Among Thieves by John Clarkson

something?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œWhat are you going to do to Alan Crane?”
    â€œI don’t know,” said Beck.
    â€œWell, all I’ll say is that he’s important to my firm.”
    â€œI don’t care,” said Beck.
    â€œBut if he convinces you he didn’t do what he’s been accused of, don’t you think he should be…?
    Beck interrupted Milstein. “Where’s your dog?”
    Milstein turned to Beck, surprised at the question. He motioned with his head back up the path where they had come from. “He’s over on Dog Hill. I let him off the leash this time of night.”
    â€œHow big a dog is he?”
    â€œBig. Over a hundred pounds.”
    â€œWho picks up his shit? Dog that size must drop at least a couple of pounds every time he squats.”
    Milstein frowned. “Nobody walks out there in the winter.”
    â€œThat’s your answer?”
    Milstein remained silent.
    â€œYou know, assholes like you and Crane actually think that because it’s in the dark and no one sees it, you can do whatever you want. Dump your dog shit wherever you want. Fuck around with your in-house hedge fund. Scream and yell at a woman and break her fingers.”
    Milstein stared straight ahead, trying not to move, trying not to shiver in the cold night air.
    â€œIs it dawning on you, Mr. Milstein, that this particular case is different?”
    After a few moments, Milstein answered, “Yes.”
    â€œYou figure money will settle this?”
    â€œIt’s what I have.”
    â€œNo, there’s lots more you have. Lot’s more.”
    Milstein spoke slowly. “You don’t need to threaten me any further.”
    â€œThreaten you? That time has long past, Mr. Milstein.”
    Milstein had no response to that.
    â€œTell Mr. Crane I’m coming at noon to see him. Tell him this is the right thing to do. Tell him to make sure and be at the address you gave me. You know what happens to people who try to avoid talking to me, right?”
    â€œWho should I say is coming to talk to him?”
    â€œTell him Mr. Smith and tell him why.”
    Beck stood up and turned toward Milstein, who remained seated. “Have you got a cell phone?”
    â€œYes.” Milstein rummaged around in the pocket of his down coat and pulled out an iPhone.
    â€œJust the one?”
    â€œYes.”
    Beck took the phone from him and put it in his pocket.
    â€œLet’s go see how your driver is doing.”
    They started walking back to the first bench.
    â€œI didn’t hear any gunshots, so he should be available if you want to cry on his shoulder.”
    When they arrived back where Milstein had been sitting, Beck pointed to the bench. Milstein sat. He walked over to Ciro and Walter. He asked the bodyguard. “Got a phone?”
    He handed Beck an old clamshell-style phone.
    â€œSo, your name is Walter, right? That’s what your boss over there called you.”
    â€œYes. Walter. Walter Pearce.”
    â€œWell, Walter, I’ll tell you what. You’ve been cooperative this time. Not throwing punches at people. I’m going to walk back over to Seventy-ninth. Tell your asshole boss to get his dog, take a few minutes, then you two can go home. If I don’t hear any yelling or bullshit, I’ll put your gun and phones in the trash basket near the exit on Fifth. Okay?”
    Pearce nodded.
    Ciro handed Walter’s Glock to Beck. Beck pointed the gun at Walter as Ciro stood up and joined Beck on the path. Both men turned together and walked into the darkness beyond the lamp light. As they walked, Beck took out the magazine from the Glock and made sure there was no bullet in the chamber.
    By the time they were out of sight, they heard Milstein yelling for his dog. Two minutes later, Beck dumped the cell phones and Walter’s empty gun into the park’s wire wastebasket.
    Two minutes after that, they were back in the Mercury