CHAPTER FIVE
THE FACILITATOR
1.
For over sixty years, the Old Boston Bookshop had occupied the same row house on West Street in the Ladder Blocks section of downtown. It was founded by Loyd Stein, a noted antiquarian dealer, and when he died in 1990 his son Oscar took over. Oscar grew up in the store and loved the business, though with time had grown weary of the trade. With the Internet, and with the general decline in all things related to books, he had found it more and more difficult to make a decent profit. His father had been content to peddle used books and hope for the occasional big score with a rare one, but Oscar was losing patience. At the age of fifty-eight, he was quietly looking for a way out.
At 4:00 on a Thursday afternoon, Denny entered the store for the third consecutive day and browsed nonchalantly through the racks and piles of used books. When the clerk, an elderly lady who had been there for decades, left the front and went upstairs, Denny selected an old paperback copy of The Great Gatsby and took it to the register. Oscar smiled and asked, “Find what you’re looking for?”
“This will do,” Denny replied.
Oscar took the book, opened it to the inside cover, and said, “Four dollars and thirty cents.”
Denny laid a five on the counter and said, “Actually, I’m looking for the original.”
Oscar took the five and asked, “You mean a first edition? Of Gatsby?”
“No. The original manuscript.”
Oscar laughed. What an idiot. “I’m afraid I can’t help you there, sir.”
“Oh, I think you can.”
Oscar froze and looked him in the eyes. A cold, hard stare met him. A hard, calculated, knowing stare. Oscar swallowed and asked, “Who are you?”
“You’ll never know.”
Oscar looked away and put the five in the register. As he did, he realized his hands were shaking. He removed some coins and placed them on the counter. “Seventy cents,” he managed to say. “You were here yesterday, weren’t you?”
“And the day before.”
Oscar looked around. They were indeed alone. He glanced at the small surveillance camera high above, aimed at the register. Denny said quietly, “Don’t worry about the camera. I disabled it last night. And the one in your office isn’t working either.”
Oscar took a deep breath as his shoulders slumped. After he had spent months living in fear and losing sleep and peeking around corners, the dreaded moment had finally arrived. He asked, in a low, shaky voice, “Are you a cop?”
“No. I’m avoiding cops these days, same as you.”
“What do you want?”
“The manuscripts. All five.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Is that the best you can do? I was hoping for something a bit more original.”
“Get out of here,” Oscar hissed, trying to sound as tough as possible.
“I’m leaving. I’ll be back at six when you close. You’ll lock the door and we’ll retire to your office for a little chat. I strongly suggest you play it cool. You have nowhere to run and there’s no one who can help you. And we’re watching.”
Denny picked up the coins and the paperback and left the store.
2.
An hour later, a lawyer named Ron Jazik stepped onto an elevator in the federal building in Trenton, New Jersey, and pushed the button to the ground floor. At the last second, a stranger slid through the doors and pushed the button to the third floor. As soon as the doors closed, and they were alone, the stranger said, “You represent Jerry Steengarden, right? Court appointed.”
Jazik sneered and said, “Who the hell are you?”
In a flash, the stranger slapped Jazik across the face, knocking off his glasses. With an iron grip, he grabbed Jazik’s throat and rammed his head against the back wall of the elevator. “Don’t talk to me like that. A message for your client. One wrong word to the FBI and people will get hurt. We know where his mother lives, and we know where your mother lives too.”
Jazik’s eyes bulged as he dropped his briefcase. He grabbed the stranger’s arm but the death grip just got tighter. Jazik was almost sixty years old and out of shape. The guy with the grip was at least twenty years younger and, at that moment, seemed incredibly strong. He growled, “Am I clear? Do you understand?”
The elevator stopped at the third floor, and as the door opened the stranger let go and shoved Jazik into a corner where he fell to his knees. The stranger walked past him and left as if nothing had happened. No one was waiting to get on, and Jazik quickly got to his feet, found his glasses, picked up his briefcase, and considered his options. His jaw stung and his ears were ringing and his first thought was to call the police and report the assault. There were federal marshals in the lobby and maybe he could wait there with them until his assailant emerged. On the way down, though, he decided it might be best not to overreact. By the time he reached the ground floor, he was breathing again. He found a restroom and splashed water on his face and looked at himself. The right side of his face was red but not swollen.
The physical sensation of taking such a blow was stunning, and painful. He felt something warm in his mouth and spat blood into the sink.
He had not spoken to Jerry Steengarden in over a month. They had little to discuss. Their meetings were always brief because Jerry had nothing to say. The stranger who had just slapped and threatened him had little to worry about.
3.
A few minutes before six, Denny returned to the bookshop and found Oscar waiting nervously at the front counter. The clerk was gone, as were the customers. Without a word Denny flipped the “Open/Closed” sign, locked the door, and turned off the lights. They climbed the stairs to the small cluttered office where Oscar preferred to spend his days while someone else managed the front. He took his seat behind the desk and waved at the only chair not covered with magazines.
Denny sat down and began with “Let’s not waste any time here, Oscar. I know you bought the manuscripts for half a million bucks. You wired the money to an account in the Bahamas. From there it went to an account in Panama and that’s where I picked it up. Minus, of course, the percentage for our facilitator.”
“So you’re the thief?” Oscar said calmly. With some pills, he had managed to settle his nerves.
“I’m not saying that.”
“How do I know you’re not a cop wearing a wire?” Oscar asked.
“You want to frisk me. Go ahead. How would a cop know the price? How would a cop know the details of the money trail?”
“I’m sure the FBI can track anything.”
“If they knew what I know they would simply arrest you, Oscar. Relax, you’re not going to get arrested. Nor am I. You see, Oscar, I can’t go to the cops and you can’t either. We’re both guilty as hell and looking at a long spell in a federal pen. But it’s not going to happen.”
Oscar wanted to believe him and was somewhat relieved. However, it was obvious there were a few immediate challenges. He took a deep breath and said, “I don’t have them.”
“Then where are they?”
“Why did you sell them?”
Denny crossed his legs and relaxed in the old chair. “I got spooked. The FBI grabbed two of my friends the day after the theft. I had to hide the treasure and skip the country. I waited a month, then two. When things settled down, I came back and went to see a dealer in San Francisco. He said he knew a buyer, a Russian who would pay ten million. He was lying. He went to the FBI. We had a meeting scheduled and I was supposed to deliver one manuscript as proof, but the FBI was waiting.”
“How did you know?”
“Because we tapped his phones before we went in. We’re very good, Oscar. Very patient, very professional. It was a close call and we left the country again so things could cool off. I knew the FBI had a good description of me so I stayed out of the country.”
“Are my phones tapped?”
Denny nodded and smiled. “Your landlines. We couldn’t hack your cell phone.”
“So how did you find me?”
“I went to Georgetown and eventually made contact with Joel Ribikoff, your old pal. Our facilitator. I didn’t trust him—who can you trust in this business—and I was desperate back then to unload the manuscripts.”
“You and I were never supposed to meet.”
“That was the plan, wasn’t it? You wired the money, I delivered the goods, then I disappeared again. Now I’m back.”
Oscar cracked his knuckles and tried to stay calm. “And Ribikoff? Where is he now?”
“He’s gone. He died a horrible death, Oscar, it was awful. But before he died he gave me what I wanted. You.”
“I don’t have them.”
“Fine. So what did you do with them?”
“Sold them. I flipped them as fast as possible.”
“Where are they, Oscar? I’m going to find them, and the trail is already bloody.”
“I don’t know where they are. I swear.”
“Then who has them?”
“Look, I need some time to think. You said you’re patient, so just give me some time.”
“Fair enough. I’ll be back in twenty-four hours. And don’t do anything stupid like try to run. There’s no place to hide and you’ll get hurt if you try. We’re pros, Oscar, and you don’t have a clue.”
“I’m not running.”
“Twenty-four hours, and I’ll be back for the guy’s name. Give me his name and you get to keep your money and go on with your life. I’ll never tell. You have my word.”
Denny jumped to his feet and left the office. Oscar stared at the door and listened to his footsteps as he went down the stairs. He heard the door open, heard its little bell ring, then it closed quietly.
Oscar put his face in his hands and tried not to cry.
4.
Two blocks away, Denny was in a hotel bar eating pizza when his cell phone rattled. It was almost 9:00 p.m. and the call was late. “Talk to me,” he said as he glanced around. The place was almost empty.
Rooker said, “Mission accomplished. I caught Jazik in an elevator and had to slap him around. Quite fun, really. Delivered the message and all went well. Petrocelli was more of a problem because he worked late. About an hour ago I caught him in the parking lot outside his office. Scared the shit out of him. A little wimp. At first he denied representing Mark Driscoll but he backed down quickly. Didn’t have to hit him but came close.”
“No witnesses?”
“None. Clean getaway with both.”
“Nice work. Where are you now?”
“Driving. I’ll be there in five hours.”
“Hurry up. Tomorrow should be fun.”
5.
Rooker entered the bookshop at five minutes before six and pretended to browse. There were no other customers. Oscar busied himself nervously behind the front counter but kept his eyes on the man. At six he said, “Sorry, sir, but we’re closing.” At that moment Denny entered, closed the door behind him, and flipped the “Open/Closed” sign. He looked at Oscar, pointed at Rooker, and said, “He’s with me.”
“Is anyone here?” Denny asked.
“No. Everyone’s gone.”
“Good. We’ll just stay right here,” Denny said as he stepped toward Oscar. Rooker joined him, both within striking distance. They stared at him and no one moved. Denny said, “Okay, Oscar, you’ve had some time to think. What’s it gonna be?”
“You have to promise me you’ll protect my identity.”
“I don’t have to promise anything,” Denny snarled. “But I’ve already said no one will ever know. And what would I gain by revealing your involvement? I want the manuscripts, Oscar, nothing else. Tell me who you sold them to and you’ll never see me again. Lie to me, though, and you know I’ll be back.”
Oscar knew. Oscar believed. At that awful moment the only thing he wanted was to safely get rid of this guy. He closed his eyes and said, “I sold them to a dealer named Bruce Cable, owns a nice bookstore on Camino Island, Florida.”
Denny smiled and asked, “How much did he pay?”
“A million.”
“Nice job, Oscar. Not a bad flip.”
“Would you please leave now?”
Denny and Rooker glared at him without moving a muscle. For ten long seconds Oscar thought he was dead. His heart pounded as he tried to breathe.
Then they left without another word.