“I thought maybe three,” Dominick said.
“Maybe,” Bloomingdales said dubiously. “You going to see The Silver Fox with the rest of this?”
“Later today,” Dominick said.
“Tell him I hope he gets run over by a subway, that bastard.”
“I’ll tell him,” Dominick said. He put the silver items back into the suitcase, closed it, and then waited while Bloomingdales counted out two hundred and six dollars in crisp new bills; Bloomingdales always paid off in crisp new bills, which was another reason it was so nice to do business with him.
On the sidewalk downstairs, Dominick realized he had not shown Bloomingdales the watch that was still in the pocket of his blue jeans. He debated going all the way upstairs again, and then figured the hell with it.
At 12:35 P.M. that Friday afternoon, just as Dominick was walking away from Bloomingdales’ building, a trusted messenger was arriving at Benny Napkins’ place further downtown. He climbed the five flights of stairs, walked down the hall, and, wheezing, knocked on Benny’s door.
“Who is it?” Benny asked.
“Me,” the messenger said. “Arthur Doppio.”
“What do you want, Arthur?” Benny asked.
“I have something for you,” Arthur said.
“What do you have?” Benny asked.
“Something from Mario Azzecca,” Arthur said.
Benny lifted the peephole flap, peered into the hallway and saw Arthur holding up a sealed white envelope with a rubber band around it. “Just a second,” Benny said. He unlocked both Segal locks, slid the bar of the Fox lock to the floor, took off the night chain, and opened the door.
“Aren’t you going to ask me in?” Arthur said.
“I would,” Benny answered, “but Jeanette Kay is asleep, and I like her to sleep till she’s all slept out.” Even as the words left his mouth, Benny had the feeling he had lived through this identical life experience before, in the not too distant past. He took the bulging white envelope from Arthur’s hand. The envelope had a familiar feel to it.
“Well, some other time, then,” Arthur said, and tipped his hat and walked away down the corridor. Benny closed and locked the door. The feeling of déjà vu persisted. It seems, he quoted silently, we stood and talked like this before, we looked at each other in the same way then, but I can’t remember where or when, nor could he remember the rest of the song. He took the envelope into the kitchen, sat down at the table, and stared at the envelope for several moments, wondering what new trouble Mario Azzecca was sending him. At last he sighed, slipped the rubber band off the envelope, and ripped open the flap.
There seemed to be fifty thousand dollars in the envelope, in bills of various denominations.
There also seemed to be a round-trip ticket to Naples in the envelope.
And also a letter:
Benny read the letter again. He counted the money again. He looked at the ticket again.
He could only figure that somehow the computer had broke down.
14: The Silver Fox
Spectacles reflecting glints of silver plate and sterling, The Silver Fox sat behind a table stacked with stolen goods, and listened to Benny’s lament. It was now almost 1:30 P.M., and the plane for Rome was scheduled to leave at ten.
“What am I supposed to do?” Benny asked.
He had come to see The Silver Fox because he considered him his oldest friend and most trusted adviser, even though he continued searching for hallmarks all the while they talked.
“We first have to eliminate what you can’t do,” The Silver Fox said. “That’s the first thing we have to do.”
“Okay, what is it I can’t do?” Benny asked.
“You can’t send the duplication back to Azzecca.”
“Why not?”
“Nobody likes to be reminded that he made a mistake,” The Silver Fox said.
“But this is a very big mistake,” Benny said. “This is fifty thousand dollars involved here.”
“The bigger the mistake, the more nobody wants to be reminded of it.”
“I suppose that’s true,” Benny said.
“I remember one time,” The Silver Fox said, “when my brother Salvatore, which means Our Lord Jesus Christ the Savior in Italian, made the terrible mistake of laying Paulie Secondo’s arrangement who was living with him at that time on Greenwich Avenue, and the girl told Paulie about it even though she had been Irish and willing, and Paulie managed to hint to a police lieutenant he knows by the name of Alexander Bozzaris that my brother Salvatore had entertained a rape which was statutory, the girl having been only sixteen, and whereas they afterwards arrested him and he spent ten years in Sing Sing, and then when he got out somebody named Alonzo from Eighty-sixth Street made the terrible mistake of reminding my brother Salvatore that he had taken a fall for boffing that little girl, and whereas my brother cut him with a knife four times and was sent back to Sing Sing again. Nobody likes to be reminded of their mistakes, Benny.”
“So what should I do?” Benny said.
“I have the feeling you’re not telling me the whole story,” The Silver Fox said wisely. “Otherwise, there is no question about what you should do. You should take one of those fifty-thousand-dollar bundles to Naples, and you should spend the other one. Mario Azzecca is never going to admit to anybody in the entire world that he made such a mistake, believe me.”
“Suppose he does, Silvio? Suppose he comes to me and says he wants the money back?”
“So? Are you tongue-tied? Do you stutter? You tell him, What money? I got only one fifty-thousand-dollar bundle, which I took it to Naples like you told me, and I gave it to the guy I met at the airport, and I came back here, and here I am, so what money are you talking about? The money you are talking about has already been signed, sealed, and delivered. That’s what you tell him. If he comes to see you. Whereas he won’t anyway.”
“Well, maybe,” Benny said.
“No maybes.” The Silver Fox raised his eyeglasses onto his forehead and peered across the table at Benny. “What is it you’re withholding from me, Benny? I’m your friend, you can tell me.”
“I don’t want to get you involved, Silvio.”
“Why not?”
“Because you are my friend, and this could mean trouble for the people involved.”
“What are friends for,” The Silver Fox asked, “if not to share each other’s troubles?”
“No, please, I don’t want to burden you.”
“I’m your friend,” The Silver Fox said. “Whatever it is, I’ll try to help you.”
“No,” Benny said, shaking his head, “no, really.”
“Tell me,” The Silver Fox said. “You can trust me.”
“Well...”
“Tell me.”
“Well,” Benny said, “Carmine Ganucci’s son has been kidnaped.”
“Why’d you tell me that?” The Silver Fox said, leaping to his feet. “You want to get me in trouble? What kind of friend are you?”
“They want fifty G’s for his safe return,” Benny said.
“Don’t tell me, don’t tell me,” The Silver Fox said, covering his ears.
“I tried to buy some phony bills, but...”
“Don’t tell me!”
A knock sounded on the door.
“Thank God,” The Silver Fox said, and hurried to answer it. Benny sat morosely at the long table covered with stolen silver, listening to the voices in the entrance foyer. He did not think it would be safe to keep the second fifty thousand dollars, as his friend Silvio had advised. Maybe nobody likes to be reminded of his mistakes, but when somebody’s involved who’s already made a mistake, the person making the second mistake might think he had an edge in asking the person who made the first mistake to correct the second mistake, or so Benny reasoned. Besides, keeping the fifty thousand had never crossed his mind. Well, it had crossed it. But only fleetingly. Those that much covet are with gain so fond, for what they have not, that which they possess they scatter and unloose it from their bond, and so, by hoping more, they have but less, Benny quoted silently, and sighed. The only thing that had actually lingered in his mind was the idea of using the second fifty thousand to ransom Ganooch’s son. Then, if Mario Azzecca did come to him and say, “Hey, Benny Napkins, where’s that second fifty thousand dollars?” Benny could answer, “I used it to ransom Ganooch’s son,” which was a worthy cause.