The Wrong Man by David Ellis Read Free Book Online Page A

guy lives? And murder if he doesn’t? It would be a stretch. It all depends on the circumstances.”
    “Even if the name I’m trading is Gin Rummy?”
    I didn’t catch the reference. I could see from the expectant look on his face that he thought I’d recognize the name.
    “Who’s Gin Rummy?” I asked.
    A brief smile crossed over his mouth. “There’s five people in the world that know that. You wanna be the sixth?”
    I shook my head. “That’s up to you. I take it Gin Rummy is somebody significant?”
    “To the coppers? Oh, yeah. The federal types, too. And to Paulie, for sure.”
    Paul Capparelli, presumably, the top guy in the crime family now.
    “Paulie always says, ‘Gin Rummy’s the man.’” Fowler laughed to himself.
    “Gin Rummy’s a hit man?” I asked.
    Fowler stared at me for a long time. Finally, he said, “Close enough.”
    “An assassin,” I said.
    “Right.”
    “You see a difference between ‘hit man’ and ‘assassin’?” It wasn’t a helpful question I was asking, but this guy was starting to annoy me.
    Enough of the cat-and-mouse. “Is that it, Lorenzo? Just Gin Rummy’s real name? Or do you have proof that Gin Rummy committed this other murder?”
    He showed those hideous teeth again. “I got proof.”
    “What kind of proof?”
    “Proof,” he said.
    I was a few years out of date in what little knowledge I possessed, while a prosecutor, about the Mob and its assorted characters. But it sounded like this Gin Rummy was significant. And that could mean special consideration.
    “You’re wondering about witness protection, that kind of thing?” I asked.
    “Right. Problem is, this thing, this other murder I got information on, it’s stateside. Not federal.”
    The state doesn’t really do witness protection programs per se, but the feds will cooperate with the locals if the payoff is good enough. I told Lorenzo all that.
    “Oh, it’ll be worth it,” he assured me.
    I’d have to take his word for it for the time being. “You’re not ready to pull this trigger yet, I take it?”
    “Right. But here’s another question. If I wanna do this, can I go through you and keep it quiet and all?”
    “I think we could work that out, Lorenzo.”
    He leaned forward in his seat. His skin was flush. “And this thing we’re talking about, you won’t repeat it.”
    “It’s a privileged conversation, if that’s what you’re asking.”
    “I’m not
asking
nothin’.” His eyes went cold. He had quickly resorted to the bravado of the Mobbed-up thug. “I’m tellin’. You won’t repeat this. We understand each other?”
    I have this thing where, whenever I get agitated, I try to count to ten before speaking. On occasion, I’ve been known to say inappropriate things, and it was a New Year’s resolution of mine to get along better with people. But that was two New Years ago, and it didn’t take.
    I got all the way to four in my count. “Don’t threaten me, Lorenzo, and don’t ever contact me again,” I said. I got out of my chair. “And
now
we understand each other.”
    Lorenzo Fowler turned right when he left his appointment and stood at the curb to hail a cab. He gave up after a few minutes and decided to walk through the commercial district.
    From across the street, Peter Ramini stood with his hands in his coat pockets. Always, these days, with his hands in his pockets. He watched Fowler disappear down the block. No need to follow. It didn’t matter where Lorenzo was going next. All that mattered was where he’d just been. Ramini carefully removed his cell phone and punched a speed-dial button. Within four minutes, a black town car pulled up at the curb.
    He got in the backseat, next to another man named Donnie. He stuffed his hands back in his pockets. He waited until the Lincoln moved into traffic before he spoke.
    “That appointment Zo made with that lawyer,” he said. “Name of Jason Kolarich. Well, he just had the meeting. Ask Paulie what he wants to do