“What if he doesn’t show up? What if he just…you know…sends someone to kill me? Do you think he would do that?”
“Not as long as he has a chance of getting his money,” Rizzoli said confidently.
At seven o’clock, Sal Prizzi finally appeared.
Korontzis hurried over to the door and opened it. “Good evening,” he said.
Prizzi looked at Rizzoli. “What the fuck are you doin’ here?” He turned back to Victor Korontzis. “This is just between us.”
“Take it easy,” Rizzoli said. “I’m here to help.”
“I don’t need your help.” Prizzi turned to Korontzis. “Where’s my money?”
“I…I don’t have it. But…”
Prizzi grabbed him by the throat. “Listen, you little prick. You’ll give me that money tonight, or I’m going to feed you to the fish. Do you understand?”
Tony Rizzoli said, “Hey, cool down. You’re going to get your money.”
Prizzi turned on him. “I told you to stay out of this. It’s none of your business.”
“I’m making it my business. I’m Victor’s friend. Victor doesn’t have the cash right now, but he has a way to get it for you.”
“Has he got the money, or hasn’t he?”
“He has, and he hasn’t,” Rizzoli said.
“What the hell kind of answer is that?”
Tony Rizzoli’s arm swept around the room. “The money’s there.”
Sal Prizzi scanned the room. “Where?”
“In those cases. They’re full of antiques…”
“Antiquities,” Korontzis said automatically.
“…that are worth a fortune. I’m talking about millions.”
“Yeah?” Prizzi turned to look at the cases. “What good are they going to do me if they’re locked away in a museum? I want cash.”
“You’re going to get cash,” Rizzoli said soothingly. “Twice what our friend owes you. You just have to be a little patient, that’s all. Victor’s not a welsher. He just needs a little more time. I’ll tell you his plan. Victor’s going to take one of these antiques…antiquities…and arrange to sell it. As soon as he gets the money, he’ll pay you.”
Sal Prizzi shook his head. “I don’t like it. I don’t know nothing about this antique stuff.”
“You don’t have to. Victor’s one of the world’s greatest experts.” Tony Rizzoli walked over to one of the cases and pointed to a marble head. “What would you say that’s worth, Victor?”
Victor Korontzis swallowed. “That’s the goddess Hygea, fourteenth century B.C. Any collector would gladly pay two or three million dollars for it.”
Rizzoli turned to Sal Prizzi. “There you are. See what I mean?”
Prizzi frowned. “I don’t know. How long would I have to wait?”
“You’ll have double your money inside a month.”
Prizzi thought a moment, then nodded. “Okay, but if I have to wait a month, I want more—say an extra couple of hundred grand.”
Tony Rizzoli looked over at Victor Korontzis.
Korontzis was nodding his head eagerly.
“Okay,” Rizzoli said. “You have a deal.”
Sal Prizzi walked over to the little curator. “I’m giving you thirty days. If I don’t have my money by then, you’re dog meat. Do I make myself clear?”
Korontzis swallowed. “Yes, sir.”
“Remember…thirty days.”
He gave Tony Rizzoli a long, hard look. “I don’t like you.”
They watched as Sal Prizzi turned and walked out the door.
Korontzis sank into a chair, wiping his brow.
“Oh, my God,” he said. “I thought he was going to kill me. Do you think we can get him his money in thirty days?”
“Sure,” Tony Rizzoli promised. “All you have to do is take one of those things out of the case and put a copy in its place.”
“How will you get it out of the country? You’ll go to prison if they catch you.”
“I know,” Tony Rizzoli said stoutly. “But it’s a chance I’m going to have to take. I owe you that much, Victor.”
One hour later, Tony Rizzoli, Sal Prizzi, Otto Dalton, Perry Breslauer, and Marvin Seymour were having drinks in Dalton’s hotel suite.
“Smooth as silk,” Rizzoli boasted. “The bastard pissed his pants.”
Sal Prizzi grinned. “I scared him, huh?”
“You scared me,” Rizzoli said. “You should be a fucking actor.”
“What’s the deal now?” Marvin Seymour asked.
Rizzoli replied, “The deal is, he gives me one of those antiques. I’ll find a way to smuggle it out of the country and sell it. Then I’ll give you each your cut.”