“But three days to close is crazy,” Rice said. “There’s no way we can do our due diligence in that short a time.”
“What did I just say about Sunrise? They’re one of the top insurance companies in the country. The due diligence will be pro forma. We’ll get it done after we close.”
Rice looked from Stone to Rosen. “Okay. I guess you’re right.”
Rosen smiled. “I’ll call the bank and arrange for the draw against our line. Richard, you personally shepherd this thing through our underwriting department. Make sure everything’s copacetic. Karl, you make calls to investors to drum up interest in the deal. I don’t want that bank line hanging over our heads any longer than necessary.” He smiled. “Boys, it’s going to be a good year.”
After Stone and Rice left his office, Rosen fumbled in his desk drawer and pulled out a burner phone. He called Victoria Nguyen’s number and told her, “You’d better have good news for me.”
CHAPTER 17
After trailing Massarino’s Town Car around Brooklyn for a couple hours, Victoria Nguyen was frustrated and angry. Massarino had stopped at a coffee shop, where he’d spent an hour. After he left the shop, he stopped at a bakery, came out ten minutes later with a couple white paper bags, then cruised around Brooklyn as though he was on a sight-seeing tour. Then, finally, his driver brought him back home. She had nothing to show for the time she’d spent that day, and she knew from the call she’d received from Sy Rosen that he was already pissed off. Back in the café down the street from Massarino’s home, she ordered a meal and watched the residence. The waitress had just served her order when an SUV pulled up in front of the house. A man jumped from behind the wheel, ran around to the right rear door, and helped someone out. The big vehicle screened Nguyen’s view, so it wasn’t until the passenger approached the bottom of the steps up to the Massarino front door that she was able to get a clear view. Nguyen’s heart seemed to skip a beat when she recognized Janet Jenkins from her photograph. “I’ll be damned,” she whispered. She hadn’t heard from Pham Van Duc in over twenty-four hours. Her calls to him had gone unanswered. It suddenly felt as though an acid drip had been turned on in her stomach. If Jenkins is here, she escaped Pham. That could have happened only if the cops had found him.
Nguyen knew Pham was a tough nut. The cops would not easily crack him. But that possibility made her shudder.
“Welcome to my home, Ms. Jenkins. You must be tired after your long flight. Would you like to go to your room, freshen up?”
“Thank you, Mr. Massarino. But what I’d really like to do is see Bruno.” She paused a moment and added, “Please call me Janet.”
Massarino smiled. “And, of course, I’m Louis. I feel like we’re old friends. Bruno’s told me much about you.” His smile broadened. “But he didn’t tell me what a beautiful woman you are.”
Janet tipped her head at Massarino. Her face felt warm and she tried to smile, but sadness suddenly overwhelmed her. “I’m so sorry about your brother. He was a good friend to Bruno.”
Massarino’s eyes went hard as he took Janet’s hands in his. “Thank you for what you did to Carlo’s killer.”
Janet lowered her eyes. She didn’t feel that saying “It was my pleasure” was appropriate.
Massarino released her hands and turned to Caniglia. “Silvio, please take Ms. Jenkins’s suitcase to her room.”
“Is there a rental car agency near here?” Rosales asked the cab driver.
“There’s a Hertz office a couple blocks away,” the cabbie said.
“That’ll do.”
Rosales looked at Andrews, who had a disgusted expression on his face.
“I guess the guy made us,” Rosales said.
“Probably at the airport,” Andrews said. “He took us on a joy ride then called in his buddies to block the street.”
At the Hertz office, Rosales gave the cab driver four twenties—seventy dollars for the fare, plus a ten dollar tip.
“Hey, how ‘bout the hundred extra?” the cabbie yelled as the two detectives got out of his car.
“You lost the Escalade. You didn’t earn the hundred,” Rosales said.
“Assholes,” the cabbie yelled and then peeled away.
Andrews smiled at Rosales and said, “I recall that’s what the people in the LaGuardia taxi queue called us when we took that cab.”
“Adds a bit of symmetry to the whole experience, don’t you think?” Rosales said.
“What now?”
“Considering what we learned about Bruno Pedace’s association with Carlo Massarino and, by extension, Carlo’s brother, Louis, I think we should go sit on Louis Massarino’s house. I’ll bet Janet’s been in touch with him by now.”
CHAPTER 18
It was 6 p.m. when Rosales and Andrews cruised past Massarino’s house. They circled the block several times looking for a parking spot, with no luck. They finally pulled into a tiny lot behind a Mexican restaurant, went inside the place, ordered enchiladas, and took turns leaving the restaurant and strolling to the corner of Massarino’s block. It was during John Andrews’s second shift that he saw the left bay door of Massarino’s garage open. Rolling white plumes of exhaust spewed from a black Lincoln Town Car’s tailpipe into the cold evening air. He got a brief view of Janet Jenkins slipping into the left rear side of the car. A large man in a black suit closed the door for her and then quickly moved around the vehicle, closing the right-hand-side passenger door behind another man. Then the big man slipped into the “shotgun” seat. The driver backed the car out of the garage into the street, pointing the nose of the car toward Andrews.
Andrews calmly turned around and went past the corner, then sprinted to the restaurant. He opened the front door and waved urgently at Rosales, who leaped from his chair, dropped cash on the table, and raced outside. The two detectives ran to the parking lot, climbed in their Ford Escort rental car—Rosales behind the wheel, and drove out onto the street. They stopped for the red light at Massarino’s corner and watched the tinted-windowed Lincoln slowly crawl through the intersection in front of them.
“You’re certain Janet was with them?” Rosales asked, tense and worried.
“Of course. Along with three men, one of whom could be Louis Massarino.”
Rosales stared at the traffic light that hung overhead and muttered, “Come on, come on,” willing it to turn green. He inched his way into the cross street, anticipating the green light, when, just as the light changed, a dark-gray Audi ran the light and sped through the intersection. Rosales’s heart did a little tap dance as he braked hard and muttered a curse. He hit the gas and turned left, just behind the Audi.
“You see them?” Rosales demanded.
“Yeah,” Andrews answered. “About a block ahead. Don’t seem to be in any hurry.”
Rosales peered ahead and saw the Lincoln stop at the next light, the Audi immediately behind it.
“Nice car,” Andrews said.
“The Audi?”