Joe Romano stared at her. “What luggage? I didn’t order any luggage.”
“Have them bring it in,” Anthony Orsatti commanded.
“Jesus!” Joe Romano said. “Has everyone gone nuts?”
A messenger walked in carrying three Vuitton suitcases.
“What’s all this? I never ordered those.”
The messenger checked his delivery slip. “It says Mr. Joseph Romano, Two-seventeen Poydras Street, Suite four-zero-eight?”
Joe Romano was losing his temper. “I don’t care what the fuck it says. I didn’t order them. Now get them out of here.”
Orsatti was examining the luggage. “They have your initials on them, Joe.”
“What? Oh. Wait a minute! It’s probably some kind of present.”
“Is it your birthday?”
“No. But you know how broads are, Tony. They’re always givin’ you gifts.”
“Have you got somethin’ going in Brazil?” Anthony Orsatti inquired.
“Brazil?” Joe Romano laughed. “This must be someone’s idea of a joke, Tony.”
Orsatti smiled gently, then turned to the secretaries and the two messengers. “Out.”
When the door was closed behind them, Anthony Orsatti spoke. “How much money you got in your bank account, Joe?”
Joe Romano looked at him, puzzled. “I don’t know. Fifteen hundred, I guess, maybe a couple of grand. Why?”
“Just for fun, why don’t you call your bank and check it out?”
“What for? I—”
“Check it out, Joe.”
“Sure. If it’ll make you happy.” He buzzed his secretary. “Get me the head bookkeeper over at First Merchants.”
A minute later she was on the line.
“Hello, honey. Joseph Romano. Would you give me the current balance in my checking account? My birth date is October fourteenth.”
Anthony Orsatti picked up the extension phone. A few moments later the bookkeeper was back on the line.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Romano. As of this morning, your checking account balance is three hundred ten thousand nine hundred five dollars and thirty-five cents.”
Romano could feel the blood draining from his face. “It’s what?”
“Three hundred ten thousand nine hundred five—”
“You stupid bitch!” he yelled. “I don’t have that kind of money in my account. You made a mistake. Let me talk to the—”
He felt the telephone being taken out of his hand, as Anthony Orsatti replaced the receiver. “Where’d that money come from, Joe?”
Joe Romano’s face was pale. “I swear to God, Tony, I don’t know anything about that money.”
“No?”
“Hey, you’ve got to believe me! You know what’s happening? Someone is setting me up.”
“It must be someone who likes you a lot. He gave you a going-away present of three hundred ten thousand dollars.” Orsatti sat down heavily on the Scalamander silk-covered armchair and looked at Joe Romano for a long moment, then spoke very quietly. “Everything was all set, huh? A one-way ticket to Rio, new luggage…Like you was planning a whole new life.”
“No!” There was panic in Joe Romano’s voice. “Jesus, you know me better than that, Tony. I’ve always been on the level with you. You’re like a father to me.”
He was sweating now. There was a knock at the door, and Madge poked her head in. She held an envelope.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, Mr. Romano. There’s a cable for you, but you have to sign for it yourself.”
With the instincts of a trapped animal, Joe Romano said, “Not now. I’m busy.”
“I’ll take it,” Anthony Orsatti said, and he was out of the chair before the woman could close the door. He took his time reading the cable, then he focused his eyes on Joe Romano.
In a voice so low that Romano could barely hear him, Anthony Orsatti said, “I’ll read it to you, Joe. ‘Pleased to confirm your reservation for our Princess Suite for two months this Friday, September first.’ It’s signed, ‘S. Montalband, manager, Rio Othon Palace, Copacabana Beach, Rio de Janeiro.’ It’s your reservation, Joe. You won’t be needin’ it, will you?”
13
Andre Gillian was in the kitchen making preparations for spaghetti alla carbonara, a large Italian salad, and a pear torte when he heard a loud, ominous popping sound, and a moment later the comfortable hum of the central air conditioner trailed off into silence.
Andre stamped his foot and said, “Merde! Not the night of the game.”