Макс Коллинз - Hush Money

“No, I mean it, Joey. This is really a pleasure, playing with someone of your standing. I can’t tell you how I appreciate your inviting me to join you this afternoon.”

“You think it’s easy finding somebody else crazy enough to want to come out in the dead of winter and knock a little white ball around the ground?”

“Now who’s laying on the bullshit?” Carl swigged his beer. “Look, I saw you on TV last year, when the guy at KRNT interviewed you. He asked you why you played so late in the season, after most of us’ve given up the ghost, and you said—”

“And I said I liked having the course to myself, because I could concentrate better. Well, that’s true, I guess, but a guy’s got to have some friends, right? Can’t be a goddamn hermit all the time. Tell you the truth, though, Carl, I did have sort of an ulterior motive for getting together with you.”

“Oh?”

Joey noticed the crow’s-feet pulling in tight around Carl’s eyes. Careful , Joey thought, don’t blow it now . “Yeah, well, I mean I’ve wanted to meet you for a long time. Admired you, you know? You got quite a reputation yourself.”

“Come on now, Joey.”

“No, really. I’m a Democrat too, you know. That’s pretty rare around these parts.” Joey forced a laugh, and Carl laughed a little, too. But just a little. Joey had a sinking feeling. He’d appraised Carl Reed as a pushover, a mark, judging from the hero-worshipping attitude the man had displayed earlier; but now Joey had his doubts about being able to pull this thing off, and he just had to. It wasn’t that often his brothers entrusted him with something this important; it wasn’t that often he helped out with business at all. Damn.

“Joey, if you have something on your mind...”

“Hey, remember that junket to Vegas last year? We had some kind of good time on that one, huh?”

Carl nodded. He’d first met Joey DiPreta on that trip, had spoken to him casually on the plane, talked about golf, sports in general.

“That wasn’t your first Vegas hop, was it, Carl?”

“No, it wasn’t. I went a couple other times. What’s your point, Joey?”

The junket was a weekend trip to Las Vegas that Carl and many others in his social circle — doctors, lawyers, executives — had gone on every year now three years running; it was a husband and wife affair, $1500 for the whole trip for both, including hotel room and plane fare and five hundred dollars in casino chips.

“I don’t think you were aware of it at the time, Carl, but my family owns the travel agency that sponsored that junket — in fact all the junkets you’ve been on. Just one of a number of gambling trips we sponsor. To Vegas, the Caribbean, England.”

Carl shrugged, sipped his beer, wondered where this conversation was going and said, “Joey, you’re right... I wasn’t aware your family owned that travel agency. But I’m not particularly surprised, either. I’m aware the DiPreta interests extend to many areas.”

“That’s for sure, Carl. We got lots of interests. We own a sand and gravel company, for instance. And a construction firm. And some other businesses that you might run into now and then, Carl, in your position as state highway commissioner.”

Carl Reed leaned forward and looked at Joey DiPreta straight on. The eyes behind the wire frame glasses were as hard and cold as any Joey had seen. Carl spoke through his teeth: “Wait just one moment, Mr. DiPreta, while I make something clear to you...”

“Hold on, hold on, hold on. I know what you’re thinking.”

“Do you? Then I see no reason to continue this discussion.”

“I know what you’re thinking and I’m not going to suggest anything of the kind. We know you. We know all about you, what sort of man you are. I said I knew your reputation, remember? You’re a man of character, with a name like goddamn sterling silver. So we aren’t about to suggest anything, uh, out of line to you. No. No under-the-table stuff. No kickbacks. Nothing. We’ll bid for jobs, sure, but if our bid isn’t lowest and best, to hell with us.”

“Then what’s this about?”

Joey lifted his hands palms out in a you-know-how-it-is gesture. “Some people aren’t as incorruptible as you, Carl. Your predecessor, for example.”

“My predecessor?”

“We had dealings with him. A lot of dealings. I guess you could call them extra-legal dealings. You see, it was a family thing. Mr. Grayson, your predecessor, was married to a cousin of ours and, well, a thing worked out where he sent some business our way and we kicked back some money to him.”

“Why in God’s name are you telling me this?”

“Because you’re going to find out anyway. You’re going to know. When you get settled down in Grayson’s chair and start examining his records, and then in about a year when those roads we laid down start cracking up like plaster of Paris, you’re going to know what was going on all right.”

“And I’m going to have the makings of a large-scale political scandal. Not to mention possible indictments against members of the DiPreta family.”

“Not to mention that.”

“Well. Thank you for the nine holes, Joey.” Carl rose. “And thank you for the information.”

“Sit down, Carl,” Joey said, pulling him back down to the cart seat with some force, though his voice stayed friendly and pleasant. “I’ll get you another beer.”

“I haven’t finished this one and I’m not about to. Let go of my arm.”

“Listen to me. All we want of you is silence. We will have no dealings with you whatsoever during your term of office, other than this one instance. My family is legitimate these days. This stuff with Grayson all took place back four, five years ago when Papa was still alive. My brothers and me are moving the DiPreta concerns into aboveboard areas completely.”

Carl said nothing.

“Look. The publicity alone could kill us. And like you said, it’s possible indictments could come out of it, and if indictments’re possible, so are prison terms, for Christ’s sake, and more investigations. So all we’re asking of you is this: Just look the other way. You’d be surprised how much it can pay, doing nothing. That’s what they call a deal like this: something for nothing.”

“It’s also called a payoff. It’s called paying hush money, Joey, cover-up money.”

“You can call it whatever you want.”

“How much, Joey? How much are the DiPretas willing to pay to hush me up?”

“You’re a wealthy man, Carl. You’re a banker. Your wife has money — her family does, I mean. Land holdings. It would take a lot to impress you.”

“Yes, it would.”

“I want you to keep in mind that an investigation would bring out your own contacts with the DiPreta family. We’ve been seen together this afternoon, for one thing, you and me. And those yearly Las Vegas junkets, on the last of which you and me were seen together...”

“You’re really reaching, Joey. Tell me, how much to cover it up? What’s the offer I can’t refuse?”

Joey leaned close and whispered with great melodramatic effect: “Fifty. Thousand. Dollars.”

Carl was silent for a moment. “That’s a lot of money. Could have been more, but it’s a lot of money.”

“A very lot, Carl. Especially when the IRS doesn’t have to know about it.”

“Let me ask you something, Joey.”

“Sure, Carl. Anything.”

“Where do we stand on our golf scores?”

“What? What are you...”

“Humor me. How many strokes down am I right now?”

“Well, uh, one stroke, Carl. I’m leading you by one, you know that.”

“Good. That way you’re going to be able to quit while you’re ahead, Joey. Because this game is over.”