Charlie nodded and took up his station. Frank went in and found Gino at his desk.
“What’s the problem, Frank?” Gino asked. “I’ll be late for dinner.”
“Problem is, you owe me two grand,” Frank said. He tossed a list of his expenses on Gino’s desk.
“You ain’t done nothing yet,” Gino said.
“I got the better part of a week in this, and I got expenses, just like you.”
Gino sighed. “My girl’s gone—she’ll give you a check tomorrow.”
“I’ll need cash,” Frank said.
“I don’t keep that much cash around,” Gino said.
“Don’t start, Gino, I know you got it.” He unbuttoned his jacket and let the grip of the pistol show.
“You strong-arming me?” Gino asked.
“If you insist.”
Gino glared at him, then he went to a safe across the room, opened it, and took out a stack of cash and counted out some hundreds.
Frank watched, counting with him. Gino got to twenty.
Frank walked across the room and took the money, then stood over Gino, who was bending over to close the safe. Frank’s foot stopped the door. “Thanks, Gino,” Frank said, shooting him in the back of the head. When he was sprawled on the floor, Frank reached inside the safe and took the rest of the stack of cash, then closed the safe door and spun the dial. He shot Gino once more in the head for luck, then left.
“How’d you do?” Charlie asked as he came out the door.
“In the car,” Frank said. When they were back in the front seat, Frank took out the twenty hundreds Gino had given him and counted out half. He handed the money to Charlie. “He settled.”
“What did you do?”
“I settled him, the son-of-a-bitch cheapskate. We need a new gig.”
—
Farther downtown on the West Side a cop seven months away from handing in his papers sat in front of a collection of screens and recorders. He took off his headset and made a call. “Hey, it’s me. I think we got a murder at Gino Parisi’s office. Shooter used a silencer. Name of Frank.”
—
Stone was having an early-evening drink with Ian Rattle in his study when the phone rang. “Hello?”
“It’s Dino, with news.”
“I love news, if it’s good.”
“It’s double good. Frank Russo offed Gino Parisi.”
“Wow! How about that! Frankly, I didn’t expect such decisive results.”
“Nice thing is, we got the preceding conversation recorded, so not only is Gino out of the way, but so are Frank and Charlie, or they will be as soon as we find them.”
“A triple play. Wow.”
“A good day’s work,” Dino said. “See ya.”
Stone hung up.
“Good news?” Ian asked.
“It seems I’m no longer confined to quarters,” Stone said.
Frank was a block from dropping off Charlie at his house when his cell rang. “Yeah?”
It was his wife. “Don’t come home.”
“Why not—you couldn’t get your lover out of the house soon enough?” He laughed at his own joke, so she would know he was kidding.
“Two detectives were just here. They left, but they’re sitting outside waiting for you.”
“Okay, I’m gonna go to that place. Call Charlie’s house and ask if they been there.” Frank hung up and made a U-turn.
“What’s up?” Charlie asked.
“The cops were just at my house. They’re still there, waiting outside.” Frank’s phone rang again. “Yeah?”
“There’s two of them at Charlie’s, too.”
“Talk to you later.” He hung up. “They’re at your place, too.”
“They can’t know nothing, it’s not an hour yet. Well, almost an hour.”
“Yeah, creepy, ain’t it?”
“It must be some other beef.”
Frank thought about it. “What if Gino’s place was wired?”
“Oh, shit,” Charlie said. “You think?”
“We can go to the apartment,” Frank said. He had a little studio apartment for occasions just like this.
“Yeah, let’s do that.”
“You got any cash stashed?”
“Yeah, at home.”
“At home. Swell.”
“I see your point.”
“Does your wife know where it is?”
“Are you kidding? She’d be at Bloomingdale’s right now.”
“I can let you have a thousand,” Frank said. “So you won’t have to go back.”
“What’ve you got in mind, Frank?”
“I think we should be on a plane. Right now. Separate planes.”
“Where?”
“It’s better we don’t know each other’s plans. You got a place you can hole up?” He raised a hand. “Don’t tell me where.”
“Yeah, I got a place.”
Frank pulled up in front of his apartment building. “Ditch this car somewhere and take a cab back here,” he said. He got out, and Charlie drove off.
Frank went into the building and to his apartment, which was at the rear of the building, next to a fire exit. He let himself in, went into the kitchen, knelt down and opened the cabinet under the kitchen sink. He removed half a dozen bottles of cleaners and some sponges, then he took out a Swiss Army knife he always carried and pried up a couple of floorboards. He reached into the hole and withdrew a plastic briefcase, then replaced the floorboards and the cleaning supplies and went into the living room.
He opened the briefcase and took out four stacks of money, a new driver’s license, and a passport and burned his old ones in the kitchen sink and ran the ashes through the disposal. Then he went back to the living room and counted out a thousand—no, he thought, make it two thousand. He measured the height of the stack with his fingers and compared it to the rest. He reckoned he had close to a hundred grand. He put all but the two thousand back into the briefcase and packed some clothes into a large bag. The doorbell rang.
Frank let Charlie in and gave him the two thousand. “I can spare two, until you can get your hands on your stash. You got some extra ID?”
“Yeah, I’m covered. I’ve got a credit card in another name, too.”
“Okay, here’s my plan: I’ve got a car downstairs in the garage, and the tank’s full. I’m gonna drive to Philadelphia and take a plane to L.A., then lose myself. You can come with me, or you can make your own plans—up to you.”
“Can I hang out here a few hours?”
“Sure.” Frank gave him a key. “Stay as long as you like.”
“I think I’ll wait until the middle of the night, then sneak into the house and get my stash, then I’ll make tracks somewhere.”
Frank went to a drawer, took out two throwaway cell phones, and gave Charlie one. “Give me your cell.” Charlie handed it over. Frank went into the kitchen, took a hammer out of a drawer and smashed both phones thoroughly, then scraped the remains into the garbage can. He went back to the living room and they entered each other’s new numbers into their phones. “All right, I’m outa here,” Frank said. He offered his hand, and Charlie took it.
“Thanks for everything,” Charlie said.
Frank grabbed his bag, let himself out of the apartment, and took the stairs down to the building’s garage. He pulled the cover off the car—a ten-year-old Mercedes station wagon. He removed the trickle charger, closed the hood, tossed his bags into the rear seat, and started the car, which ran perfectly.
He drove out of the garage, parked nearby, and made a call to a Florida number.
“Hello?”