At 11 a.m. Lew waited by the golden clock. The storm had turned into a blizzard, and the station was packed more than usual with tourists and yuppies. Penguins. Milling around, waiting for their trains to budge.
Pete would be taking the subway, which could also be royally bollixed by any turn of weather. It was already two minutes past. Lew checked his watch and looked up at the big clock and then back out at the crowd – and there Pete was, emerging from the thickly coated crowd.
Lew saw right away that Pete wore a sleek businessman’s winter coat and underneath a suit. He was a doughy-faced, rangy guy, but the clothes gave him the right look.
“Your cousin Bernie always has a problem dressing the part,” Lew said. “But you’re smarter. You should be my partner.”
“Thanks, Lew. That means a lot coming from you. You’re the best.”
“I am, aren’t I?”
“Where do we meet him?”
“Right here. In about an hour. We’ll go to the Campbell bar, make the deal there. You know the script.”
Pete stuck out his hand. “Thomas. Thomas Carswell. Grand Central Radical Improvement Corporation. How do you do?”
“Awe-inspiring. I got you the paper, by the way.”
Lew handed Pete a folded up copy of the Daily News. Inside was the fat envelope with $10,000.
When Kiner showed at noon, goofy smile on, wide, hungry eyes, Lew met him and told him there had been a small change of plans. “Storm’s playing havoc with the city. But Mr. Carswell is waiting for us in the Campbell Apartment at the spot they always reserve for him,” Lew said, hoping that Pete had been able to get a good spot in the last forty-five minutes.
They walked up the stairs to the bar. When they turned into the main vestibule, the city and decades faded away. Inside it was dark, high ceilinged. It smelled rich to Lew.
He spotted Pete in a corner spot by the back. Good man. Unless a waitress peeked over, no one would know what they were doing.
Lew did the introductions and the dance went as scheduled. The two men chatted. Kiner talked about his company, opportunity, potential, synergy, etc. Pete as “Carswell” nodded at the right parts like the proper patrician. It was going great.
But something was off. Lew felt there was something about Kiner, something in his face. He was losing the bright, shiny look of a woman passing a shoe store. His eyes were sharper, focused.
Sooner than Lew expected, the deal was done. Pete slid the good faith money to Lew across the table. It was just there to show the deal was legit and equal on both sides. Kiner didn’t touch it, which was fine. All the cash had to be in there, anyway, and real, just in case. Lew had tried a wad of one dollar bills sandwiched between two hundreds once. He’d had a rib broken because of it.
Kiner took out an envelope from his pocket and slid it to Lew. Fish. Reeled.
“It has been my pleasure to introduce you two gentlemen,” Lew said, pretending that he wasn’t checking the weight and feel of the envelope. Now he wanted Pete to gab for a few minutes while he took a quick look inside. “I hope you two make beautiful business together.”
“There’s just one more thing,” Kiner said, and again there was something off about the way he said that. “There’s someone I need you to meet. He’s waiting downstairs.”
“Why don’t you have him come up here for a drink?” Lew felt flush now. The cash in his pocket made him feel fifty feet tall. But this felt like the wrong play.
“No,” Kiner said, in a way that didn’t leave room for argument. “We should all go see him.”
“Down here?” Lew said.
“Yes,” Kiner said, casual as ice. “He should just be getting off his train.”
They were on a Main Concourse level but in an area without stores – a dark and surprisingly quiet area for the terminal. Kiner led them way down the darkened end of the boarding entrances.
“Are there any trains this way?” Lew said.
“Must be,” Pete said.
Lew saw where they were headed and suddenly knew the train his luck was taking had just been derailed.
“Track 13,” he said, more to himself than the other men. “Masterful.” Then he looked into Kiner’s face. The shiny sheep eyes were completely gone. There was nothing now but a smug smile. Pete’s face was blank. Lew made a note never to play poker with Pete. If he ever got the chance. And then he saw the gun, a small caliber pistol in Pete’s hand.
“Sorry, Lew.”
“Let’s hurry now,” said Kiner. “Business can’t stand still.”
They walked down a small flight of steps. There were two tracks off the platform: Track 13, which sat empty, and across, a Track 11, where a train waited, looking like it had been waiting a very long time. Blocking the view from other tracks was a high wall of refuse, metal containers, tarps.
“Exceptional,” Lew said. “Where’s your friend?”
There was no one down there. The concourse was just a hundred or so feet up and back, packed with penguins bumping into each other to get around. But that world might as well have been miles away.
With Kiner in front and Pete behind him, Lew walked halfway down the platform.
And then from behind a column an old man walked out. He wore a thick wool coat and a dark blue old-fashioned fedora, cocked amiably to the side. But his face was as friendly as a brick.
Lew recognized him immediately.
“Hiya, Lew. Long time.”
“If it isn’t Stew Zultanski.”
The old man also had a gun, but he kept it in his hand, pointed at the ground. “Long time. You look good.”
“You look peaches,” Lew said.
Stew smiled. “First thing I’ll do is I’ll take your stash.”
Lew handed over the envelope and all of the good faith money.
Stew took it and gave them to Kiner. “Hold on to this, Juan,” Stew said.
“You sure you don’t want us to stay,” Pete said.
“Nah. Lew’s not a man of violence. Get on back to Queens. I’ll meet you guys at that diner tonight. We’ll have lobster.”
Warren – or Juan – took the cash and left with a smile wide enough to cut his head in half.
Lew must have had a headlights look on his face.
“Poor Juan had to commute every morning for months,” Stew said. “Waiting for you to make a move. You sure took your time. We thought you’d lost your con legs.”
Pete and Kiner walked off, their steps getting quiet in the distance.
“Outrageo – ”
“We were a great team once, Lew.”
“Lew and Stew.”
“Stew and Lew.”
“Fine. If this is about Magda, I – ”
“Magda, Magda, Magda. She’s as slippery as a salmon, that one. I don’t blame you for stealing her, not very much. But Chicago – Chicago hurt.”
“I needed to get out of town, you – ”
“I taught you everything you know. And you took my money. You ruined my rep. And I got ten years.”
“What are going to do? You can’t do anything – ”
“No one cares, Lew.”
“I could yell. I could – ”
“They’re all stuck with their heads up their asses up there, taking pictures and sending dirty messages to each other. We’re far away from them. And this thing isn’t loud – it’ll sound like a firecracker. If anybody hears it.”
Stew was right. Underground, the station thrummed with the constant sound of machinery, trains moving in and out. Still, Stew hadn’t raised the gun up. Old.
“No, you’re not going to shoot me here, Stew. There are camera every – ”
“Not here. Not now.”
“Stop interrupting me! You bastard. You’ve always been so incons – ”
“Aw, Lew, is this necessa – ”
It was life or death. Lew went for Stew’s gun hand and squeezed and yank. They both grappled for control of the gun. The older man pounded on Lew’s back, but Lew kept up the pressure until they both heard something snap. The gun fell from Stew’s broken wrist.