would have to use it that night, and if so, who would be the target. He could make a case for any of them: Neri for brazenly disobeying an order, and Genti for failing to stop him. The only person Prek wasn’t mad at was Pia. He admired her for trying to escape and for getting as far as she had. If he had to shoot her, it would not be emotional. It would just be business.
At least the fiasco was going to have a conclusion soon, thought Prek, as he heard a group of cars pull into the driveway one after the other. A moment later they heard car doors opening and then slamming shut in quick succession.
“Go wait in the bedroom,” Prek said to Pia.
As soon as Buda, Fatos, Burim, and Drilon walked into the house, they could all tell that something was wrong. The atmosphere among the three men inside was clearly strained. Neri was sitting on the couch, staring at the floor and didn’t stand up. Genti wouldn’t make eye contact, and Prek acted fit to be tied. Buda had to find out what had happened and fast.
“Gentlemen,” he said, turning to Burim and Drilon. “I left the food we picked up in the back of my car. Would you mind? I’d just like to have a quick word with my guys.”
Burim and Drilon left the room and closed the door. Buda lit into Prek.
“What the fuck is going on here? Stand up, Neri! Genti, look at me when I’m talking! Where’s the girl?”
“She’s in the bedroom,” Prek said. “She got out the window, jumped in the lake, and swam off.”
“What? Are you serious?”