The Vulture's Game by Lorenzo Carcaterra Read Free Book Online Page A

this money going to come from?” Uncle Carlo asked. “And what’s the gain for the person or persons taking care of these banks and investors?”
    I smiled at Jimmy; this we had seen coming. “You get seventy-five percent of all profits generated by the buildings—existing as well as new ones. That’s for run of show. The remaining twenty-five percent goes to the two of us. Out of that, we pay all expenses and put in our guy to manage the buildings and the site. Same deal holds for the call-girl operations and any casino, racetrack, and airport action Scanlon had already managed to set up.”
    “You got somebody in mind to run those buildings?” Uncle Carlo asked.
    “We haven’t talked to him yet,” I said. “But I have a good feeling he’ll be open to our offer.”
    My uncle sat silently for several moments, running the plan over in his head, looking for loose ends. “Want to know what I like about all this?” he finally asked. “That the two of you worked it out together. That pleases me no end. And it’s a good plan. No bloodshed, money coming in our way, and a major pain in the ass tossed aside. Guys like Scanlon live and breathe for attention. He’ll get plenty of that now, only it won’t be the kind he likes.”
    “We’re not out of the woods just yet,” I said. “He’s in a corner and he might still try to make a move.”
    “Against you, no doubt,” my uncle said. “He caught you off guard with that beating. Truth is, he caught us all off guard. Next time won’t be so easy. I’ll make sure of that.”

MIDTOWN MANHATTAN, SEPTEMBER 8, 2002
    11:37 P.M.
    “He’s got to go, Al,” Scanlon said. He was shouting now but could barely be heard above the din of the fire engines, the crowds milling as close to the destroyed construction site as they could get. “I let you talk me out of it one time. I’m not going to make that mistake a second time.”
    “Let’s take care of what’s in front of us first,” Collins said in as calm a voice as he could manage. “This and the fiasco on the West Side.”
    “And you think these two situations, both happening on the same night, are what? A
coincidence
?” Scanlon shouted, not caring who overheard him. “You don’t think that punk bastard’s fingerprints are all over this mess? And I do what now? Stand here and start over, act like it never happened? That bastard dies, I’m telling you, even if I have to pull the trigger myself. Have I made my point clear?”
    “Let’s take a walk, Frank,” Collins said. “We need to talk. Maybe someplace that has fewer than twenty-five potential witnesses listening to our conversation.”
    Scanlon nodded, noting the change in Collins’s demeanor, figuring it meant he was now willing to go along with the idea of taking out Vincent Marelli. They stayed quiet until they turned right on to Madison Avenue, bustling during the day, but practically deserted after eleven in the evening.
    “Okay,” Scanlon said, “what have you got for me?”
    “You’re busted, Frank,” Collins told him. “There was more to today than the fire and the evacuation. A lot more.”
    “Such as what?”
    “The banks cashed out on your mortgages,” Collins said. “All of them. They extended you as far as they could. Somebody came along and bought them all out. The loans on the site, too. They’re gone as well.”
    “The investors asked for their money back?”
    “They didn’t have to ask,” Collins said. “They were paid—and paid well, I mightadd—to walk away. All of them did. Every single one of them.”
    “Who paid them?”
    “Marelli,” Collins said. “The old man owns your buildings and your construction sites, and who knows? Before the night is out he might have taken over your shares of the casino, racetrack, airport operations, and the call-girl companies.”
    “How did this happen?” Scanlon said, grabbing Collins by the front of his shirt and tossing him hard against the side of a parked car. “And