“I understand. I employ some men who are artists in the intimidation business. Question is, should they address the two ex-cops or their employers?”
“Good question.”
“It might be more efficient to deal with the root, rather than the branch.”
“You have a point.”
“Leave it with me, then.”
“I’ll wait to hear from you.”
They both hung up.
—
Later that day, Jerry Brubeck and Gino Parisi left their offices and walked to the garage where their cars were parked. Brubeck lived in New Jersey and Parisi in Corona Park, Queens.
It was Parisi who noticed first that their cars were blocked by cars parked behind them. “Let’s go, Jerry,” he said, tugging at his partner’s sleeve.
“Huh? What’s up?”
“Let’s just go.” Parisi turned and propelled his partner toward the elevator, but their way was blocked by two very large men, both with battered faces and unwelcoming visages.
They tried to go the other way, but two other men blocked that, too.
Each of the men held a short black tube in his hand.
Parisi unbuttoned his jacket and came up with a snub-nosed .38 revolver. As he raised it, something hard came down on his wrist, and the gun clattered to the concrete floor. The short tubes the men held had become longer: steel batons. Parisi swore and clasped his wrist. “If it’s broken I’ll have you taken out,” he said to the man who had struck him.
“Shut up and listen,” the man said. “You are paying unwanted attention to a gentleman visiting from Texas. This will stop now.”
“You don’t know who you’re dealing with,” Parisi said.
“We know exactly who we’re dealing with,” the man replied. “You are the ignorant one. You’re in over your head, and if you persist, bad things will happen to you.”
“To you, not me,” Parisi said.
The man swung his baton and connected with a knee, and Parisi went down. “Would you like me to use it on your face?”
“No!” Brubeck said, suddenly coming alive. “We get the message, so back off.”
“We’ll do that,” the man said. “But just this one time. Don’t make it necessary for us to come back.” The four men got into their two cars and drove down the garage ramp at a leisurely pace.
Brubeck helped Parisi to his feet. “You want a hospital, Gino?”
“They’re the ones gonna want a hospital,” Parisi replied, dusting himself off and rubbing his wrist.
“Gino, we don’t want a war,” Brubeck said. “Wars cost too much.”
“You think I’m going to let Perado get away with that?”
“I think it’s best if we forget about Perado.”
“He’s going to buy out Winkle,” Parisi said.
“We should have made Winkle a better offer. There’s no chance of a deal now, and we don’t really know who we’re dealing with here.”
“I’ll find out,” Parisi said.
“Gino, if you do this, we’ll have to kill somebody. We’re going good, here—don’t fuck it up.”
“I’m going to fuck them up,” Parisi said. He got into his car and drove toward the ramp.
“Oh, shit,” Brubeck said aloud to himself.
As Stone’s day ended Joan came into his office carrying a vase containing two dozen red roses. “Where would you like these?”
“At a nearby hospital,” Stone said, embarrassed.
“Be sure and read the card.” Joan left the roses on his desk and went back to her office.
Stone stood and walked around the desk and the huge bouquet. A card was nestled among the roses. It read: What a nice evening! More, please!
Stone’s nether regions tingled.
“Hey, nice!” a voice behind him said.
Stone whirled to find Dino standing behind him.
“You sending yourself flowers these days?”
Stone muscled the heavy vase over to a side table and relieved himself of the load. “A sort of joke,” he said.
Dino walked over to the vase and plucked the card from the roses. “Sounds like a grateful woman to me.”
“What the hell are you doing here?” Stone asked irritably.
“I was in the neighborhood, and my alarm watch told me it’s the cocktail hour.”
“Help yourself and make me one,” Stone said, flopping onto the comfortable sofa.
Dino went to the cabinet that concealed a small bar and an ice machine, poured a Johnnie Walker Black and a Knob Creek, handed Stone his, then sat down. “I hear that Jerry Brubeck and Gino Parisi had an exciting day,” he said.
“And how did you come by that information?”
“I happened to have two detectives on the scene. They were going to call on the Bowsprit Beverages management and have a word with them, but as they were getting out of their car they witnessed a little scene.”
“What sort of scene?”
“There were four of them, and Gino was frightened enough to pull a gun on them. One of them produced a police baton and appeared to break Gino’s wrist. Words followed, and Gino took another whack to the knee and went down.”
“Anybody get arrested?”
“For what? Nobody got shot, and I’m sure Gino must have a license for his .38. He was pretty mad, though.”
“Parisi the younger and Ryan are still hanging around Pepe Perado, apparently waiting for a chance to get at him.”
“So the encounter in the garage was just preventative maintenance?”
“You could put it that way.”
“My detectives said the four explainers were the biggest, ugliest guys they had ever seen at one time in one place. How is it that you come to know such people?”
“I don’t know them, they were recommended by a friend.”
“Ah, a whiff of Mike Freeman is in the air,” Dino said, sounding amused. “I got a call a few minutes ago. Gino Parisi was heard speaking to a cousin of his from Brooklyn, not the nice part. Your name came up.”
“You’ve got Parisi wired?”
“Only his home, his office, and his car. We held off on the locker room at his golf club out of simple human decency. My guys don’t like to listen in on naked men.”
“How long?”
“Long enough.”
“What was said about me?”
“Let’s just say it was uncomplimentary. Apparently, either Ryan or Parisi the younger recognized you, and Gino put two and two together.”
“So?”
“So, I’d watch my ass, if I were you.”
“Parisi will get over it.”
“On his car phone he said he was having to use speakerphone, because his right hand wasn’t working. I think you’ll be on his mind at least until he can play ‘Chopsticks’ on the piano again. With both hands.” Dino took a swig of his scotch and nodded toward the roses. “Who’s the grateful woman?”
“Her name is Caroline Woodhouse. She works for Brad and Stan Kelly.”
“Sounds like you’d better get plenty of rest and exercise.”
“Exercise shouldn’t be a problem.”
Dino laughed. “What’s the calorie count on the missionary position these days?”
“Let’s just say that I lost a couple of pounds.”
Dino looked at his watch. “C’mon, I’ll buy you an early dinner. Viv’s flight doesn’t get in until later tonight.”
Stone drained his glass and stood up. “I’m game.”
—
They settled into a corner table at P. J. Clarke’s, and somebody brought them another drink.