Gay Hendricks - The First Rule of Ten

Bill was ready and waiting. We gave each other everything we needed, and I was handing my keys to the Jonathan Club parking lot attendant at 4:00 on the button.

I did one last gut-check. My gut said Go . Either I’d be right, or I’d be done.

A different concierge led me inside and upstairs. As we crossed the hallway to the Library, he reminded me cell phone usage was not allowed.

He didn’t say a thing about Wilson Combat.38 Supergrades.

Inside the Library, he motioned me left again, past the urns. This time, however, he closed the tall sliding wooden doors that separated the stacks from the main Library behind me. I stood for a moment, scanning the empty room.

“Hello, Tenzing,” Florio said from my left. “I got your message.”

He was seated in one of four red brocade chairs, set around an antique table of polished oak. His leather briefcase lay at his feet. He was studying a beautifully appointed chessboard of dark and light wood. The heavy chess pieces were of carved marble, black and white, some of them as tall as eight inches. The two armies were locked in battle. Thomas Florio, Sr., appeared to be at war with himself.

“Do you play?” Florio asked, gesturing at the game.

“No.”

“Pity,” he said. “I find chess a wonderful way to focus my mind. Perhaps a bit like your meditation. Do you mind if I continue to play while we talk? I’m almost done.”

“Please. Go ahead.”

He picked up a white piece and used it to replace a taller black one.

“Check,” he said.

He turned to me. “You’ve been a busy young man since we last spoke, haven’t you?”

I acknowledged that I had.

“I want to thank you,” he said. “You did me a big favor, albeit inadvertently.”

“Which was?”

He picked up the biggest black piece on the board, and knocked over the white piece.

“Checkmate,” he said, smiling to himself. “You eliminated a business partner with whom I no longer wished to be in business. I refer of course to Mr. O’Flaherty. In my life I’ve found it necessary to work with the occasional unsavory associate. I wish that all of them could be disposed of so efficiently.”

“Glad I could be of help,” I said. I placed my carryall on the table and sat in the chair across from Florio. “Before I give you my report, I have a quick question, Mr. Florio. Why did you hire me, me in particular, to investigate Tommy?”

“I would have thought that was obvious,” he said. “I take it you haven’t read any Machiavelli?”

I had, but I played dumb for the time being.

“He is much maligned these days.” Florio sighed. “ The Prince is possibly the best book on business tactics ever written. Machiavelli is most famous for a brilliant piece of advice: Keep your friends close, and your enemies even closer.” Florio’s smile was utterly smug.

“Most attribute that quotation to Sun Tzu,” I said. “But I believe the honor actually belongs to Mario Puzo. The Godfather, Part Two .”

Florio’s smile hardened.

I kept going. “I prefer Kautilya’s Arthashastra for my strategies,” I said. “Kautilya was the chief adviser to Chandragupta Maurya, the king who united the Indian subcontinent around 300 B.C. Kautilya had a lot to say about power. Powerful fathers, and how they should handle their sons. Powerful princes, and how they should handle their kings. What a corrupting influence power can be. Quite the political realist, Kautilya.”

Florio watched me, wary as a cobra.

“I’m curious about something, Mr. Florio. You’re a very wealthy man. Yet the drive to accumulate, I might even say compulsion, remains. At what point do you realize you have enough?”

His mouth twisted. “It’s obvious you’ve never been exposed to privilege.”

“Please. Enlighten me.”

He brought a finger to his lips. A secret. He was enjoying himself. “The great truth of money and influence, Ten, of power, is that there’s no such thing as enough.”

I heard low voices from the main Library. “Right on time,” I said.

The wooden doors slid open. Tommy Jr. and Barsotti stepped inside the stacks. The doors slid closed behind them.

Tommy was empty-handed. I felt my stomach clench. Had I read him wrong after all? If so, I was screwed.

“Hi, Dad,” Tommy said. “Fancy meeting you here. And with the monk, no less.”

Florio hid his surprise well.

“Hello, son. Vince.” His voice was smooth. “Your timing is impeccable. Ten and I were just discussing how to deal with one’s enemies.”

Florio picked up a large carved stone turret from the chessboard and rolled the heavy piece between his hands. He smiled pleasantly. “Vincent, would you mind putting your foot up on this chair?”

Barsotti said, “What?”

I thought: What?

“Just put the sole of your shoe up on the edge of the seat, so your knee is bent like this.” Florio demonstrated.

The mystified Barsotti did as he was told. Florio raised the stone chess piece above his head with both hands and lowered it sharply, like an ax, onto Barsotti’s kneecap. The bone cracked audibly.

Barsotti howled and dropped to the floor, rolling in pain. Florio stood over him. Behind the mask of the gentleman patriarch was a brute.

“You dishonored my daughter,” he spat. “You’re lucky I didn’t kill you.”

Barsotti opened and closed his mouth a few times, like a gaffed fish, before he thought better of responding. Anesthetic shock must have set in, because he was able to push himself upright and hobble back to the table.

Florio composed himself. He shrugged. “How many times have I said it? Betrayal begets pain.”

He motioned to me. “Now, Tenzing. Shall we conclude our business?” His turned to his son with a wintry smile. “Tenzing’s prepared a report for me, though I doubt there’s anything in it I don’t already know.”

The wooden doors slid open.

A waiter came in with a tray. Four short snifters on it, and a cut-glass decanter glowing with amber liquid.

Yes.

The waiter placed the tray on the table and left.

Tommy’s voice was jovial. “I ordered up a little surprise for you, Dad. With O’Flaherty and that other deadbeat gone, I thought we should toast to our future.”

Thomas Sr. opened the decanter and sniffed.

“Why, Tommy. Amaretto. How thoughtful.”

He doesn’t know.

Tommy filled all four glasses.

“To the future,” Tommy said.

“To the future,” we repeated, and tapped our glasses together.

Thomas Sr. drained his glass. I pretended to drink. Barsotti was in too much shock to do much of anything-broken kneecaps can have that effect. Tommy Jr. just watched his father. His expression was that of a hungry coyote, finally about to get his fill.

There’s no such thing as enough.

Thomas Sr. held out his snifter for a refill. Tommy Jr. removed the glass from his father’s hand.

“No more for you, Pops,” he said.

Florio’s mouth knotted tightly at the insolence.

Tommy swiftly collected the other three glasses and set them on the tray. Barsotti gimped over to the doors and slid them open. Tommy picked up the tray.

“You coming, Ten?”

“Not yet,” I said.

“Fine. I’ll let them know you’re not to be disturbed.”

Florio rose to his feet.

“Tommy!” Florio’s imperious tone filled the space, brooking no disobedience.

The doors closed behind them.

Thomas Sr. wheeled on me. “Do you mind explaining what that was about?”

“That was about a prince betraying his king,” I answered, and pulled out my gun.

I trained my Wilson on Florio.