Bronx Requiem(116)

“No mortgages, right?”

“Nah. I’m sure Jackson bought them to soak up his cash.”

“What do you think we’d net if we sold them? Fast.”

“What do you figure, about a month?”

“Max. We have to dump them before the Feds start doing a deep dive on Jackson’s assets.”

“Okay, we could dump them in that time if we asked forty, fifty cents on the dollar. We ain’t paying any capital gains, that’s for sure. I doubt they filed any returns for the various incarnations of Queen-Esther Karen Goodwin. Have you asked her about any of this?”

“No. I seriously doubt she knows she’s the owner of record.”

“She’s going to have to disappear if we do this.”

“She has to anyhow. And we have to spread rumors that Jackson and Bondurant killed her and hid the body. And Amelia Johnson, too.”

“I assume you want to set up a corporate entity to hold the titles and launder the money for safety sake.”

“Yes.”

“That’ll cost us.”

“Hey, this is found money. Let’s minimize the risk. What do you have in mind?”

“China. It’s the easiest and fastest these days. Buy some steel or something. Wash the money with a sale. Pocket the balance. I’ll reach out to Ming the Merciless.”

“Don’t let him squeeze you too hard. See if he knows a lawyer who’ll act as front man and paper the sales. Maybe someone who has connections to a broker who specializes in distressed properties.”

Alex said, “Distressed. That’s a nice way to put it.”

Beck heard the voices of Demarco and Esther downstairs. “Okay, Alex, let’s move fast on this.”

Alex went back to work as Demarco, Amelia, Willie Reese, and Queen-Esther stepped into the second-floor loft space. Between them, they had seven shopping bags, none carried by Willie Reese.

Beck said, “All set?”

Demarco answered, “We did what we could under the circumstances.”

Esther announced, “I got to change.”

Beck said, “Okay, but hurry. We have to talk. And we don’t have too much time.”

While Esther headed upstairs, Beck motioned for the others to take a seat at the dining table. While they waited for Esther to return, Beck went over to one of the couches and lay down, covering his eyes with his forearm. The others couldn’t tell if he was sleeping or thinking.

It took thirty minutes for Queen-Esther to return, showered, with fresh lipstick, dressed in black tights and a print tunic top that reached past her ample hips. She looked and acted like a very different person. She took the chair at the head of the table as if it were her right.

Willie sat next to Amelia. Beck sat with Demarco on the other side of the table.

They all waited for Beck to speak.





70

John Palmer grimaced and answered his buzzing burner phone.

“I hope this is important.”

Eric Jackson didn’t waste any words.

“Beck and his crew took down one of my houses last night. They got information that can hurt me. I ain’t waitin’ until Monday. I ain’t waitin’ another f*cking minute. I need to know where I can find him. You can’t arrest him now. Not with him having this information. I got to take them out now. Right the f*ck now.”

Palmer said, “Hold on. You can’t…”

Jackson interrupted. “Hey, copper, get it through your f*cking head, you ain’t telling me what I can and can’t do. You got your witnesses, you got me to hold off, and now I’m f*cked. Beck has got to be dead before the day is out. Give me a way to find him, and all this bullshit is over.”

Palmer thought furiously. It was all going to hell. Everything he had done, all the scheming and lying and conspiring with criminals—all for nothing.

Palmer said to Jackson, “All right, hang on a second. I’m standing in the street. Let me get somewhere I can talk.”

Palmer ducked into the lobby of a nearby building.

He wasn’t giving Beck up to Jackson. No way. Fuck Eric Jackson. Jackson knew too much. Jackson controlled his witnesses. Everything connected back to Jackson. There was only one thing to do now. He had to kill him. With Jackson gone, this could work. With Jackson gone, he wouldn’t have to risk helping him assassinate the rest of Beck’s crew. He could get credit for taking down all of them. He’d find a way to keep Jackson’s witnesses on board. He should have thought of this before.

He spoke into the cell phone.

“Okay, are you there, Eric?”

“Yeah, I’m f*cking here. Tell me what I need to know.”

“You sure you want to go this way? I’m telling you, we’re arresting Beck tomorrow. Monday, latest.”

“I told you I ain’t got time. He’s got to go, now.”

“All right, all right, the hell with it. I’m not going to argue with you. But we’re not doing this on a phone. Where are you?”

“Never f*cking mind where I am. I ain’t recording shit. Just tell me where to find Beck.”

“No. Not on a cell phone. I’m not f*cking standing in public running down all the addresses for Beck and his men in Brooklyn, Staten Island, and Manhattan. I’ll meet you outside that Chinese restaurant in an hour. Just you. I don’t want any witnesses or trouble. I’ll have everything written out for you. No discussion. No stripping-down bullshit. I hand you a piece of paper, and we never see each other again. In fact, I never, ever saw you.”