Chasing the Lost by Bob Mayer

complete with white tablecloths and cutlery.
    “Got a great chef in-season,” Farrelli replied.
    “Yeah, but no sign, who are the customers?”
    “We don’t advertise,” Farrelli said, “but I’ve got enough private customers to more than pay for the chef.”
    “You got reach,” Riley summarized.
    “Stop by in-season,” Farrelli said. “As my guest.”
    “I appreciate that.” Riley took another pull on the beer. “So. Anything on a kidnapping?”
    “Who is the kid?”
    “Cole Briggs. His father helps run some off-shore gambling site called SAS. The kidnappers want the Super Bowl action diverted.”
    “And how much will that be?”
    “A lot.”
    Farrelli laughed again. “Your ‘a lot’ and my ‘a lot’ probably vary considerably.”
    The front door opened and two men walked in. Suits, aviator sunglasses, muscles bulging from steroids. They joined the doorman, whispering with him and nodding toward the bar several times in the discussion.
    “It’s way past my ‘a lot,’” Riley said. “Probably even bigger than your ‘a lot.’”
    Farrelli tapped the edge of his wine glass with his pinkie rung. “I know of SAS. Nice scam. I believe Congress will make online gambling legal in the States soon, so they can tax it, otherwise it might be a place to, hmm, let’s say investigate further. But I can wait for Congress to do the job for me. Already got a couple kids, what do ya call ‘em, geeks, working on some mock-ups of an online site for me.”
    “I’m not a threat,” Riley said, gesturing with the bottle of Harp toward the extra muscle.
    “Oh, I disagree,” Farrelli said. “Your Uncle Xavier was a potential threat. I respected him. And I knew he wouldn’t be worth going after. As I’ve known you haven’t been worth going after. Profit and loss statements, and all that. I think your P&L would be in the red.”
    It was Riley’s turn to laugh. “You sure you’re from Jersey?”
    “You ask what exit, I will have them kill you.” Farrelli sounded serious.
    “Do you know SAS was taken off-line during the conference championship games?” Riley asked.
    “Yes.”
    “The Russians do it?”
    Farrelli shrugged. “Most likely. I offered SAS protection. They did not accept it. I would say the facts have now proven that was foolish on their part.”
    “Which opens up the possibility that you staged the kidnapping to prove how vulnerable they are.”
    Farrelli’s face tightened in anger.
    Riley held up his hands. “All right. Not you. But could you protect them from an Internet takedown? From the Russians?”
    “I have a reputation that they might not want to mess with. And, as I said, I have some Internet guys working for me. They tell me it was the Russians who hijacked the site. SAS should have taken me up on my offer of help. Walter Briggs, the man who is part of SAS, is not the most threatening persona.”
    “‘Part of SAS?’” Riley asked. “What’s the other part?”
    Farrelli shook his head. “I don’t know. Briggs is a computer guy, but not the type who could get an operation like that running and keep it running. He’s got to have a partner with brains and balls.”
    “No idea who? His wife thinks it’s someone down in Antigua.”
    “That would be logical. Think this is the wild west, the islands are crazy. Everything goes to the highest bidder there.”
    “And it doesn’t here? Aren’t we in Deadwood?”
    Farrelli laughed.
    “What about Peter Rollins?” Riley asked.
    “What about him?”
    “I heard he’s into SAS for a million,” Riley said.
    Farrelli smiled. “He’s into me for a dime since I played golf with him the other day. He’d bet on whether the grass was green. A fucking degenerate gambler.” He sat silent for a little while, then shook his head. “I don’t think Rollins has the balls to try something like kidnapping.”
    “Desperate men do desperate things,” Riley said.
    Farrelli nodded. “It’s why I try not to make men