Near Miss

She had been involved in the organization for years, joining back when the Pentkovskys had been in charge, and had served as secretary to the youngest Pentkovsky, Egon, until the Bean Counter took over the role of mob CFO. And while she considered the Bean Counter a decent enough boss, she was less pleased with the Greek, both former and current.

In her mind, Egon — who now went by the name Peter Greco for safety reasons — should have been offered the top job instead of Gromyko. She had not given up hope of that happening one day.

To that end, she had been keeping him up to date on organization politics. It had been a week since she’d last contacted him, and a lot had happened in that time. Things that could directly affect him. Specifically, that the Greek was on the warpath in the wake of Trench’s death. She thought it likely he’d take out his anger on the wayward Peter Greco. The Greek already considered him a threat, simply for being the brother of the family’s first leader, Anton Pentkovsky. Now, with Peter slipping away from the family, who knew what the Greek might do?

She wrote a long text, and included the information that the Bean Counter had learned Stone Barrington was somehow involved with Trench’s demise but was holding off passing that information along to the Greek for the time being.

Once satisfied that she’d covered everything, she sent the text, then returned to the warmth of her bed.

Chapter 31

A week had gone by without an attempt on Stone’s life. When there was not even the hint of anyone following him or paying him any undue attention, he called Mike Freeman. “It looks like I may have dodged a bullet. Figuratively speaking.”

“I take it you remain untouched.”

“Indeed. I think you can call off your men.”

“Are you sure?”

“Gromykos have a notoriously hot temper,” Stone said. “If the new Greek suspected I had anything to do with his nephew’s death, I wouldn’t be talking to you right now.”

“I’m inclined to agree with you.”

“Go put your men on a more exciting task.”

“Very well. But if you sense even a hint of a problem, I can have them back in a hurry.”

“Thanks, Mike.”

The next day, Stone attended a meeting with Carly’s new clients, Jones & Jones, in Bill Eggers’s office, then walked downstairs with her, so she could show him her new office.

Stone looked around, impressed. “I had to move out of the building and into my house before I got an office this big,” he said.

“That makes me feel good,” she said, switching on MSNBC.

Stone walked two doors down to Herb Fisher’s office and found him looking glum. “What’s the matter, Herb?”

“Nobody comes to see me anymore. They all come to look at Carly and see if she’s real.”

“They’ll get over it, then you’ll be the star of the floor again.”

“You promise?” Herb asked expectantly.

“Sure. I just came from a meeting with her new clients, in Eggers’s office. Turns out they own two other businesses that are coming aboard, too.”

“Please,” Herb said, holding up his hands in surrender. “No more good news.”

“Take the rest of the day off and go to the zoo,” Stone suggested. Then he left the building and walked home.

When he arrived, Joan looked up from her desk, and said, “You look a little winded.”

“It’s called exercise,” Stone replied.

“It’s called heavy breathing,” she said. She scrutinized him. “You aren’t carrying, are you?”

“No,” he admitted.

“I’m gonna tell Dino,” she said, reprovingly.

“Don’t you dare. I’m getting enough stick from him about that.”

“You never believe that somebody’s after you, until there’s a bullet on the way, you know that?”

“I think a bulge in the armpit attracts more attention.”

“It repels more attention,” she said.

“You may have a point.”

“Dino has the same point, and he’s usually right.”

“I hear enough of that from him. I don’t need to hear more from you.”

“Message received. There’s a Mr. Greco waiting in your office. He didn’t have an appointment, but his suit was nice, so I put him in there. Who is he?”

“Greco, you say? Not sure if he still does, but at one time he worked for at least one of the Greeks,” Stone said.

“The Russians? Oh, shit.” Joan took her .45 from her desk drawer. “I’ll be ready,” she said.

Greco was sitting in the chair across the desk from Stone’s, drinking a cup of coffee. He was, indeed, wearing a nice suit — Savile Row, Stone surmised.

“Good morning, Egon,” Stone said. Greco’s original name had been Egon Pentkovsky, and his brother Anton had been the head of the Russian mob. Anton’s demise had opened the door for Serge Gromyko, and then Alexei Gromyko, to take over. “Did Joan offer you something stronger?”

“Not before lunch,” Greco replied. “And it’s not Egon anymore. I go by Peter now. I thought if I was going to change one name, I might as well change both.”

“Peter, then. I heard that Islesboro suddenly lost its attraction to you and your family.” With Stone’s assistance, Greco and his family had moved into a home on the island. Word had recently come to Stone that the Grecos had left Islesboro as quickly and quietly as they’d arrived.