Стюарт Вудс - Standup Guy

“How much of a return, out of curiosity?” Barrington asked.

“Five percent a week.”

“Did you say a week ?”

“Yes.”

“So, you have loaned to . . . a lender. How much?”

“One very large bill.”

Barrington made a sucking sound through his teeth. “Mr. Fratelli, this is not good. Those hundred-dollar bills will not go unnoticed by the organization employing your lender, and I fear that you may have more to fear from them than from the IRS.”

“That’s good advice, but I believe things are under control. I’ve settled in a comfortable spot, and they are not aware of my location or my new name.”

“Yes, I noticed the postmark on your card. You’ll want to watch that sort of thing.”

“You’re quite right, I was careless, and I won’t be again. Thank you for your advice, Mr. Barrington.”

“Did you take my advice on acquiring a throwaway cell phone?”

“Yes, I did. I’m speaking on it.”

“You might want to give me that number, in case I hear from any of your old acquaintances. Somebody has already fired a shotgun at my front door.”

“I’m extremely sorry to hear that. Here’s my number.” Fratelli dictated it to him.

“I won’t call unless I fear that you are in jeopardy.”

“Thank you, and goodbye.”

“Goodbye and good luck.”

Both men hung up

Fratelli thought about this for a few minutes, then he took up his throwaway cell phone and called Manny Millman.

“This is Manny.”

“This is John Fratelli.”

“Hey, Johnny, how’s it going?”

“I’m getting feedback about some certain C-notes.”

“Ah, yes, I’ve heard something about that.”

“How did you dispose of the cash I gave you?”

“It was shipped to an offshore bank account the day after you gave it to me.”

“All of it? Don’t lie to me, Manny.”

“Apparently, twenty thousand of it was paid to a punter who had a long shot come in. I just heard, and I’m going to recover whatever he has left and send it out of the country.”

“A very good idea,” Fratelli said.

“But at least some of it is floating around out there. And, Johnny, I had a visit from a Secret Service guy.”

“Asking about the C-notes?”

“Asking about you. I told him I thought you were dead.”

“Stick with that story,” Fratelli said.

“I will, and, Johnny, your request is being honored to transfer your weekly vigorish from offshore account to offshore account.”

“Very good.”

“How can I get in touch with you, Johnny, if anything else should come up?”

“You can’t. I’ve left the state and made myself at home elsewhere.”

“You’re sure there’s not a number?”

“Okay, I’ll give you a throwaway cell phone.” He dictated the number. “Memorize that, Manny, then burn it.”

“Johnny, like I told you before, I’m grateful to you for your help when I was in the joint with you. I won’t rat you out.”

“Thank you, Manny.” Fratelli hung up.

Manny got up from his table and started walking the Hialeah clubhouse, looking for Howard Silver.

24

Howard Silver stood at the hundred-dollar window at Hialeah and took one last look at the odds board. He was about to turn back to the window when he found himself abruptly pushed out of line.

“Come with me, Howard,” Manny Millman said, taking a firm grip of Silver’s elbow and propelling him toward a door marked “Employees Only.”

“What the hell, Manny? I don’t owe you anything.”

“I know, Howard, and I’m grateful for your business.” Manny opened a door and shoved him into a conference room. “Have a seat,” Manny said. “We’re going to have a little conference.”

“What’s the beef, Manny? I don’t understand.”

“Howard, when your long shot came in, we gave you twenty grand in hundreds, that correct?”

“Well, yeah, that’s how much I won.”

“I’m sorry, but through an administrative oversight you were given the wrong hundred-dollar bills.”

“No,” Howard said, shaking his head vehemently, “the ones you gave me are working just fine, everywhere I go.”

“How much have you spent, Howard?”

“I don’t know exactly.”

“All right, let’s do it this way: how much you got left?”

Howard made a little involuntary jerking motion that moved his left arm across his chest. “I’ll go home and count it and let you know,” he said.

Manny removed Howard’s arm from its frozen position, stuck his hand into Howard’s inside pocket and came out with a thick bundle of bills, bound by a rubber band. “Looks like ten grand here,” he said. “Give me the rest.”

“Manny, I won it fair and square,” Howard protested.

“I know you did, Howard, and I’m going to replace your money with other money that won’t get you killed.”

“What do you mean, get me killed?”

Manny put a finger to Howard’s head, pulled an imaginary trigger, and said, “Bang. Like that, killed.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Let me explain it to you. A long time ago some money was stolen. In hundred-dollar bills.” He picked one from the stack and held it up. “Like this one. See the red stamp?”

“Yes.”

“They don’t put that on hundreds anymore. They look different nowadays.”

Howard picked up the note and held it up to the light. “Looks okay to me.”

“Well, Howard, I know it doesn’t have the word ‘stolen’ stamped on it, but believe me, it is. Empty your pockets, Howard. All of them.”

Howard began pulling a handkerchief, a comb, some car keys, and a wallet from his pockets, then he produced a money clip holding a thick wad of hundreds.

“Is that all of it, Howard?”

Howard nodded.

“None of it at home?”

Howard shook his head.

“Did you deposit any of it in your bank account?”

“Of course not, my wife sees the statements.”

“I want to know every single place you left one of these hundreds,” Manny said, shoving a legal pad from the table in front of him toward Howard and placing his pen on it. “Start from where the nice man gave you the twenty grand, and go from there.” Manny picked up the bound wad of hundreds and began expertly counting them. His fingers were a blur.

Howard began to make a list.

“Write how many hundreds you left in each place,” Manny said, pulling the stack from Howard’s money clip and counting that.

“There,” Howard said, shoving the legal pad toward Manny.

Manny looked at the list. “Howard, no normal human being could read this handwriting. Take me through it, slowly.”

Howard took the pad back. “Okay, I picked up the money from the man out in the trailer, then I left and came up to the clubhouse, to the bar, and I bought everybody there a round. That came to five hundred and change, so six hundreds.”

Manny wrote down six. Howard continued with his day—lunch, more drinks, then a series of bets at the hundred-dollar window. “I didn’t lose it all,” he said. “I won some back.”

“I’m not interested in what you won back, Howard, just the hundreds with the little red stamp on them.”

Howard worked his way through the list. He had bought a couple of suits at a Lauderdale shop that Manny knew; he had given a hundred to a beggar on the street because he liked the beggar’s dog. Manny knew the beggar; Manny knew the dog. He had sent some flowers to his girlfriend, as distinguished from his wife. Manny knew the flower shop. This continued to the end of the list.

Manny toted up a total. “Okay, you spread around about three grand on the street, and another five hundred in the clubhouse. You bet another four grand. We got a total of twelve thousand, one hundred dollars on the table here.” Manny went through his pockets and produced wads of cash, much of it in hundreds. He counted out the money, then made Howard count it again, then gave him newer hundreds and took all the old ones and stuffed them into his pockets.