"I think there's something bigger going on."
Rubenelli smirked. "What, you're sayin' I'm innocent?"
"You're the least innocent guy I've ever met, Len. I'm just saying I'm not convinced you're guilty. At least of these murders. But if we release this information, and tie you to everything I know we can tie you to, everybody else is going to think you're guilty as hell. Of a whole bunch of things."
"Ask," Rubenelli said.
"You met with Evan Harmon and Ronald LaSalle down in Palm Beach at the Rockworth and Williams hedge fund conference."
"Yeah. I have a house down there. Right on the water. I use it in the winter. Bunch of snobs, you know, but you can't beat the fuckin' weather in January."
"How'd you hook up with them?" Reggie asked.
"You're not gonna believe me."
"Try us."
"Bruno. He was usin' LaSalle as a broker."
"As a legit broker?" Justin asked.
Lenny Rube laughed. "Totally legit. Bruno got interested in the market. He started to play around. LaSalle made him some dough. A lotta dough, if you wanna know the truth. So he came to me and said I oughtta check this guy out."
"Len," Justin said, "you're telling me that you were using Ron LaSalle as your personal, legit broker to play the stock market?"
"How much of this conversation is off the record?" Rubenelli asked.
"Unless I'm wrong and you ordered these hits, it's all off the record. I wish you nothing but success with your moneymaking schemes."
"Off the record, it started legit. As kind of a test. Then we went to him and said we wanted to invest some-uh-corporate funds. We wanted him to be a kind of funds-to-funds guy."
"Funds to funds?" Justin said. "What are you, going to business school?"
"Hey, scumbag," Rubenelli said. "A lotta what we do's legit now. And we gotta play it legit. And it wasn't just my dough, our dough. We got a few… outside investors."
"Other families?"
"I'm talkin' to you about my business. I don't have to bring in other people's business. I'm just sayin' my investors got money to invest and we got people to look out for and we're like anybody else-we like to hire good people to watch over our money."
"So LaSalle started investing your money in various hedge funds?"
"Yeah. Until… well… he kinda figured out we weren't interested in dealin', you know, a hundred percent on the up-and-up. I mean, we were makin' dough, but we decided we weren't makin' enough dough."
"He backed out?"
"He wasn't stupid. He asked out. I liked the guy. He did his job for us. I said fine. Just get me a good replacement."
"Evan Harmon."
"A greedy fuckin' guy."
"You put your-okay-corporate money into Ascension."
"We made a deal."
"Which was?"
"He wanted our dough and he wanted it bad, this guy. We told him we'd go with him. But we wanted a guarantee." Rubenelli paused. Justin knew it was for dramatic effect, so he gave him his moment in the sun. Then Rubenelli continued. "Twenty percent."
"Guaranteed on your investment?"
"That's right."
"And he agreed," Reggie said.
"He agreed happily. I think your friend LaSalle told him he was crazy. But like I said, this Harmon was one greedy fuck."
"You know how he did it? Guaranteed you that kind of return?"
"I wasn't dealin' with him too directly. But I heard a few things and I had my suspicions. Now I pretty much know for sure, thanks to you." Rubenelli stubbed his cigarette out in an ashtray. He went into a small bathroom off the den, tossed the remains in the toilet and flushed them away. When he came back he said, "My wife. I'm not kiddin'. She'll bust my balls big-time if she sees I'm smokin' in here." He looked longingly at the pack of cigarettes. But he put it back in the drawer. "You know, I'm gettin' kind of philosophical in my old age."
"How's that?" Justin said.
"I been thinkin' how things change. I been in this business a long time. Since I was a kid. And I seen a lotta changes. In the way we work, the way we think. People got the impression that we're like the movies. We sit around some table and do whatever the fuck they think we do. But we're a business now. We're in a lotta legit businesses. Our kids are legit. It's different. It changes things, sometimes make you cautious. Kinda philosophical even."
"Jean-Paul Rubenelli," Reggie said.
"Whatever. But I'm tellin' you, even the politics are different. When I started, you talk to a lotta the family heads, they were Democrats, you know. They didn't care so much about the niggers, but they liked the whole underdog thing. We could relate to it. And we had some clout. This was the Hoffa era, you know. The Daley era in Chicago. I heard stories, back to Kennedy and Nixon. The West Coast wanted Nixon, they had their hooks in him. But we told 'em to back off. It wasn't his time. We had to send people down to Florida-what the hell was that guy's name, Nixon's money guy. Stupid name. Rebozo. Bebe Rebozo. We had to send a couple guys to his house, meet with him and Nixon, tell 'em this wasn't their year-you know what I mean?"
"You should write a book, Len. But is this going anywhere?"
"I'm just sayin' it ain't like that anymore. Guys got rich. Guys got fat. Guys got houses like this one. We used to deal with unions. With businesses, small businesses. Now we deal with Wall Street, with investors, lobbyists. Much more genteel. Not as much fun."
"So the mob's a bunch of Republicans now-is that what you're saying?"
"I'm sayin' that things change. We got different connections, we got different friends. The whole way of thinkin' has changed. But some people don't change. I don't change. I mean, somewhat-you know? I adapt. But not that much. I like the old ways."
"And Bruno doesn't change."
"Bruno? Nah, he don't change at all. He does what he does. Always has, always will. And some guys like it, some guys don't. Am I done now?"
"I just want to get this clear: You didn't know about the platinum shorting?"
"What are you, gonna keep me here all night on this shit? I thought you wanted to talk to Bruno."
"I do."
"Then let him tell you what he knows. I took you about as far as I can go. 'Cause I didn't go to fuckin' business school, you smart-ass."
"How do I talk to Bruno?" Justin asked.
"He'll be in touch."
"When?"
"Soon," Rubenelli said. "Very soon. Now can I get back to the table? My wife's relatives. I'll be lucky if they left me one fuckin' cake crumb."
32
Reggie worked her BlackBerry on the short ride from the East Hampton Airport back to Justin's house. He sat with his head leaning back and his eyes closed. But when she told him the reports she'd requested had come through-all the information he'd asked for, and more; she'd gone ahead and put through searches on her own-his eyes opened and, although his head didn't move, the eyes did, shifting toward her. She read what had been sent to her. He blinked once, showing he understood, showing that the information was as stunning to him as it was to her.
When the taxi pulled up, she insisted on walking Justin into the house. He resisted but not very hard. And when they were inside he spoke in the same monotone he'd been using since she'd arrived at his house earlier. He was tired, said he wanted to go to bed, and she said, "I know. But I'm not leaving."
"Reggie…" he said, but then he stopped. He didn't have anything more to say.
"I'll sleep on the couch. I don't think you should be alone right now."
"I'm fine," he said.
"You killed somebody today, Jay. And it was horrible and brutal and it's not over yet, you know it's not over yet, so you can't be fine."
"Okay," he said. "Maybe I'm not fine."
He leaned back on the couch, and as he did she saw the physical pain he was in. She got up, got his bottle of single malt scotch and poured them each a glass. He took a small sip, recoiled as if the liquid were burning his lips, but then he closed his eyes in satisfaction, and when he opened them again he took another sip.