CHAPTER 46
Visconti telephoned Nick Benedetti, an unscrupulous private detective who had been enormously helpful to him in the resolution of a number of his previous and unfortunate affairs. Benedetti received the call in his Staten Island office. “Louis, baby! Good to hear from you. What’s shaking?” he sang, resting his feet on his cluttered desk and flicking cigar ashes to the floor.
“I’ve got a job for you. You busy?”
“Never too busy for you, Louis. You know that. What’ve you got?”
“You know the Jets’ quarterback, Brian Pyper?”
“Who the hell doesn’t? I saw his picture in The Times today. Looks like he’s running with a Cuban squeeze.”
“I want you to follow him. Stick to him like wet underwear. I want the whole book on this dude, Nick. I want pictures. Real good ones. None of that kissy face crap. Give me skin, enough to nail him to the wall.”
“This guy got something on you?”
“No. His wife does.”
“You care to tell me what?”
“I’m in love with her.”
“That’s a lot to have on a man. I’ll give it my undivided attention, Louis. Count on it.”
Kerri raced through a breakfast of toast and coffee, frequently glancing at her watch. With less than enough time to avoid being late for work, she hurried from the kitchen. To her surprise and horror, she saw Brian removing his jacket in the foyer. He appeared to have recently awakened, his face unshaven, his hair ruffled, and large puffy circles sagging below his bloodshot eyes.
Brian dropped his empty night bag on the floor. “What are you doing here?” he asked with a raspy voice.
“In case you’ve forgotten, I live here,” Kerri challenged.
“I thought you left… I phoned here at least five times and there was no answer.”
“Did you phone my office?”
Brian nodded. “All they would tell me was that you were out of town.”
“… I went to Vancouver for two days.”
“How did you pay for the flight?” Brian asked with an antagonistic scowl.
“I put it on the credit card.” Kerri anticipated a confrontation, but almost welcomed it, hoping it would clear the air.
“How much was it?” he asked, raising the decibel level of his voice.
“A little over six hundred.”
Brian placed his hands on his hips and tightened his lips. “Six hundred! Where do you plan to get six hundred dollars? I’m sure as shit not going to pay for it.”
“Brian, maybe instead of telling me what you aren’t going to do, you should tell me what you are going to do. Maybe you could start by telling me if you’re coming or going.” Anger prodded her to be more specific, but instinct inhibited her.
“You really care?”
“Sure I do, and I think we should talk about what’s going to happen to our marriage.”
Brian smirked. “Aren’t you the same girl who told me we have nothing to talk about unless I’m prepared to admit I have a drinking problem?”
“Yes, but when I said it, I assumed it was the only problem we had.”
“So now you’re saying it’s okay for us to talk because we have more than one problem. Is that it?”
Brian’s belligerent and deliberate attempts to provoke Kerri had come very close to succeeding. She struggled with an almost overwhelming urge to scream. “Don’t you find it difficult to live with uncertainty?” she asked.
“What do you mean by uncertainty?”
“Let’s start with the obvious. If you’re planning to live somewhere else, I’ve got to make other arrangements.”
“That’s completely up to you. There’s no way I’m coming back here if you’re going to hassle me about the way I live my life.”
“You still don’t see it,” Kerri said, exasperated. “I’m trying to help you and save our marriage, but I need a little cooperation.”
“Well that’s the problem right there. It isn’t about drinking, or uncertainty. It’s all about you trying to get me to live my life according to your standards. Forget it!” Brian shouted. “It isn’t going to happen!” He stormed past Kerri and climbed the stairs behind her.
Confused, angered and frustrated, Kerri left the apartment and headed for the bus stop, a block and a half away.
CHAPTER 47
It was almost nine when Kerri entered the office of Iacardi & Sons. She marched directly to her boss’s office and closed the door behind her. Dennis smiled and jumped to his feet. “Welcome back. You can’t know how glad I am to see you. You had me worried.”
Kerri left her overcoat on and sat on the metal chair in front of his desk. “Sorry I’m late. I was on the way out the door when Brian arrived. I should have kept going, but I couldn’t.”
“I bet you’re going to tell me it wasn’t a happy reunion.”
“That’s an understatement. We can’t even communicate any more.”
“You bring up the subject of his picture in the Times?”
Kerri shook her head. “I knew it would make things worse. I just asked him if he planned to come home. He said he wouldn’t if I continued to hassle him about the way he lives his life. Then he refused to continue the conversation and went to the kitchen. I presume he was going to pick up some of his things and leave again, but I didn’t stay long enough to find out.”
Dennis looked away and shook his head. “I feel so sorry for you. I wish there was a simple solution to it.”
“So do I, but there isn’t… I’m such a fool, Miles. I was absolutely determined to save our marriage. I was prepared to do whatever it took. I was even convinced the split was my fault.”
“You may be guilty of being naive, but you’re no fool.”
Kerri blinked, vainly trying to suppress tears. “If I’m not a fool, maybe you can tell me what I’m doing here.”
“At the risk of sounding trite, I’ll tell you what you’re doing here. You’re working for me, and you’re doing a damn good job.”
“Thank you. It’s the one good thing to come out of this whole mess. Unfortunately I’m going to have to end it. I would give anything to stay here with you, but it’s impossible. I can’t afford to stay in New York on my salary.”
“It’s not impossible. You know that regardless of whether you reconcile with Brian or not, he’s going to have to maintain your life-style.”
“No way!” Kerri argued, shaking her head. “Accepting money from Brian would be worse than accepting welfare.”
Dennis smiled. His admiration for Kerri had risen several notches. “You’re truly unique. Most women I know wouldn’t look at the situation quite that way.”
“How would they look at it?”
“The old fashioned way. Initially, they would feel abused and damaged. Eventually, consumed with anger and indignation, they would rush off to hire the meanest, nastiest divorce lawyer they can find, the kind who eats raw meat for breakfast. Then together, using the full force of the law, they tap into the husband’s jugular vein and open the valve. At the end of the day, they whine and snivel all the way to the bank.”
“Well that’s not me. I’d feel dirty. I think the best thing for me to do is to go back to Vancouver and start over.”
Dennis was troubled. Kerri had become indispensable. He adored her. “I can’t let you go, Kerri. You’re too valuable to me… If I could make it possible for you to stay in New York, would you consider it?”
“Sure I would. But…”
“Twelve years ago, when our kids were still with us, my wife went back to work. We had an apartment built in the basement and hired an Irish nanny. It was a super arrangement until the kids left home. The nanny moved out and we stopped using the apartment… I would be delighted if you would consider making it your home.”
“That’s very generous, but it’s too much of an imposition. I couldn’t.”
“No imposition at all, but there are strings attached. You have a wonderful future in this business, Kerri.
If you accept my offer, you’ll have to enroll in the Commodity Trader’s Course. If you’re successful, you’ll become a licensed commodities trader. With your intelligence and my help, you can’t miss, and you’ll certainly be able to afford to live in New York.”
Dennis’s unexpected offer was enormously appealing. Suddenly it was possible for her to remain in New York and stay in the business she had grown to love. Even better, she could retain the independence she valued so highly. “Is there a curfew?” she asked, smiling at last.
Dennis shook his head.
“Then I accept.” Kerri stood and extended her hand to Dennis.
“Wonderful!” Dennis said, then stood and hugged her instead of accepting her hand. “I promise I’ll do everything possible to ensure that you never regret this decision and one day I’m going to refer to you as my colleague.”
Surprised by Dennis’s uncharacteristic display of emotion, Kerri flinched, then relaxed, happy to feel the strength and warmth of a man’s arms.
“You’re going to make it through this mess, Kerri, and when you do, it’ll be nothing but a bad memory.”
“I wish I could share your optimism. I’m really scared, Miles.”
“That’s understandable. An awful lot’s happened to you in a very short period of time. It may not be any consolation to you, but you’re not unique. Splits are so common now that surviving first marriages are considered items of curiosity. The game has changed so much that some people think there’s something wrong with you if you’re still in your first marriage.”
“Are you?”
Dennis’s face flushed as he nodded. “Andrea and I are a prime example of a prehistoric married couple. We’re alone. Not one of our friends is still involved in a first marriage.”
“You must have a formula.”
“I keep telling myself it’s love and devotion, but in all honesty, I think there’s a bit of inertia involved. Relationships change with the passage of time. When the intense passion subsides, it’s replaced by friendship, closer and more precious than any you’ll ever experience.” Dennis’s gray eyes locked on Kerri’s. “Let me show you. Have dinner with us tonight.” He walked to his telephone and lifted the receiver. “Say yes and I’ll call Andrea, right now.”
CHAPTER 48
Brian entered Runway Thirty-eight at seven-thirty and marched to his favorite table at stage side. With a now customary wave of his hand, he ordered a rum and coke. Marsha Ridecki, on bar duty and wearing only tight red silk panties and white cowboy-boots, delivered the drink to his table. “Running a tab tonight, Brian?” she asked, leaning in front of him to advertise her enormous naked breasts.
Brian nodded, his mouth within tongue distance of her breasts. “I’m here for the duration,” he said, then leaned back to watch the show.
Nick Bennedetti nursed a beer at the table next to Brian’s. He looked every bit the part, built like a bull-dog, dressed in black trousers, black silk shirt, opened at the neck to display a heavy gold chain and generous chest hair. His thick black hair was well oiled and combed straight back. He had begun to enjoy the assignment. Drinking beer and watching girls take their clothes off was substantially more pleasant than cold lonely automobile stakeouts, waiting for something to happen. “Walk in the park,” he muttered.
Dinner with Andrea and Miles Dennis exceeded Kerri’s expectations. It was served in the high ceilinged dining room of their massive three-story red bricked home in an upscale area of Glen Cove. The warmth with which Andrea had received and welcomed her quickly gave her the assurances she needed. She was glad she had agreed to Miles’s proposition. She placed her empty coffee cup in the saucer in front of her and smiled at Andrea. “Thank you for a wonderful dinner, Andrea. This is the first time I’ve been invited out since I came to New York.”
“You’re more than welcome,” Andrea replied, reaching for Kerri’s hand. “May I assume that you’ll agree to stay? Before you answer, I want to know that I’ll be extremely disappointed if you don’t. Now that the kids are gone, Miles is rarely home. You’ll be an very welcome addition. I get lonely rattling around in this mausoleum.”
Kerri could see why Miles had remained married to Andrea. Vivacious, extremely gregarious and instantly likable, she had retained a youthful figure, and her short auburn hair complemented her freckled smile. Andrea’s charm and infectious personality relieved the pressure of her torment. Kerri nodded and grinned. “How can I ever thank you?”
“You just did,” Andrea said with a radiant smile. “How soon can you move?”
Kerri was again confronted by her deep sense of responsibility to Brian. Then a frown gradually gave way to a smile. “Guess I don’t have to worry about getting anyone’s approval.”
“Tomorrow?” Andrea asked.
“Tomorrow night, Andrea,” Miles answered. He turned to Kerri. “I’ll take the car tomorrow. We can leave the office early and go straight to your apartment.”
“Do you have much to move?” Andrea asked.
Kerri shook her head. “Not much. Mostly clothes.”
“No furniture?”
“It all belongs to Brian.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Andrea said, raising her voice. “Half of it belongs to you. Just because he paid for it doesn’t mean a thing.”
“I told Miles I don’t want anything from Brian. Taking furniture would be like accepting charity.”
Andrea smirked. “Just give me a little time, my dear. I’ll change your mind about that.”
Miles rolled his eyes skyward, then turned to Kerri. “Andrea’s a big city girl from her head to her toes. Don’t let her corrupt you, Kerri,” he warned.
Andrea glared at him, sticking her tongue out in reaction to her husband’s invective. She turned to Kerri again. “I’m having a dinner party on Saturday night. I’d be delighted if you would join us.”
CHAPTER 49
Bennedetti watched Brian leaving Runway Thirty-eight with his arm around Tina DeSouza. He glanced at his watch. It was one forty-five. He removed a wad of bills from his right pants pocket, stripped off a fifty and dropped it on the table. He raced to the parking lot and climbed into his 1990 black Dodge Caravan. He drove directly to the building containing his newly rented office space. He took the elevator to the third floor. After fumbling with the keys in near darkness, he finally succeeded in unlocking the door, then hurried to the window facing Tina’s apartment. “Damn!” he shouted when he saw no lights on in the apartment. He unfolded his aluminum deck chair and sat to wait, his Exquisito Cuban cigar his only company.
He bolted upright when he saw a light in one of the windows of Tina’s apartment. Through the eyepiece of his telescope he saw Brian walking from the bedroom toward the washroom. He smiled. “Just goin’ for a whiz, Brian, baby? I want you to get real busy when you get back,” he said aloud.
His hopes were quickly dashed when Brian returned to the bedroom less than two minutes later and turned off the light beside his bed. “Too much booze tonight? Maybe you should sleep it off, then wake up, horny as hell.” He relaxed in his chair, blowing smoke rings into the darkness.
Bennedetti was awakened at six by the shrill beeping sound of a garbage truck moving in reverse. He looked through his Celestron Omni ZLT telescope. “Wakey, wakey,” he said when he saw Tina and Brian still asleep. With the approach of daylight, he could no longer rely on the lights in Tina’s apartment to signal him. Now he would have to monitor the telescope almost constantly.
His patience was soon rewarded. Activity began thirty minutes later when Tina moved closer to Brian and kissed his forehead.
Bennedetti smiled and whistled. “Come on Brian, baby! Wake up!” he shouted. His smile broadened when he saw Brian respond to Tina’s kiss by wrapping his arms around her and pulling her down on top of him. “Okay kids, it’s show time!” he urged, turning to his Nikon and zooming in on the happy couple.
Benedetti’s photo-op improved as Tina, naked, hurled the covers from the bed. She stood and s
traddled Brian’s head with her feet. Benedetti cheered while he watched her perform her exotic routine, utilizing the entire surface of the bed. The session culminated in a wild, passionate scene wherein Bennedetti’s subjects satisfied each other in a bewildering variety of exciting and provocative positions.
Long before the love making ended, he had accumulated far more photographs than he would ever need to complete Louis Visconti’s assignment.
CHAPTER 50
Toronto. Friday, March 23, 1990.
Karen, still in her pink silk nightgown and wearing no makeup, joined Mike for an early breakfast in the penthouse kitchen. She was on a mission. “Let’s talk,” she said.
Mike lowered his newspaper. “What about?” he asked.
“The trust. I think we’ve made an enormous mistake.”
Mike frowned and rolled his eyes. “Don’t do this to me, Karen.”
“I have to,” she insisted. “We’re sitting on over six hundred million dollars of stolen money, and there’s no way in God’s green earth we’ll ever spend it, or do anything with it, other than fret and worry about someone finding out that we have it. I can’t get it out of my mind.”
“So what do you think we should do?”
“Get rid of it.”
“Get rid of it!” Mike protested, then attempted to end the conversation. He stood, loosened his belt, unzipped his fly and lowered his jeans far enough to expose the scars created by the bullet from Servito’s gun over ten years earlier. He pointed to the scars. “This is my reminder of what happened in Caracas. The bullet that did this was intended to kill me in a very painful way. Fortunately it didn’t, but every day it reminds me of why it happened.” He pulled his jeans back to the original position, returned to his chair and glared at Karen, resolve burning in his deep blue eyes. “Don’t make me go there,” he hissed.