West 47th by Gerald A Browne Read Free Book Online

over and through every clause and all correspondence at least ten times today. It’s tight.”
    â€œI’m sure if there’s a way out you’ll find it.” Mitch was also sure Ruder would take that as a compliment.
    â€œOur coverage began eight years ago,” Ruder informed. “Before then Lloyds had it.”
    â€œColumbia is the sole underwriter?”
    â€œUnfortunately.”
    â€œSmart bookies lay off heavy action,” Mitch recited as though it was something from the Bible.
    Ruder resented the bookie implication but let it pass. “From the start our coverage of the Kalalis was a package. Dwelling, cars, liability, the works. They tacked on the personal property coverage, which, of course, was their option.”
    â€œAll these jewelry items right off?”
    â€œNo. To begin with the jewelry rider was for three million something. As they acquired additional pieces they let us know, complied with our requirements and we covered.”
    â€œWho paid the premiums?” At thirteen dollars a thousand, about eighty thousand a year.
    â€œFor the first five years the husband paid. After that the wife.”
    â€œWonder why. Why do you think?”
    â€œI don’t see that it matters. The fact is the beneficiary is the wife. Columbia has the usual ninety days to settle with her.”
    â€œMaybe she won’t live that long.”
    â€œNo matter, somebody will pop up demanding to be paid. Of course, if we were to recover …” The prospect of that drew a long, full sigh from Ruder. “God, would I ever be grateful if we recovered.”
    Grateful would be nice for a change, Mitch thought.
    Columbia Beneficial was one of his regular clients. He was on retainer to Columbia and to several of the other major insurance companies. Any one of them would have preferred having him on staff. At one time or another each had approached him with an offer, attractive numbers and numerous perks. Possibly he gave one thought to their propositions but never a second. At any price being among the tight asses in the gray atmosphere and paper pile of insurance didn’t appeal to him. He was heart and soul a freelancer.
    For the insurance firms that was an innovation.
    Prior to Mitch, whenever cases came up that involved West 47th—robberies, usually, but often a robbery with a distinctive diamond district twist—the companies had no choice but to draw from their staff of claims adjusters. These fellows, capable as they might be in handling claims in the everyday world, were out of their element on 47th.
    They got blinded by the sparkle, left behind by the vernacular, spun by the milieu to the point of vertiginous confusion.
    Mitch, on the other hand, could hardly have been more streetwise. For years, actually most of his life, without being conscious of it, really, he’d been stoking up on the workings of 47th. His was not merely a familiarity with the street, nor was he like someone-come-lately hoping to be accepted, needing to earn a place. The street had already conditioned him to its ways and confirmed him. It had even exposed for his awareness the cunning peristalsis of its underbelly.
    He was not to be fooled. The street liked that about him. His expertise of gemstones was equal to nearly anyone’s. He could take a bare-eyed look at a stone, an emerald, say, and not only tell in which part of the earth it had been taken from but, as well, which part of that part. In many instances, even which mine.
    He was just as adept when it came to finished jewelry. After a brief examination of a piece that bore no hallmark or signature, something that would stymie most people, he more often than not was able to date it within a few years and, from its style and the quality of workmanship, say where it was made and by whom.
    â€œIt’s a sweet little bracelet, quite nice. Done by someone in Carlo Giuliano’s shop. I’d say in the early 1880s, but not by