Old Flame by Ira Berkowitz Page B

stopped at a closed door with a sign that said Private.
    Bad Haircut opened it and ushered us in.
    Behind the desk stood a man with a shaved head and a narrow, hawkish face. His eyes were set deep under a slightly protruding brow ridge. He had no eyebrows. A silver-framed photograph of his wife and pudgy-cheeked son sat on his desk.
    “Thank you, Avner,” he said to Bad Haircut, who nodded and left. He turned to us. “Gentlemen. Please have a seat.”
    We sat on a sofa covered in buttery leather.
    “Now,” he said, “which of you is Kenny Apple?”
    Kenny raised his hand.
    “So,” he continued, “you must be Steeg.”
    His voice was soft, with just the barest trace of an accent.
    “I am.”
    “How can I help you?”
    I pointed at the photograph.
    “Nice family,” I said.
    Barak picked up the photograph and smiled.
    “Thank you,” he said. “They are my world. Everything is for them.” He replaced the photograph on his desk. “So, I ask again. How can I help you?”
    “It’s about my friend Danny Reno.”
    “Ah yes. The elusive Mr. Reno. So, you represent him?”
    “Yes.”
    He nodded. “It’s good to have friends,” Barak said.
    “What will it take to square things?”
    “A great deal of money, I’m afraid. With interest compounding at a rather alarming rate, Mr. Reno’s debt to me is approaching a million dollars. Very serious money, Mr. Steeg.”
    “We both know that Reno doesn’t have that kind of money.”
    “Does one truly know what is cooking in another’s pot? I’m a businessman, Mr. Steeg. Nothing more. And Mr. Reno is a businessman. He understood the risks when he approached me.”
    “So, you both lost. It happens.”
    “Without question. But I relied on his guarantees. And now”—he shrugged—“I find that his assurances were worthless. I have no recourse to the courts, and to be seen as weak by my competitors is fatal. Your friend has left me with no choice.”
    “Look, there’s got to be a way to work this out,” I said. “Reasonable people can reach reasonable outcomes.”
    His lips curled into a smile. “I’m listening,” he said.
    I glanced over at Kenny Apple, hoping for a glimmer of a suggestion, or at least some inspiration, but he just sat there looking impassive.
    “Let me think about it a bit, and speak to Reno,” I said. “Maybe we can come up with something.”
    “Of course. Take all the time you need. But not too much. Unlike God, my patience is limited. And while you are thinking, I will continue to look for Mr. Reno and his associates. If I happen to find him, I will kill him and those who help him hide from me, in ways that will serve as an object lesson to those who even consider fucking with me.”
    “Are you threatening me?”
    His lips stretched over his teeth in what passed for a smile. “In my business there are only facts.”

CHAPTER
    17
    T hat went well,” Kenny said. “I don’t know about you, but I nearly soiled myself.”
    We were on the train heading back to Manhattan.
    “Barak is a very serious guy,” I said.
    “You think? Any ideas?”
    “Yeah. Danny had better find a new place to live, pronto.”
    “Did you catch Barak’s suggestion that Reno might have some money stashed away?”
    “Hard to miss.”
    “Wouldn’t surprise me,” Kenny said.
    “Me either. This whole thing is an infinity of scams. Have a chance to go through Torricelli’s files yet?”
    “I just started.”
    “Anything look promising?”
    “You know, hanging around with you is turning into a job. When I have something, I’ll let you know.”
    “Fair enough.”
    “Do you have any thoughts on who might have iced Ferris?”
    “Not a one.”
    “Let me see if I understand this,” Kenny said. “You were winging it when you met with Barak, and you’re basically doing the same thing with Ferris’s murder. Is that about right? No wonder the crime rate is on the upswing.”
    “ ‘Winging it’ is too harsh. ‘Letting it play out’ is more