He looked around. "Look, Freddy. He's got nothing on you. He doesn't know you called in that false alarm. Do me a favor."
"Sure, Nick. You got it."
He looked around. "Pull into that garage." Pointing ahead.
"Here?"
"Yeah."
Freddy spun the wheel fast. Tires squealed. It was a four-story parking garage attached to an enclosed shopping center.
"I'm getting out here. Just hang for a half hour, forty minutes."
"What're you going to do?"
"I'll go through the stores, get a cab to talk to Perone. Meet you back here. I'm sorry about this."
"No, it's cool. I'll get some breakfast."
Freddy pulled to a stop near one of the entrances to the mall. Nick asked, "You saw him at the restaurant, right? Kall?"
"Yeah, I remember him."
"If he comes up and wants to know about me--"
"--I'll tell him I can't talk. I'm waiting for his wife." Freddy winked.
Nick grinned and slapped the little man on the shoulder. He jumped out of the SUV and vanished into the mall.
There was no security--no human security--in the lobby of J&K Financial, only a mundane intercom. Nick pressed a button and announced himself.
A pause.
"Do you have an appointment?" a woman's voice asked.
"No. But I'd appreciate a chance to speak to Mr. Perone. It has to do with Algonquin Transportation."
Another pause. Longer.
The door lock buzzed with what Nick thought was a jarringly loud sound.
He stepped into a small elevator and on the third floor he entered a surprisingly nice office, given the neighborhood and the scruffy facade of the building. Jon Perone did okay for himself, it seemed. The receptionist was a beautiful woman with deep mocha skin.
Behind her two offices were visible through open doors. Both occupied by men, large men with short brownish hair. Their large torsos were encased in pressed dress shirts. One was lost in a phone call. The eyes of the other, in the near office, swiveled to Nick. The bigger of the two, he wore yellow suspenders over a pale-green shirt. His stare was cool.
The receptionist set down her landline. "Mr. Perone will see you now."
Nick thanked her. He walked inside the largest office in the suite, filled with books and spreadsheets and business documents, along with memorabilia and photos. Hundreds of photos. On the wall, on the desk, on the coffee table. A lot of them appeared to be of family.
Jon Perone rose. He wasn't a tall man and was solidly built. Like a column. Wearing a gray suit, white shirt and tie the color of the sea surrounding a Greek island. Black hair, slicked back. He'd cut himself shaving and Nick wondered if he used a straight razor. He seemed the sort who might. A gold bracelet encircled his right wrist.
"Mr. Carelli."
"Nick."
"I'm Jon. Have a seat."
Both men lowered themselves into supple leather chairs. Perone eyed him carefully.