she was tempted to mention a certain philandering brain surgeon, so chronically unfaithful to her that his nickname around the hospital was Vlad the Impaler.
But that was no excuse. Besides, it would be unkind to Sam. “Just before I did, though, I got a visit from a fellow I knew.”
Once, Steven Garner Sr. had been a regular client of the loan sharks in a certain New York crime family, one whose cohorts included guys with colorful nicknames like Sticksy and Bones.
Not to mention Jerry “Da Bomb” Baumann. But by the time Garner came to her office, he was out of favor with his preferred lenders, on account of being too fond of dogs and horses.
“Specifically, ones he could bet on,” she continued. “He owed so much money and repaid so little of it, he’d put his pals in an impossible position.
“If they killed him, as they were threatening to do, they’d never get their money back. But if they didn’t, they would never get any back from anyone else, because no one would be scared of them anymore.”
“Wow,” said Sam. He’d never heard any of this before. “So then what’d they do?”
She smiled at him.
You poor kid, it’s no wonder you got so messed up
.
She replied, “They decided to cut their losses. If he didn’t have fifty grand by the next day, he was guaranteed a spot in the nearest landfill.”
So his pitch to her had been simple. No promises, no guarantee of a payback. She went on with her story. “A guy like that, you had to admire him. Just ‘Lend me the money, or they’ll kill me.’ ”
“And they were your clients?” Ellie asked. “The men who were threatening to kill him?”
She was trying to sound nonjudgmental, but Jake could tell she was a little shocked. Who wouldn’t be?
“No, not those guys.” Fellows with names like Sticksy and Bones had never darkened her door; even Da Bomb had found it only by following Garner, probably.
“But their bosses were, some of them.” The higher-up men in politics, banking, and law … the power, in other words, behind the cashmere-coated thugs everyone else thought headed organized crime in the city back then.
To them, Jake’s unlucky visitor was just so much machine-gun fodder. They’d have him killed in the afternoon and eat dinner heartily with their families that night as usual, because when you were in their line of work, sooner or later you had to make an example of someone.
Still, she wasn’t a fool, and she wasn’t about to hand over fifty grand on the strength of a sob story. “So I refused.” She finished the tale, looking around at the faces staring wide-eyed at her over their soup bowls.
“Wow,” breathed Sam again. “I never knew you’d worked with such serious …”
Criminals
. The kinds of guys who would kill you as soon as look at you. Not that she’d seen it that way at the time.
But back then, she hadn’t really looked at it very much at all, had she? She’d kept her own eyes conveniently averted from what she’d done, whom she’d done it for …
“Yeah, well,” she said inadequately. “It’s not something I’m proud of. When your dad died …”
In a cruel irony, Sam’s father, Victor, had succumbed to the kind of brain tumor he’d spent his life saving other people from getting demolished by.
“… I did an accounting of all our money,” she went on. “His and mine, and whatever came from crooks, as best I could figure, I donated to a victims’ rights organization.”
Which had hurt more than the fifty grand would have, not that it had set things right. It didn’t even begin to wipe out all the harm she’d done. And it didn’t make her feel any better now, either.
What she had been back then was the dark place in her soul, and she would never really be able to make up for it. Even now, she still had nightmares about it. And in one of them, a guy with big ears and a really bad gambling habit asked her for money.
Worse, he’d brought his son along, probably hoping
But that was no excuse. Besides, it would be unkind to Sam. “Just before I did, though, I got a visit from a fellow I knew.”
Once, Steven Garner Sr. had been a regular client of the loan sharks in a certain New York crime family, one whose cohorts included guys with colorful nicknames like Sticksy and Bones.
Not to mention Jerry “Da Bomb” Baumann. But by the time Garner came to her office, he was out of favor with his preferred lenders, on account of being too fond of dogs and horses.
“Specifically, ones he could bet on,” she continued. “He owed so much money and repaid so little of it, he’d put his pals in an impossible position.
“If they killed him, as they were threatening to do, they’d never get their money back. But if they didn’t, they would never get any back from anyone else, because no one would be scared of them anymore.”
“Wow,” said Sam. He’d never heard any of this before. “So then what’d they do?”
She smiled at him.
You poor kid, it’s no wonder you got so messed up
.
She replied, “They decided to cut their losses. If he didn’t have fifty grand by the next day, he was guaranteed a spot in the nearest landfill.”
So his pitch to her had been simple. No promises, no guarantee of a payback. She went on with her story. “A guy like that, you had to admire him. Just ‘Lend me the money, or they’ll kill me.’ ”
“And they were your clients?” Ellie asked. “The men who were threatening to kill him?”
She was trying to sound nonjudgmental, but Jake could tell she was a little shocked. Who wouldn’t be?
“No, not those guys.” Fellows with names like Sticksy and Bones had never darkened her door; even Da Bomb had found it only by following Garner, probably.
“But their bosses were, some of them.” The higher-up men in politics, banking, and law … the power, in other words, behind the cashmere-coated thugs everyone else thought headed organized crime in the city back then.
To them, Jake’s unlucky visitor was just so much machine-gun fodder. They’d have him killed in the afternoon and eat dinner heartily with their families that night as usual, because when you were in their line of work, sooner or later you had to make an example of someone.
Still, she wasn’t a fool, and she wasn’t about to hand over fifty grand on the strength of a sob story. “So I refused.” She finished the tale, looking around at the faces staring wide-eyed at her over their soup bowls.
“Wow,” breathed Sam again. “I never knew you’d worked with such serious …”
Criminals
. The kinds of guys who would kill you as soon as look at you. Not that she’d seen it that way at the time.
But back then, she hadn’t really looked at it very much at all, had she? She’d kept her own eyes conveniently averted from what she’d done, whom she’d done it for …
“Yeah, well,” she said inadequately. “It’s not something I’m proud of. When your dad died …”
In a cruel irony, Sam’s father, Victor, had succumbed to the kind of brain tumor he’d spent his life saving other people from getting demolished by.
“… I did an accounting of all our money,” she went on. “His and mine, and whatever came from crooks, as best I could figure, I donated to a victims’ rights organization.”
Which had hurt more than the fifty grand would have, not that it had set things right. It didn’t even begin to wipe out all the harm she’d done. And it didn’t make her feel any better now, either.
What she had been back then was the dark place in her soul, and she would never really be able to make up for it. Even now, she still had nightmares about it. And in one of them, a guy with big ears and a really bad gambling habit asked her for money.
Worse, he’d brought his son along, probably hoping
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