“He’s not going to charge you?”
“I told him he should believe what you tell him ninety percent of the time.”
“What about the other ten percent?”
“Those are the times your people screw up and finger the wrong man.”
“We never do that.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“So you got off the hook by bad-mouthing us?”
“I told him to believe you.”
“Yeah, but only ninety percent of the time?”
“I was feeling generous.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“I suppose I could have mentioned the number of innocent people the department has sent to their deaths who were later exonerated?”
“Prosecutors and juries send people to their deaths.”
“Based on evidence provided by the NYPD.”
“Well, nobody’s perfect,” Dino said.
“And on that confession, I will bid you good day.”
“Dinner tonight?”
“Sure, Patroon at seven.”
“Okay.” Dino hung up.
42
THE FORMER SOL FINEMAN, born Carl Blankenship, arrived at his apartment, a second-floor walk-up on West 125th Street, and let himself in with his key. His wife, Nellie, née Cynthia Preston, could be heard in the kitchen, whistling loudly.
“Nellie!” he shouted.
The whistling stopped. “Yes, dearie?”
“Come in here, please.”
She walked into the living room, untying her apron. “What’s up, Sol?”
“Have a seat, honey, I’ve got important news.”
She sat down in one of the chairs in front of the fireplace. “You look serious.”
“This is serious, but it’s also good for us.”
“Okay, so tell me.”
“Sam Spain is dead.”
She sucked in a little breath. “Dead? How?”
“Not that it’s important, but he took a shot to the head with that cosh you ran up for me.”
“You hit Sam in the head?”
“No, no, I didn’t do it. A guy I had already hit in the head came to, and I guess, right after I left, he got hold of the cosh and used it on Sam. That was yesterday. They took him to Bellevue, and he died this morning.”
“Sol, you’ve made a good living out of Sam. What are you going to do now?”
“You remember I told you the day would come when we drop everything and go up the river?”
“Yes.”
“This is the day. There are a lot of packing materials out in the hall. We’ll take everything that’s dear to us, and I’ll rent a truck. You’ll follow in the car.”
“How much time do we have?”
“I’m not sure, but we should act like it’s an emergency. The whole place has to be wiped down with Windex, too. I’ll start on that while you pack your bric-a-brac and your favorite clothes. Everything else that doesn’t belong to the landlord goes into black garbage bags, which we’ll dump on the way.”
“Do I have to keep on pretending to be Nellie Fineman?”
“Once you’re in the car, no. We’ll burn our fake licenses. I got the real ones and our passports out of the safe-deposit box, along with your good jewelry.”
“I can wear it again?”
“You can once we’re out of here.”
“Sol, you didn’t tell me how you’re going to make a living.”
“We’ve got what we saved, and I’ve got five million that would have been Sam’s.”
Her jaw dropped. “Say that number again?”
“Five million,” Sol repeated. “Dollars. Cash.”
“How?”
“It’s a long story. We’ll stop at that diner on the way for dinner, and I’ll tell you all about it.”
They went to work.
? ? ?
IN THE AFTERNOON, Sol rented a truck downtown, using a fake license, and drove it to their apartment building. There were only a dozen boxes and as many garbage bags to load, then Sol took care of the super, then dropped a check to the landlord into a mailbox for the four months remaining on their lease. Nellie got the car from the garage down the street, and Sol followed her to the West Side Highway, then turned north, along the Hudson.
? ? ?
LESS THAN AN HOUR LATER, two detectives knocked on the door of Sol’s apartment but got no answer. One of them tried the knob, and it was unlocked. “Police!” he called out. “Sol Fineman?” They walked into the apartment and found it empty of people and neat as a pin; the keys were on the coffee table. “The Finemans have legged it,” the other detective said.
They went downstairs and knocked on the super’s door.
A man in an undershirt holding a cigar opened the door. “Yeah?”
“I’m looking for the Finemans,” the detective said.
“Apartment 2A,” the man said, and made to close the door. It was stopped by the detective’s foot.
“We’ve been there. The Finemans appear to have moved out.”
“Today?”
“When was the last time you saw them?”
“This morning, when I was on the way to work. We said hello. I got back half an hour ago. They’re gone?”
“They’re gone.”
“Well, that’s between them and the landlord. Is the furniture still there?”
“Yes. You live here alone?”
“Yeah, super is a part-time thing. I get my rent and a few bucks. Rest of the time I drive a cab.”
“Who’s the landlord?”
The super gave him a name and address.
“Some policemen are going to come tomorrow and have a look around the apartment,” the detective said. “I’ve already taped the door. Stay out of there until they’re done.”
“Okay,” the man said. “Can I finish eating my supper now?”
“Knock yourself out,” the detective said, and he and his partner left.
The super took another look at the two one-hundred-dollar bills Fineman had given him. Easily earned, he thought.
? ? ?
SOL AND NELLIE Fineman had driven north. Carl and Cindy Blankenship got out of their vehicles, went into the diner, took a booth, and ordered drinks and dinner.
“All right,” Cindy said, “tell me, and don’t leave anything out.”
“It’s like this—Sam bought a picture from a junkie for a hundred bucks. He thought it might be worth more than that, and he looked into it. First, the cops came looking for it, but I got it out of the building. Next, a guy came with a briefcase full of cash and told Sam the insurance company would give him a million for it. Sam knew better, and he said he wanted five million. The insurance company wouldn’t bite, but Sam knew somebody who would, and he sent me to see the guy with the picture. He took one look and told me to come back later. I drove around in Sam’s car with the picture for a couple of hours, being sure not to get a ticket for anything, then I went back to see the guy and he gave me a suitcase full of hundred-dollar bills.
“I drove back to the bar, and it’s crawling with cops. I saw an ambulance drive away, but I didn’t know who was in it. I got a call this morning from a nurse at the hospital telling me Sam had bought it.”
“And the suitcase?”
“It’s in the truck. What else was I supposed to do with it?”
Cindy smiled. “You did the right thing, sweetheart.”
They finished their dinner and continued their drive up the Hudson and to the house they had bought three years before, where they unloaded the boxes and the suitcases.
“Carl,” Cindy said when they had finished, “how are we going to handle the money?”
“We’re going to hide it in the basement and dip into it from time to time. We’ll pay cash for everything. Later, when the heat is off, we’ll drive down to Florida and get a charter flight to the Cayman Islands, where we’ll open a numbered bank account. They’ll issue us credit cards, and we’ll spend the money that way. Maybe we’ll buy a condo in Florida. Nobody will ever touch us. Sol and Nellie Fineman are no more.”
“I like it,” she said.
“Let’s unpack our stuff and break down the boxes. I’ll get rid of the empty boxes and the garbage bags and our cell phones, and tomorrow morning I’ll drive the truck back to the rental place, then take the train back here.”
“And we’ll start our new life?”
“That’s the idea. The few people who know us around here know us as the Blankenships.”
Cindy found a bottle of scotch, and they toasted the Blankenships.
43
STONE LET DINO into the house. “Sorry, I didn’t feel up to a restaurant. Helene is making us dinner.”