The Steel Kiss

“We’re not negotiating, Jon. Even you went to the hardest-ass fence in the city, you cleared fifty-five points. That’s over a million. And I’ll bet you didn’t. You’re not a discount kind of guy at all. You sold it on the street. You probably walked away with three M. Pure profit.”

Perone shrugged. The equivalent of: Yeah, pretty much.

“So here’s the deal. I want a million. And I want paperwork shows it as a loan—from a company that can’t be traced to you or anybody with a record. Only we have a side agreement, written, that the debt’s forgiven. I’ll worry about the IRS if it comes to that.”

Perone’s grimace was more reluctant admiration. “Any other fucking thing you want, Nick?”

“As a matter of fact, yeah, there is. The Algonquin ’jacking, the Gowanus? I want you to put the word out on the street that it wasn’t me did it. It was my brother. Donnie.”

“Your brother? You’re diming him out?”

“He’s dead. He won’t give a shit.”

“Whatever people hear on the street, nobody’s reversing a conviction.”

“I know that. I just want some people who’re in the loop to hear it.”

Perone said, “I knew that merch’d come back to haunt me. Are we through?”

“Almost.”

“Oh, Christ.”

“Now, there’s a guy named Vittorio Gera. Owns a restaurant in BK. The place is his name. Vittorio’s.”

“Yeah?”

“I want you to have somebody visit him, tell him he’s going to sell the place to me. For half of what he’s asking.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Have that somebody lean on his wife and daughters. I think he’s got grandchildren too. Just get some pictures of them in the park and send them to him. That should do it. If not, have somebody visit his youngest daughter. Hannah. She’s the one looks like a slut. Just take her for a ride around the block.”

“You do have a style, Nick.”

“You robbed me, Perone. I don’t need any shit from you.”

“All right. I’ll get the paperwork put together.” Then Perone was frowning. “How’d you tip to me, Nick? Couldn’t’ve been that easy. I cover tracks real good. Always have.”

“A file from back in the day. Closed case. Don’t worry.”

“But there had to be something more recent. I been through four separate companies, five, since you went away.”

“A guy I know made inquiries. Freddy Caruthers.”

“So he could put me together with the Algonquin heist merch. And put you and me together.”

Nick said, “Which brings me to my last request.”

Perone was nodding slowly. His eyes remained on something behind Nick, on a hat on the coatrack or on a grease spot on the wall or a photo of him playing golf at Meadowbrook.

Or maybe on nothing at all.

“Freddy drove me partway today. I told him I was worried there was a cop after me and we ducked into the garage at Grand Central Center, the mall. I took a cab the rest of the way.”

“Cop?”

“No, no, I made it up. I just wanted Freddy to cool his heels.” Nick’d had an idea this was how it was going to shake out.

Perone said softly, “We can take care of that.” He made a call. A moment later Ralph, of the solid chest and flamboyant suspenders and icy glare, was back.

“Nick Carelli, Ralph Seville.”

A moment of mano eye lock, then hands were shaken.

“Got a job for you,” Perone said.

“Sure, sir.”

Nick pulled out his phone, slipped the battery in, turned it back on. He texted Freddy; he didn’t want to hear the man’s voice.

On way back. Any sign of Kall?

There wouldn’t be, of course.

Nope.

Nick typed and sent:

Where R U?

The reply was:

Purple level near Forever 21 door.

Nick’s next message was:

C U in 15.

From Freddy:

All good?

Nick hesitated then typed.

Gr8

Nick gave Ralph the information about Freddy’s location. “He’s in a black Escalade.” He then cut a glance toward Perone. “No buried-alive shit. Fast, painless.”

“Sure. I don’t need to send messages. This is just loose ends.”

“And I don’t want him to know it was me.”

Ralph gave a grimace. “I’ll do what I can. But.”

“Just try. The phone’s got my texts. And my prints’re in his SUV.”

“We’ll take care of everything.” Ralph nodded. And left the office. Nick caught sight of a large, nickel-plated automatic pistol in his waistband. Thinking one of those bullets would be in his friend’s brain in a half hour.

Nick rose and he and Perone shook hands. “I’ll get a cab back to the city.”

“Nick?”

The man paused.

“You interested in doing some work with me?”

“I just want to open my business and settle down and get married. But, sure, I’ll think about it.” Nick walked out of the office, lifting his phone and dialing a number.

CHAPTER 43

Rhyme was looking at Amelia Sachs when her phone rang.