Stephen Cannell - King Con

"Jesus, you're wordy… You can just say it, Mr. O'Neal."

"I'm operating under instructions from my client right now. My client has not been implicated in anything yet, but he fears he's about to be, and I would just as soon handle this negotiation one-on-one. When constructing agreements of this nature, I like to see who I'm talking to."

"Your client seemed to be indicating to me over the phone last night that his 'Ace Cool,' which means best friend, told him that he was part of the killing at Trenton Towers and that some Italian mobsters did the work. At least that's what it sounded like. I don't need to remind you that anything that Demo Williams told your client is hearsay and not worth much, if anything."

"What if Mr. Heywood was in the nightclub, sitting right at the table, when the original offer was made?" Beano said, pinching his voice, giving it some Ivy League timbre.

"That would be very interesting," she said.

"I need three things if we're going to trade, yes? One: your promise that you will gather up a good position against the Rinas for murdering those three before you call Mr. Heywood to testify. He doesn't want to present himself to the court and implicate these Mafia killers only to have you lose the case. He wants them in jail where they can't retaliate. Two: He wants to be absolved of any charges pending against him for crimes currently being considered by your office. And three: He would like to be placed in the Witness Protection Program."

Victoria was still thumbing through her copy of Martindale-Hubbell and finally found Cedric O'Neal. The listing said he had graduated top of his Yale class in 1989. Another Ivy League choirboy. They're coming through the windows. He was a partner in a law firm in New York, but was also licensed to practice in half-a-dozen other states, including New Jersey. He graduated less than ten years ago. She thought he was very young to be a partner already and it pissed her off. "You still with Lincoln, Forbes, O'Neal, and Ross?" she asked.

"Ahhh. Got your Martindale-Hubbell out, do you?" he said in his pinched, clenched-jaw voice. "Yes, I'm afraid I'm still there, despite their best efforts to replace me." And then he laughed; it sounded very close to a cackle.

Lincoln, Forbes, O'Neal, and Ross was actually a non-existent law firm that had miraculously appeared in the 1997 Martindale-Hubbell, courtesy of Frank X. Bates. Frank, who did second-story jobs when he wasn't oiling down roofs, had broken into the printing firm in Chicago that put out the directory and added the fictitious law firm to the computer file one day before it went to be typeset. It was very handy for a family of con men to have a registered, but nonexistent, law firm when working a sophisticated mark. It was often necessary to show up in a con claiming to be somebody's lawyer. Beano even had stationery and business cards printed. They were somewhere in his suitcase. The publisher had sent out a letter disavowing the mistake, but the nonexistent law firm was still in the book, long after everyone had thrown the letter away.

Victoria closed the M-H directory and pondered what to do with stuffy Cedric O'Neal. She had one or two yellow "Caution" lights flashing on the big emergency panel in her head, but she was still seething with anger about the death of her friend and that energy helped to make up her mind. "Okay, Mr. O'Neal, how 'bout ten o'clock tomorrow morning? My office."

"Ahh, could we perhaps make it someplace where the possibility of recording or eavesdropping is a mite less intense?"

"How 'bout Sam's Deli, down by the river? Nine o'clock?" she said.

"It's a date. I'll be the tall, balding gentleman in the tan suit and the striped school tie."

She hung up the phone and wondered what the hell was going on.

Beano hung up the phone, grabbed Roger, and headed to the door. He needed to go dig up the pickle jar he had buried under a rock off Highway 10. The jar contained fifty thousand dollars in cash. The fifty large was his start-up money and all he had left in the world. Then he had to catch the red-eye flight to Jersey, so he could make his nine o'clock meeting with a beautiful prosecutor named "Tricky Vicky" Hart.

SAM'S DELI WAS ON THE CORNER OF MANCHESTER AND O Street. It had large, plate-glass windows and a takeout counter along the east wall. Beano arrived at eight, an hour before the meeting. He was dressed in a blue blazer, tan slacks, and striped tie. His dyed blond hair was falling over his tanned forehead. One of the problems with being on the FBI's Ten Most Wanted List was that Beano's picture had been circulated to police departments all over the country. He picked a table in the rear of the deli. With his back against the wall, he sat scanning the half-full restaurant. Laughter and frying bacon mixed in with the occasional scream of a Waring blender. An aerial circus of black flies competed for a hanging light fixture in the center of the room.

From what he'd been able to find out about Victoria Hart, she was no fool. She might even bring a police investigator to witness the negotiation concerning Anthony Hey wood's nonexistent crimes. Beano had selected his old cellmate, Amp, for the co-starring role in this hustle because Beano knew Amp had a sizable record and would be in the N.C.I.C. computer. Beano had also heard from an old ex-con friend that a month after he got out, Amp had stopped a bullet in a street action and had been given the Miami "burial at sea," which consisted of being lugged out to the Everglades and stuffed down a gator hole… an event that made him technically still alive, but forever unavailable for protest. Beano's careful eyes zigzagged the deli and he determined there weren't any cops in the place.

He ordered a tall glass of orange juice from an already tired waitress whose name tag said she was ANGEL. Beano sat watching the door, examining the customers as they arrived, checking them out one at a time as they entered. At exactly nine o'clock, through the door came the woman whose picture he had seen in the Trenton Herald. Victoria Hart announced her fastidious personality with her wardrobe and prompt arrival. In person, Beano didn't think she looked very tricky. She looked determined; everything about her suggested intelligence and organization. She was in a tailored, dark green suit with matching shoes and scarf. She was even more strikingly beautiful than the picture in the paper, but she seemed unconcerned with her looks. No makeup or hair-styling. She had a large briefcase and no purse. She seemed impatient as she scanned the restaurant. As her eyes panned across him, he pulled the menu up to cover his face. She was searching for a tall, balding man in a tan suit and school tie, the description he had given her. But nobody in the restaurant matched that description. She glanced at her watch, then moved briskly across the deli and took a table by the window.

He let some more time run off the clock. At nine-ten, Victoria Hart started glancing at her watch. Then she pulled her case files out of her briefcase and started going through them again. Angel poured the New Jersey Prosecutor a second cup of coffee. By nine-twenty she was tapping her fingers on the linoleum table top. Beano watched her carefully with a con man's practiced eye. She was going to be a tough mark. She was definitely Type A, direct, no bullshit… the hardest kind. Type A's were generally fastidious, so Beano decided on a plan. He wanted to wait until she was just about to leave. If this was a trap, and she had somebody else in the restaurant, they would communicate before she got up. She would wave the back-up over and they'd do some whispering… Whatta you think? Is he gonna show? Did he stand us up? Beano continued to observe her; she was important to the layout of his con. As the Prosecutor on the case, she had spent almost a year trying to convict Joseph Rina. That meant she was the greatest living expert on that Mafia Prince outside of his own family. She would have already deposed all of his friends and business associates. She would know about all of his legal and illegal activities, his known associates, his girlfriends, his enemies. She would have the background information Beano would need. Most attorneys at trial keep a copy of the complete case files with them, so if something comes up, they can have it at their fingertips. He hoped she had the bulk of this information in her oversized briefcase.