Perone hesitated. "Accident. Construction site."
"I heard you buried him alive after he tried to move the merch himself."
"I don't recall any such occurrence."
Nick shot him a wry glance. "Now the money. I earned it. I need it."
"I'll go six."
"We're not negotiating, Jon. Even you went to the hardest-ass fence in the city, you cleared fifty-five points. That's over a million. And I'll bet you didn't. You're not a discount kind of guy at all. You sold it on the street. You probably walked away with three M. Pure profit."
Perone shrugged. The equivalent of: Yeah, pretty much.
"So here's the deal. I want a million. And I want paperwork shows it as a loan--from a company that can't be traced to you or anybody with a record. Only we have a side agreement, written, that the debt's forgiven. I'll worry about the IRS if it comes to that."
Perone's grimace was more reluctant admiration. "Any other fucking thing you want, Nick?"
"As a matter of fact, yeah, there is. The Algonquin 'jacking, the Gowanus? I want you to put the word out on the street that it wasn't me did it. It was my brother. Donnie."
"Your brother? You're diming him out?"
"He's dead. He won't give a shit."
"Whatever people hear on the street, nobody's reversing a conviction."
"I know that. I just want some people who're in the loop to hear it."
Perone said, "I knew that merch'd come back to haunt me. Are we through?"
"Almost."
"Oh, Christ."
"Now, there's a guy named Vittorio Gera. Owns a restaurant in BK. The place is his name. Vittorio's."
"Yeah?"
"I want you to have somebody visit him, tell him he's going to sell the place to me. For half of what he's asking."
"And if he doesn't?"
"Have that somebody lean on his wife and daughters. I think he's got grandchildren too. Just get some pictures of them in the park and send them to him. That should do it. If not, have somebody visit his youngest daughter. Hannah. She's the one looks like a slut. Just take her for a ride around the block."
"You do have a style, Nick."
"You robbed me, Perone. I don't need any shit from you."
"All right. I'll get the paperwork put together." Then Perone was frowning. "How'd you tip to me, Nick? Couldn't've been that easy. I cover tracks real good. Always have. Who's this friend of yours?"
"Name's Freddy Caruthers."
"So he could put me together with the Algonquin heist merch. And put you and me together."
Nick said, "Which brings me to my last request."
Perone was nodding slowly. His eyes remained on something behind Nick, on a hat on the coatrack or on a grease spot on the wall or a photo of him playing golf at Meadowbrook.
Or maybe on nothing at all.