The syndicate, p.24
The Syndicate, page 24
“It’s a cold table, Craine. Ask yourself, are you really going to solve all this in two days?”
Craine thought of Michael. No, he thought to himself. I don’t think I am. Not now.
Abe said, “Does Lansky know about this?”
“Of course. His orders.”
Craine didn’t move. He didn’t know what to say.
Abe rubbed his jaw. “You want us to drop the investigation?” A glance in Craine’s direction. “Send him home?”
Kastel shook his head. “This isn’t a dispensation. We have a new offer.”
The room went still. Abe was riled. “Why wasn’t I told about this?”
“There wasn’t time, Abe. The F.B.I. are probably tapping the phones. We’re not risking sending a telegram. Mr. Lansky sent me here to tell you in person.”
Craine said, “If you’re not letting me go, what is the offer?”
Kastel sipped from his tumbler. “You can go on as previously agreed. You have two days. If you don’t find out who killed Siegel, we kill you. And your boy.”
It was said with such a lack of formality Craine almost had to ask him to say it again.
Kastel tilted the glass, casually setting the wager: “Or what you’re doing—this investigation—it ends today. Your son will go free. I’ll have a plane collect my men and leave him be. Your boy will go about his life as if it never happened.”
Craine frowned, confused. He noticed Abe lower his head and rub his fingers through his eyebrows.
“You’ll let us go?”
“I’ll let him go.”
“What about me?”
Kastel held his hands out with an easy grin. “You know too much, Craine. The people you’ve spoken to. The press. The FBI. It adds up to too much if there’s no win. Stakes are too high.”
Craine felt his cheeks burn but he wasn’t ready to believe what Kastel was telling him. “That doesn’t make sense. You told me I had five days—”
“And now I’m offering you an out. Be a man. Do the right thing and take it.”
Craine didn’t look at Abe but he could hear his heavy breathing. Kastel couldn’t suppress a smile, gauging Craine’s reaction with satisfaction.
“This—there has to be another way.”
“There’s not.” He sipped his drink. “All you have to do is decide.”
“You’re asking me to give up my life.”
Kastel nodded. “My country asked the same of me and I took it willingly. I’m asking you to give up your life for your son. If he means as much to you as you make out, this shouldn’t be a difficult decision.”
Craine wasn’t sure what to say. Michael meant everything to him. But surely Kastel couldn’t expect him to willingly choose death?
“If I can’t persuade you, maybe he can.” Kastel picked up the receiver that had been resting on the table since they’d entered the room. “He’s here,” he said into the telephone. “Put the boy on.”
Kastel held out the phone and Craine took it. There was a rush of static, then a muffled sobbing. “Pa?”
Michael.
The sound of his son’s voice ran down Craine’s spine. “Where are you? Are you alright?”
“They drove us to a phone in town.” The boy broke down crying.
“What about your hand?”
“They took me to a doctor.” He whimpered. “What’s going on? They won’t tell me anything.”
Kastel tried to take the phone away but Craine grabbed it off him. Through the receiver he could hear his son’s voice calling after him. He clung to every word.
Kastel ripped the phone from his hands and dropped it on the hook. Craine launched himself at him, landing several closed fists on Kastel’s face before Abe pulled the two of them apart.
“Enough,” Abe said. But Kastel took a step and swung his foot into Craine’s stomach so hard that he slumped to the floor on all fours, his stomach in spasm. He couldn’t stand; he couldn’t breathe.
Kastel went to kick him again but this time Abe pushed Kastel back with his good arm.
Kastel’s cheek had already begun swelling like a balloon. He touched a bloody lip.
“Surprised me, Craine. Didn’t think you had it in you.” He spat on the carpet through hard breaths. “This is the offer on the table,” he said. “Don’t take it personally. It’s business.”
Craine’s stomach muscles were still cramping and he struggled to suck in air. “If I can have more time,” he said, his voice pleading even though he knew it was pointless.
“I’ve told you, the original offer stands. Mr. Lansky is a fair man. But if you fail, if you can’t meet the terms on which you agreed, you’ll lose everything. Are you willing to do that? Bet the house. Go all in on a martingale.”
Martingale. Bettor’s slang. Doubling down. Risking everything.
Craine was still struggling to breathe. He tried to make sense of Kastel’s terms. If I go forward with the investigation, I risk my son’s life. If I end this now, he goes free but I die.
Never in his life had Craine been handed a choice that felt so final.
“If I accept, how can I trust you to do right by him?” he asked.
Abe spoke up. “I’ll make sure of it.”
No one said anything for a long time. Craine didn’t cry, but a part of him wanted that purge.
“How will you do it?”
Abe answered before Kastel could. “We’ll go for a drive. Do it right. You won’t feel anything.” He spoke to him like a caring doctor putting him out of his misery. Craine was reminded of his dog.
“Your choice, Craine.”
There wasn’t a choice so much as a decision in front of him he had to take. Craine knew two more days wouldn’t make any difference. They were no closer to finding Siegel’s killer than they were three days ago. He thought of Michael, his fingers being severed from the knuckle. Of him screaming. That was nothing compared to what they would do to him if Craine failed to solve Siegel’s murder.
His voice was thin. “You see to it my boy is safe.”
Abe answered for both of them. “You have my word.”
Craine felt a chill on his shoulders. There was nothing left to say.
They say the hardest part of making any decision is choosing in the first place. Once you’ve made your choice your brain tells you it was the right one. Stops you regretting it as a way of coping. But this was different. Craine was choosing death. There was no part of him that was at peace with this situation.
Their danse macabre was three men driving to a place of Abe’s choosing where Craine could be executed. Kastel sat in the back as Abe drove. Craine was in the front passenger seat, but he could see Kastel’s pistol pointing directly at him the entire time. He had insisted on coming. Craine half got the impression he was worried Abe might let him go.
“You did the right thing,” Abe said. His eyes were fixed on the road ahead. He hadn’t looked at Craine properly since the hotel. He was distancing himself.
Craine’s senses were benumbed, as if a strange palsy had overtaken his body. He had never been a brave man. That awareness had sat with him all his life. He hadn’t served in the war. Had avoided it. He was too old to be drafted, but he wasn’t so old he couldn’t have signed up. Maybe other people didn’t know that, but he did. Michael did, too.
Hide from the world and it will come back and find you. He’d been a coward. And now he was getting his dues.
“Where are we going?” he asked, staring into the middle distance. Speaking was difficult.
“I know a place. Near here.”
It felt strange to be driving without knowing where you were going but still knowing how that journey would end.
Craine had never been a religious man. He wasn’t convinced heaven existed. Didn’t think he’d get there even if it did. But in that moment he couldn’t help but remember what his priest had taught him at boarding school. “Memento mori”—Remember that you have to die.
It was little consolation.
They came off before the Colorado Street Bridge. His mind must have drifted because when the car tires rolled to a stop on the gravel he had to remind himself where he was. There were no streetlamps, but when Craine looked around he realized they were at the Arroyo Seco. He knew this place. They used to find bodies dumped here every few weeks. They even put a chain-link fence up once but it only got torn down.
They stepped out of the car but left the engine running. Abe kept the headlights on to give them a little light.
“We’re heading down there,” Abe said, pointing in the direction of the beams. The riverbed was dry for the summer months. But when the September rains did finally come, whatever the coyotes hadn’t eaten the water would wash away. He’d disappear.
Kastel wagged his pistol at Craine for him to follow. It was dark away from the headlights, and twice Craine lost his footing as he sidled down the steep embankments.
Kastel stretched the pistol toward a hidden spot beneath the bridge. “Here will do,” he said with a flinty streak in his voice. “Let’s get on with it.”
Craine stared up at the sky. The air was thick and humid and he had to dab his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt.
He turned to Abe. “You’ll leave me here?”
Abe nodded gravely.
“Don’t tell my boy anything. You tell him it was quick and that I didn’t suffer. You don’t tell him why.”
Abe exhaled. A sigh. He stood there with his arms by his sides, thoughtful and withdrawn. Kastel took the opportunity to light a fresh cigarette and draw in a lungful of smoke.
Craine wondered who would tell Michael and what they’d say. Was it dying that upset him, or was it not saying goodbye? Despite the bridges that they’d built, so much remained unsaid between father and son. So many times he’d wanted to tell Michael how much he loved him. What was it that prevented him from really expressing how he felt? What was it that held him back?
He took a deep breath. There was so much he’d wished he’d told him, and the things he regretted came out now in a sudden gush. “Tell my son I’m sorry,” he said to Abe. “Tell him he needs to do what he wants with his life. I was trying to protect him, but I was wrong.”
At first Craine’s words didn’t look as if they made any sense to Abe, but something seemed to strike a chord when Craine said finally, “And tell him I’m proud of him. That I wished I could have had the courage to tell him myself.”
“I’ll tell him,” Abe said quietly. “I’ll make sure he knows.”
Craine focused on the task at hand. He felt nauseous, wondering whether Abe might pull his gun and shoot him at any second.
“You have something heavy-caliber?” he asked with a feeble energy. “I don’t want to bleed to death. I want it quick.”
“You want, I’ll let you do it yourself. If not, I can.”
Abe touched the back of his head as if to indicate how he’d do it. Craine knew that was one of the fastest deaths. Like cattle.
Wanting some control over his last moments, Craine whispered, “I’ll do it myself.”
Kastel waved his pistol. “Wait, don’t give him a gun.”
“He’s not going anywhere.”
Abe removed the clip, then made a show of loading a single bullet into the chamber. He put the working parts forward and handed it to Craine.
Craine looked around at the surrounding hills in different shades. He could hear cicadas.
Michael was sixteen. He’d be okay without him. He was almost a man now. Thinking that made Craine realize that he’d been overprotective of his son before. Cosseted him. He’d been so busy turning his back on the world he hadn’t accepted that Michael needed to go out and explore it for himself. Maybe Craine dying would set him free.
There was nothing left to say. He felt empty. It didn’t feel real. Like the situation was happening to someone else.
Kastel looked around. “Get this over with. I got a flight to Chicago.”
Sweat starting dripping off Craine. He couldn’t even hold the pistol grip without it slipping out of his hand.
And then a thought came to him suddenly, like a bee sting.
Chicago.
Craine had an abrupt moment of paralysis. He looked up. “Wait.”
Kastel raised his pistol. “I told you, we should have done it for him.”
“No,” said Craine, instinctively raising his hands. “Wait a minute.”
But it wasn’t cowardice that was stopping Craine. If it was, he’d recognize it like an old friend. The feeling he had now was different. A feeling that something wasn’t right. That he’d failed to pursue a line of enquiry. It was the beam of light to a man drowning in darkness. He pushed his way to the surface.
He looked at Kastel, then Abe. “I changed my mind.”
Kastel pulled his hammer back. “There’s no use stalling. The decision is made. I’ll do it for you if you’re too yellow.”
“No. I want more time. I want until Friday.”
“It’s his choice,” Abe said.
“He’s on a tile,” Kastel said. “He doesn’t know what he’s doing.”
“You understand what you’re agreeing to here?” Abe asked Craine quietly. “What this means for your son? I won’t be able to protect him.”
On the fringes of Craine’s mind came an image of Michael. He tried to push it away, hoping he wasn’t making a mistake.
“I understand.”
“No,” Kastel said, angry now. He shut one eye and took aim. “It’s done. We’re finishing him off here.”
Abe stepped toward him, into the firing line. “You gave him a choice. As far as I’m concerned that choice is still his to make.”
Kastel gave him a hateful look. “If Lansky—”
“Then I’ll vouch for him. We give him forty-eight hours as agreed.”
They stood there, the three of them, for a long time. Kastel was aiming directly at Abe now but the big man didn’t move an inch. Craine could see Kastel’s mind moving. Working out what to do next.
After what seemed like an age, Kastel lowered his pistol. “Forty-eight hours,” he said, looking at Craine. “After that I’ll kill you myself.”
They walked back up the concrete riverbed. When they got to the car, Kastel muttered to Abe, something about dropping him off at the hotel. Something about his flight to Chicago again.
Kastel slammed the car door shut. The moonlight made his red face blue. It was like Celia told him once after one of their arguments; the most infuriating thing about Craine was that he didn’t lose his temper, he made you lose yours.
When Craine got into the back seat, Kastel looked at him in the rearview mirror. “You’re either a fool or a coward, Craine.”
Craine was too exhausted to feel resentful. Besides, a part of him thought Kastel might be right. If he was wrong about his hunch, his son’s life was forfeit.
The ante was set.
Chapter 32
After Kastel left them to get his flight, the two men returned to their suite.
They took the elevator in silence, but in their own strange way their silences had become more comfortable for both men.
The dull shock of survival didn’t have time to really sink in. Craine’s thoughts were only forward-facing. But when the elevator opened on to their floor, something in Craine’s stomach dropped and he found himself rushing to a small garbage bin and retching in great heaves of relief.
“It’s okay,” Abe said. “It’s done with.”
But despite Abe’s compassion they both knew his words didn’t ring true. It wasn’t nearly over. The decision Craine had made was based on a strange hunch. And while he knew that there was a new lead they had to pursue, he also knew that he’d had an opportunity to save his son and he’d turned it down. What kind of father did that make him?
Inside their suite, Craine went to his bathroom, drinking from the faucet and splashing water on his face. He glanced at himself in the mirror. His face was bleached white and a shadow of stubble had formed on his jaw. He couldn’t bring himself to look into his own eyes. He wondered what Celia would have done if she were in the same position. But then again, there wasn’t much to consider. She would have taken Kastel’s offer without a moment’s hesitation.
On the chair in the bathroom were his farm clothes. The hotel had seen to it that they were washed and pressed but it didn’t matter. He brought them to his face and breathed them in. Somewhere within them was home. It was the only thing driving him.
Craine showered, turning up the hot water and getting out only when he’d stopped shaking. Abe had ordered room service and when he came back in there was a trolley of food waiting. A hunger had overtaken Craine and both men ate readily, like two old colleagues sharing a dinner platter on a business trip.
Afterward, Abe sat in his slacks and a sleeveless vest, trying to change the gauze on his shoulder. The bruising was fierce, a purple swelling that covered most of his arm and back. It looked painful and Abe helped himself to several inches of whiskey from the bottle Kastel had left out.
When he was finished cleaning the wound, Craine looked at him levelly and asked him the question that had been bothering him for the last hour.
“Why is Kastel flying to Chicago, Abe?”
Abe was taping the gauze over. He looked well-practiced. “It doesn’t concern you.”
This time Craine was resolute. “It does. You told me there’s a meeting on Friday in Las Vegas. That other investors in The Flamingo are meeting Lansky. Is one of them Paul Ricca? The head of the Chicago Outfit?”
Abe closed his eyes and Craine was starting to think he’d fallen asleep. He needed Abe to tell him. Knew that somehow Chicago were involved in all of this. He just didn’t know how.
“Paul Ricca was released recently,” Abe said finally. “As I told you before, the syndicates work on a national level. Separate organizations for separate territories. Now that Siegel is gone, Lansky is worried that Vegas will fail. He’s looking to sell his shares to Chicago so he can pay back the other New York investors.”
“And this is happening on Friday?”
Abe coughed. “Senior members of the Chicago Outfit are flying in to Vegas. Kastel has gone up so he can make arrangements and escort them down. On Friday they will be buying Siegel’s shares in the hotel at a price to be agreed.”
