Christopher Smith - Fifth Avenue

“What does that mean?”

“It means that Parker went through with his threat. He had a contract put out on Leana Redman.”

“He did what?”

“Relax,” Spocatti said. “De Cicco found out about it. He’ll use his contacts to have it canceled, he’ll track down Parker and he’ll kill him himself.”

“How do you know all this?”

“Technology is a wonderful thing, Louis.”

“What else have you heard?”

“Plenty. Seems De Cicco’s concerned about you. He doesn’t like the fact that you’re going to be Leana’s new employer. He’s angry about it and told his men to get a complete rundown on you and Michael by the end of the week.”

“He doesn’t know Michael’s my son, does he?”

“Not now,” Spocatti said. “But if his men dig deep enough, he will. Right now, he’s more concerned with the reason Harold Baines sent Leana to you. He knows Harold is George Redman’s best friend. He knows something isn’t right. He’s a smart man.”

“Not as smart as me.”

“That remains to be seen.”

“Don’t forget,” Louis said, “I’ve got you.”

“And he’s got the Mafia. Things are changing, Louis. Things aren’t as simple as they once were. Things are getting serious.”

“It’s nothing we can’t handle.”

“We’re talking about the Mafia, Louis.”

“And I’m talking about an extra $10 million if you stay with me. That’s over and above the money I’ve already offered you. Half will be in your Swiss account by the end of next week. You’ll get the other half when Redman is dead.”

There was a silence.

“You said you were the best, Vincent.”

“I am, Louis-but the best are never fools, not even for money.” He corrected himself. “Especially not for money.”

“I need to know if you’re still in,” Louis said.

Spocatti weighed the situation, had a few ideas and then he nodded. “I want that money in my account by tomorrow morning. Not next week.”

“Done.”

“And from now on, we do things my way.”

“I can’t agree to that.”

“Then we compromise. It’s my ass out there. I’m not losing it for you.”

“No one’s asked you to.”

Spocatti laughed. “Right,” he said. “So, what do you want me to do next?”

Louis told him.

From the doorway of her husband’s study, Elizabeth Redman stood removing her jewelry while George, standing at the far right wall of windows, finished the last of his Scotch.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

It was a moment before he turned to her. “Not really.”

She walked over to where he was standing and put her arms around him. “You can talk to me,” she said. “You know I'm here for you.”

“I know you are.” He kissed the back of her hand. "Why else would you throw a drink in Ryan's face?"

"That was a mistake," she said. "But I have to admit it felt good."

"You're human, Elizabeth. And remember-nobody likes Ryan. He provoked us. They'll side with you."

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

“Last night, in your sleep, you said Leana’s name twice. You’re worried about her, aren’t you?”

George nodded.

“Do you think it’s true what Louis said about her tonight?”

“I don’t know,” George said. “But I was planning on finding out when you came in.” He released himself from the embrace and walked to his desk. He picked up a phone and started dialing.

Elizabeth stepped to his side. “Who are you calling?”

“Who do you think?”

“Don’t you think it’s a little late to call? Helen might be in bed. You’ll disturb them.”

“I don’t care if I disturb them. If Harold’s been speaking to Louis Ryan about my daughter, I want to know about it.”

“You know you can’t believe a word Ryan says.”

“I understand that,” he said. “But I also know my daughter. And you’ve seen how Harold’s been acting lately. There’s a reason behind it and this might be it.”

“Why didn’t you just confront him about it on the ship?” she said. “We could be beyond this now.”

The line started ringing. “Because I was too angry,” George said. “And making one scene was enough.”

“You’re not angry now?”

George shot her a look. The line clicked and Harold answered the phone. “It’s George. Can you come to my office? I need to see you. Yes, tonight.”

“What’s the problem?”

George turned in his chair and looked across his office at Harold Baines, who had just stepped inside and now was standing in shadow.

“I’m not sure,” he said. “But I think you can help me figure it out.” He motioned toward the chair opposite his desk. “Why don’t you have a seat? We have a lot to talk about.”

Harold hesitated for a moment, but then came across the room.

“Want a drink?”

As he sat, Harold looked at George. Although he was nervous, a part of him even frightened of this meeting, he somehow managed to keep his features neutral. “Are you having one?”

“I’ve already had several. One more isn’t going to kill me. What do you want?”

“What you’re having.”

George crossed to the bar.

Harold turned in his chair. He looked at his best friend and wondered if Jack Douglas told him what he’d seen on Anastassios Fondaras’ ship.

He was frightened. He wasn’t sure how he would handle the situation if it arose. Never had Harold been confronted with his homosexuality. Never had anyone called him on his drug problem. He always was discreet, careful. But recently, he had been preoccupied, forgetful. Sometimes, he felt as if he were losing control of his life. The deals with WestTex and Iran, his increasing dependency on heroin and coke, all were devouring what little structure and routine he once had.

For years he had been living a lie. For years he had been miserable because of it. The drugs and the sex were an escape from a life he was becoming convinced was no longer worth living. He did not love his wife or his children because he barely knew them. The only people he cared about were the people who had never let him down-George and Leana. And now he couldn’t face them because he had betrayed them both. What kind of a man was he?

“We’ve been friends too long for bullshit,” George said from the bar. “So, I’ll just get to it. I spoke to Louis Ryan tonight-or, rather, he spoke to me. He told me something I’m not sure I believe.”

Harold sat motionless in his chair. In the windows before him, the city gleamed.

George walked over with the drinks. “He said you two have become friendly. He said that, thanks to you, Leana’s going to be running his new hotel for him.” George stopped beside Harold and handed him his martini. “I want to know if that’s true.”

Harold put his glass down on the table beside him. If he lied to George now, he knew that it would destroy what had taken thirty years to build.

“Obviously, it’s not true.”

George sat in his chair. He leaned toward his desk and rested his head in his hands. He felt drained, exhausted-but relieved, as well.

“I didn’t think you had,” he said, straightening. “But I had to ask. I hope I didn’t offend you.”

“You didn’t offend me,” Harold said.

“I had to know.”

“I understand.”

There was a silence while the two men drank.

Harold returned his gaze to the view out the windows. As he sat there, numb, he watched two helicopters sail over a city he was beginning to hate. It was a city that, like so many other things in his life, held little appeal for him anymore.

He looked at George and knew that nothing could ever assuage the guilt he felt for having betrayed him and his family. Nothing could fill the deep emptiness that had become his life-not friendship, not love, not truth.