It was at that moment that Frederick Milstein realized he might actually have to come up with over six hundred thousand dollars to end this problem.
Beck sensed he was thinking it through, realizing that this was not a ridiculous price to pay. But Milstein hesitated. Beck was not sure why.
Finally, Milstein said, “All right. I’ll figure out the money. It might take me more than one day to pull together that amount. But if it does, I’ll wire the money to her day after tomorrow. That’s as soon as a check in that amount would clear.”
Beck considered Milstein’s answer. “I’ll give you one day.”
“And I’ll make some phone calls. It shouldn’t be too difficult to get Olivia placed. It just might take some time.”
“How much time?”
“A couple of weeks or so.”
“Don’t let it be any longer than that.”
“All right. But there’s just so much I can do.”
“What does that mean?”
“I can’t guarantee what Alan Crane will do. I can’t sit here and tell you I can control him. I can’t make sure he’ll stand down and drop this.”
Beck turned to Milstein. “Why not?”
“I just can’t. I’d be lying to you if I said I could.”
Beck turned to Milstein. “No, you wouldn’t want to lie to me, would you?”
“No. I wouldn’t.”
“Tell me where I can find him.”
“What are you going to say to him?”
“Stop asking me questions.”
“You might want to hear his side of the story.”
“Yeah. And I might not. Where do I find this prick who hits women? Tomorrow. At noon. Where will he be?”
Milstein recited an address on Hubert Street in Tribeca and a cell phone number. Beck wrote the information on the back of his receipt from the burger place he and Ciro and Demarco had eaten dinner.
“Make sure he doesn’t duck me.”
“I’ll tell him you’re coming.” Milstein paused a moment and then politely said, “Can I ask you something?”
“What?”
“What are you going to do to Alan Crane?”
“I don’t know,” said Beck.
“Well, all I’ll say is that he’s important to my firm.”
“I don’t care,” said Beck.
“But if he convinces you he didn’t do what he’s been accused of, don’t you think he should be…?
Beck interrupted Milstein. “Where’s your dog?”
Milstein turned to Beck, surprised at the question. He motioned with his head back up the path where they had come from. “He’s over on Dog Hill. I let him off the leash this time of night.”
“How big a dog is he?”
“Big. Over a hundred pounds.”
“Who picks up his shit? Dog that size must drop at least a couple of pounds every time he squats.”
Milstein frowned. “Nobody walks out there in the winter.”
“That’s your answer?”
Milstein remained silent.
“You know, assholes like you and Crane actually think that because it’s in the dark and no one sees it, you can do whatever you want. Dump your dog shit wherever you want. Fuck around with your in-house hedge fund. Scream and yell at a woman and break her fingers.”
Milstein stared straight ahead, trying not to move, trying not to shiver in the cold night air.
“Is it dawning on you, Mr. Milstein, that this particular case is different?”
After a few moments, Milstein answered, “Yes.”
“You figure money will settle this?”
“It’s what I have.”
“No, there’s lots more you have. Lot’s more.”
Milstein spoke slowly. “You don’t need to threaten me any further.”
“Threaten you? That time has long past, Mr. Milstein.”
Milstein had no response to that.
“Tell Mr. Crane I’m coming at noon to see him. Tell him this is the right thing to do. Tell him to make sure and be at the address you gave me. You know what happens to people who try to avoid talking to me, right?”
“Who should I say is coming to talk to him?”
“Tell him Mr. Smith and tell him why.”
Beck stood up and turned toward Milstein, who remained seated. “Have you got a cell phone?”
“Yes.” Milstein rummaged around in the pocket of his down coat and pulled out an iPhone.
“Just the one?”
“Yes.”
Beck took the phone from him and put it in his pocket.
“Let’s go see how your driver is doing.”
They started walking back to the first bench.
“I didn’t hear any gunshots, so he should be available if you want to cry on his shoulder.”
When they arrived back where Milstein had been sitting, Beck pointed to the bench. Milstein sat. He walked over to Ciro and Walter. He asked the bodyguard. “Got a phone?”
He handed Beck an old clamshell-style phone.
“So, your name is Walter, right? That’s what your boss over there called you.”
“Yes. Walter. Walter Pearce.”
“Well, Walter, I’ll tell you what. You’ve been cooperative this time. Not throwing punches at people. I’m going to walk back over to Seventy-ninth. Tell your asshole boss to get his dog, take a few minutes, then you two can go home. If I don’t hear any yelling or bullshit, I’ll put your gun and phones in the trash basket near the exit on Fifth. Okay?”
Pearce nodded.
Ciro handed Walter’s Glock to Beck. Beck pointed the gun at Walter as Ciro stood up and joined Beck on the path. Both men turned together and walked into the darkness beyond the lamp light. As they walked, Beck took out the magazine from the Glock and made sure there was no bullet in the chamber.
By the time they were out of sight, they heard Milstein yelling for his dog. Two minutes later, Beck dumped the cell phones and Walter’s empty gun into the park’s wire wastebasket.
Two minutes after that, they were back in the Mercury heading for Red Hook.
10