“I’m sure you did. I was talking about his funeral.”
“That I hadn’t heard. What about it?”
“It’s tomorrow.”
“That’s fast,” Carly said.
“It is,” Stone said. “I guess there’s no question about the cause of death.”
“As the coroner said to me,” Dino said, “ ‘the means of Mr. Gromyko’s demise is self-evident.’ ”
Carly frowned. “That still doesn’t explain why they’d bury him so soon.”
“I can think of a reason,” Viv said. “A good one, too.”
“I’m all ears.”
“So they can get it over with.”
“That isn’t very respectful.”
“Maybe not,” Dino said, “but Viv’s right.”
“I never get tired of hearing you say that,” Viv said.
“I’ve noticed.”
“I still don’t get it,” Carly said. “Gromyko was the head of the family. Shouldn’t his funeral be a big deal?”
“From what I heard, it will be,” Dino said. “We’re calling in an extra one hundred fifty officers to handle security.”
“The police doing security for the mob.” Carly shook her head. “That has to be a first.”
“Far from it,” Stone said. “Do you think there’s never been a funeral for the head of a crime family here before? The last thing anyone wants is a shootout taking place at a cemetery.”
“It would be convenient,” Carly said, seriously.
“There are times when I worry about what’s going on in that head of yours,” Stone said.
“Did I say something wrong?”
“I guess that depends on your point of view.”
She thought for a moment, then said, “No one has told me yet why it’s happening so fast.”
“Simple,” Viv said. “Everyone’s focus will be on the funeral. Until it’s over, everything else they had going on will be put on hold.”
“Like day-to-day graft,” Stone offered.
“Or dealing with the person who had the head of their organization killed,” Dino said.
Stone blanched. “I could have gone without hearing that.”
Helene stepped into the doorway. “Dinner is ready.”
“Great, I’m starved,” Dino said.
“Me, too,” Carly said.
Stone, however, had lost his appetite.
After a meal of grilled salmon, baby potatoes, and asparagus — most of which Stone just pushed around his plate — they retired to the study for a glass of port.
“You look like you have something on your mind,” Carly said to Stone.
“What gave you that idea?” Dino asked. “The fact that he barely ate anything? Or that he has yet to take a sip of his drink?”
“Both.”
“It was the drink for me,” Viv said.
“Me, too,” Dino agreed.
“That obvious, am I?” Stone said. “I have indeed been thinking. Perhaps a trip to Maine is in order.”
“The last time I was there, people were shooting at us,” Carly said.
“The idea would be that going there would prevent that from happening again, here.”
“When are you thinking of leaving?” Dino asked.
“I have a meeting tomorrow morning I can’t get out of, but I’d like to be on my way by the afternoon.”
“Making yourself scarce right after the funeral is not a bad idea,” Viv said.
“I think you all should come with me.”
“The whole if-you’re-not-around-they’ll-come-after-your-friends thing?” Carly asked.
“In a nutshell.”
“I’m in. I can work remotely this week.”
“I’ll have to rearrange a few things,” Viv said, “but it’s doable.”
“Then count us in, too,” Dino said.
“Great,” Stone said. “Let’s plan for wheels up from Teterboro at one pm.”
Chapter 44
Peter Greco sat in a row of chairs in a thick forest of headstones in a Queens cemetery and listened to a priest drone on in Russian, which he understood only poorly. The Greek’s wife, Olga, who was twenty-odd years the junior of her late husband, sat at Peter’s elbow and made snuffling noises while clutching his arm. Peter was conscious of the breast pressed against him and of her cleavage, which looked good in black.
He had not planned on attending the Greek’s funeral. He had assumed he and his family would have been preparing to move across the country, where they would be under the protection of the FBI. But yesterday he had received a call from the Bean Counter, who had asked him as a personal favor to attend and had guaranteed his safety. So, with some reluctance, he had come.
The service ended, and Olga turned to him. “I would like you to come to my house for a glass of tea,” she said, “and there are those of our community who wish to speak to you.”
“I’ve already attended one funeral this week,” he said. “I would rather not star in another.”
“No one wants you dead. Quite the opposite.”
Intrigued, he followed her to a black limousine and took note of her shapely buttocks as she bent to enter the car. When he seated himself, he was surprised that she occupied her seat in such a way as to keep herself thigh-to-thigh with him.
“Who wishes to speak to me?” he asked her.
“People,” she replied, then spoke no more for the remainder of the ride. They entered the old, but well-kept house, and she pointed to the dining room door. “In there,” she said. “I will wait for you upstairs.”
Peter opened the door and peered into the room. A group of men rose as he entered, then settled themselves in the chairs around the table.
“Shall we speak Russian?” an elderly man asked him.
“Please, no. I haven’t spoken it since I was very young. Just English.” What the hell was this about?
“Very well,” the man said. “We are here to remind you of your duties.”
“My duties?” Peter asked. “What duties?”
“The first is revenge,” the man said, and there was a positive rumble from the group.
“Revenge toward whom?” Peter asked.
“Toward the man who killed the Greek, or rather, who ordered his death.”
“And who might that be?”
“This person, Barrington, the lawyer.”
“And how did you come by this information?”
“Alexei predicted his death by Barrington’s hand or on his order.”
“That’s not evidence enough to suspect Barrington in his death,” Peter said.
“Is the Greek’s word not sufficient for you?”
“No,” Peter said, “but I don’t see why it even matters what I think.”
“It matters,” the main said, “because as our new leader, you must take charge of the effort against Barrington.”
“Leader of what?” Peter asked, baffled.
“Why of our family and its businesses,” the man said. “The Gromykos did not work out. It’s time for a Pentkovsky to lead the family again.”
“I cannot accept that,” Peter protested. “I had already expressed to the Greek my intention of leaving the group and governing my own existence. That has not changed. Besides, I do not believe Barrington capable of ordering a murder.”
“You are naive,” the man said.
“Perhaps so. But I am Peter Greco now, not Egon Pentkovsky. And I must decline any participation in the family’s affairs, and certainly anything to do with revenge against someone who has been wrongly accused.”
“We shall see,” the man said.
“We shall not see,” Peter said. “And I will not be pressed into replacing the Greek in the family, whose activities I wish to have nothing to do with.”
The man sighed, ignoring Peter’s protests. “And then there is the matter of the Greek’s widow,” he said.