“That’s how it struck me; it looked like half a dozen New York wiseguy hangouts I’ve seen.”
“Is there anything else about this that smells like mob?”
“There’s a guy named David Sturmack.”
Grant blinked. “He’s the mayor’s favorite golf partner. Once I had to deliver an envelope to hizzoner at the Bel-Air Country Club, and he introduced me to Sturmack.”
“What else do you know about him?” Stone asked.
“That he’s a big-time fixer. There were rumors a while back about mob connections, through the unions, I think. He seemed to have an in with the Teamsters.”
“You know any more details about that?”
“No. By the time I was on that particular job, Sturmack had faded into some pretty expensive woodwork. His name used to come up in subtle ways, but I never knew of any hard connection between him and anybody who was mobbed up. I’d say he’s at the pinnacle of respectability now, or the mayor wouldn’t be seen with him. The mayor’s a squeaky-clean guy.”
“I’ll tell you what I know: Sturmack’s old man was with Meyer Lansky way back when. Young David grew up amongst the boys, knew them all, apparently.”
Grant smiled. “No kidding? The family business, huh? Now you mention it, I seem to remember a rumor of a connection between Sturmack and the Teamsters pension fund, which bankrolled half the construction in Vegas when the boys were in charge.”
“Sounds right.”
“But I can’t think why Sturmack would have somebody’s wife disappeared; even if the rumors are true, that wouldn’t be his style, not at all.”
“Time to tell me if you’re in, Rick.”
Grant smiled. “Sure, I’m in; what’s more, I’m intrigued. What do you want me to do?”
“Can you get the lady’s car on the patrol sheet without listing it as stolen?”
“Probably.”
“It’s a new white Mercedes SL600, California vanity plate, A-R-I-N-G-T-N.” He spelled it, and Grant wrote it down. “The lady’s name is Arrington Carter Calder; it’ll be registered either to her or her husband, I guess.”
“Maybe not; a lot of these people drive cars registered to their production companies. Why don’t you want it listed as stolen?”
“I don’t want it pulled over; I just want to know where it is, if it’s anywhere, and I’d like a description of whoever’s driving it.”
“Okay, I’ll specify position reports and descriptions only, and directly to me.”
They ordered coffee, and Stone asked for a check. “There’s another name; see if it rings a bell.”
“Who’s that?”
“On
ofrio Ippolito.”
Grant laughed. “Jesus, Stone, you’re really in high cotton here, you know?”
“Am I?”
“Ippolito is the CEO of the Safe Harbor Bank.”
“Big outfit?”
“Dozens of branches, all over, ads on television, lots of charity sponsorship, the works.”
“No mob connections?”