Стюарт Вудс - Standup Guy

“Like Andrew?”

“With an ‘a’ instead of an ‘e’ and a ‘y’ instead of an ‘ie.’ No relation.”

“I’m Jack Coulter.”

“What brings you to Palm Beach, Jack?”

“What brings anybody to Palm Beach?” Fratelli asked with a shrug.

The man laughed heartily. “You’re quite right. Where are you from?”

“I was actually born in Palm Beach,” Fratelli said, “but for many years my home was in upstate New York. I’m considering buying an apartment here in the hotel.”

“I have already done so,” Carnagy replied. “It’s a wise move, if you can afford it.”

“You live here during the season?”

“The year ’round,” Carnagy replied. “I’m a retired investment banker, but I still trade a little to keep myself entertained.”

The two chatted for a while, then repaired to the outdoor restaurant for lunch, where Carnagy’s wife joined them. Tall and elegant, perfectly coiffed and dressed in fashionable beachwear, Elizabeth Carnagy enchanted Fratelli. She revealed that they had two daughters and three grandchildren and pointed them out on the beach below. It occurred to Fratelli that these were the first civilians he had met since leaving Sing Sing.

Soon, Fratelli began to feel that the Carnagys were old friends. Elizabeth finished her salad and went to join her daughters and grandchildren on the beach.

“What business are you in?” Winston Carnagy asked.

“I’m a retired entrepreneur,” Fratelli replied. “Tell me, Winston, have you any experience of offshore banking?” Fratelli, having always had an imitative ear, had already begun to adopt Carnagy’s manner of speech and some of his accent.

Carnagy looked around furtively, as if there might be an Internal Revenue agent behind a potted palm. “I do,” he said. “Are you contemplating such an arrangement?”

“I am, but I know nothing about it.”

“Have you greenback dollar bills to lodge somewhere?”

“Possibly.”

“Here’s how you do it,” Carnagy said. “You look in the yellow pages under ‘aviation’ and charter a light airplane—a small twin-engine job will do—to fly you to Nassau, where you check into a previously booked hotel. The following morning, without checking out of your hotel, you do the same at the Nassau airport, and you fly to Georgetown in the Cayman Islands—just the other side of Cuba. Once there, ask the immigration official you deal with not to stamp your passport. Have your pilot wait, and take a taxi into Georgetown.” He produced a business card and wrote something on the back. “Go to this bank and ask for this gentleman, who is the officer in charge of foreign accounts. Open an account with him and deposit your cash.”

“As easy as that?”

“Quite. You needn’t give him your name, as the account will be identified only by a number, which you must memorize. You may check your statement on the bank’s Internet website, using a password of your own invention. Also, they will furnish you with a debit card that may be used anywhere in the world to charge anything, or to obtain cash from any ATM.”

“That sounds very handy,” Fratelli said. “Does the IRS have any sort of access to the bank’s records?”

“No, but don’t count on that continuing. However, since your only connection with the bank is a number, and since they do not have your name and address, you needn’t worry about that. You can also ring them up at will and order a cashier’s check FedExed to you, should you wish to make a large purchase, like a car or even an apartment in this hotel.”

“Winston, you are a mine of information,” Fratelli said.

“And should you wish to make investments, I can recommend a local stockbroker.”

“Thank you, Winston, but I have other investments in mind.”

In fact, Fratelli had already looked up an old “school” acquaintance, now operating as a bookie and loan shark around South Florida. He had lodged a million dollars cash with him, in return for a weekly delivery of fifty thousand dollars cash, or five percent. The man would loan it at ten percent a week and would take care of any necessary leg-breaking out of his cut. But Fratelli would not share that information with Carnagy, who would no doubt be shocked.

That was a million dollars in out-of-date hundreds laundered. A Cayman Islands bank would launder the rest of the contents of his luggage, which now resided in the hotel’s vault.

“Do you have a wife?” Carnagy asked.

“No, I have lived the life of a bachelor, though perhaps it’s time for me to shop around for more permanent companionship.”

“My wife has a very attractive niece,” Carnagy said. “Divorced, childless, and with her own money. You might enjoy meeting her.”

“I am sure I would,” Fratelli replied, “just as soon as I get back from, ah, the Bahamas.”

The two gentlemen shared a chuckle.

• • •

Down the coast, in Fort Lauderdale, Fratelli’s old “school” friend sat in his boss’s office, sweating lightly. His boss held up a hundred-dollar bill that sported a red seal.

“Do you know what this is, Manny?” the boss asked.

“Sure, Vinnie, it’s a C-note.”

“Where did you get it?”

“Get it? Me?”

“One of our handlers spotted it, said it came from you.”

“It looks just like any other C-note,” Manny said. “Is it bogus? If it is, I’ve never seen better.”

“No, it’s not bogus,” the boss said, “it’s just old.”

“Still legal tender?”

“It is. But if you come across another one, bring it to me, and we’ll talk.”

“Sure thing,” Manny said. “Anything else?”

“That’s it. Keep up the good work.”

Manny left the office flapping his open jacket to cool himself down. He hoped his boss hadn’t noticed the sweat.

20

Secret Service special agent Alvin Griggs rapped on his boss’s door and was invited in and offered a chair and coffee. He accepted the chair, declined the coffee.

“What’s up, Al?” his boss, Agent in Charge Dick Fine, asked.

“You remember the handful of 1966 hundreds that turned up in New York recently?”

“I do.”

“Well, we’ve had something of an outbreak of them in South Florida, the area between Fort Lauderdale and Miami.”

“What sorts of places did they turn up in?”

“Everything—convenience stores, bars, gun shops, check-cashing services, laundries, used-car lots, Hialeah racetrack, you name it.”

“Any in expensive restaurants or hotels?”

“No, now that you mention it.”

“Any in cheaper motels and hotels?”

“No.”

“So we’re not dealing with tourists, the bills are being spread by locals, and low-end locals, at that, given the places they spend money.”

“Good point.”

“What does that say to you?”

“Maybe that the source of the bills could be a loan shark lending the hundreds or a bookie paying off bets?”

“I think you’re right,” Fine said. “Start there.”

“Loan sharks and bookies aren’t the sort of people we ordinarily deal with,” Griggs said. “I don’t know any, do you?”

“I suggest you visit some police stations in the area and get some names from the detectives who know these guys.”

“Okay, good idea.” Griggs made to go.

“And, Al?”

“Yessir?”

“You understand that we can’t arrest anybody for possessing or passing these bills? Nothing illegal about that.”

“I understand, sir. We just want to know the origin of the notes.”

“Why, Al?”

“Because we think they might have come from the proceeds of a twenty-five-year-old robbery.”

“We’re not in the robbery business, Al, that’s the cops and the FBI.”