Kreiger’s office was an unpretentious suite with windows looking down on Market Street; a far cry from the fifty acres in Woodside where Lenington knew the attorney raised horses. He didn’t know, nor could he have imagined, that Kreiger’s cheapest mare, a purebred Arabian, had been a steal at $758,000.
Kreiger had a brutal, booming voice that was extremely effective in court when carping about violations of his mobster clients’ civil rights. He used it now on Jack. “I hear you had a little chat with the I.A.”
Jack rattled the ice in his bourbon, asked in his angry voice, “Those peep-show machines have fucking mikes in them?”
Kreiger shook his head and chuckled.
“You’re not the only man gets an envelope each month, Jack. I appreciate being alerted to the interview, even after the fact, but if you’ve been reasonably prudent—”
“Woulda looked bad, calling in my lawyer before I’d even had my first interview. I’m not worried about the I.A. It’s something else.”
“Indeed.” Kreiger was a large man with a square face and heavy lips and the coldest eyes with the palest lashes Lenington had ever seen. He interlaced beefy hands in front of him.
Jack said, “I had a meet with a certain guy—”
“I know.”
“I think we were clocked in and out.” To Kreiger’s narrowed eyes, he quickly added, “That’s why I had to see you.
I
wasn’t followed there—Gounaris was. And—”
“How can you be sure?”
“Jesus, Mr. Kreiger, I been a cop for—”
“Yes. Of course. The wolf knows its own excreta. So your feeling is that Mr. Gounaris was under surveillance.”
“Or it was just by accident, but who the fuck knows who he is unless they’re already watching him? I got plenty of reason to hang around one of Vince O’Neill’s jerk-off shops anytime I want, shit, I’m Vice. But Gounaris is just a John, so why would anyone notice him—”
“Dante Stagnaro,” said Kreiger abruptly. There was almost admiration in his voice. “That would be quite like him—a loose tail on the Greek.” He nodded. “Yes. Then you going into O’Neill’s place at the same time suddenly gets important.”
“You know Stagnaro?” asked Lenington cautiously. Frankly, Kreiger scared the hell out of him. A phone call, he was meat. Just like Moll Dalton had become meat after a phone call.
“Not socially, of course.” Kreiger waved an arm. “He’s that most dangerous of men, an idealist smart enough not to be corrupted by his own obsession. Which is our destruction. He visited Gounaris shortly after you two talked.”
“There you are,” said Lenington in angry vehemence. He was damned glad he’d come in and told his side of the story. Then he paused, suddenly hesitant. But it had to be said; it was what he was here for. “I wanted to tell you about it, Mr. Kreiger. And I, ah, wanted to ask you… there hasn’tbeen… I mean, I wouldn’t want anyone to think
I
had led…”
“I can assure you that your reconstruction makes sense to me,” said Kreiger.
“So there’s no… uh… word out that—”
“I can assure you, Jack, none at all.”
He was on his feet, moving around the desk. Jack stood up, took the huge callused palm that was offered to him. He spoke as Kreiger put a hand on his shoulder to walk him to the door.
“I mean, if they want me to take an early retirement so the I.A. can’t keep—”
Kreiger chuckled to silence his plaint.
“Jack, Jack, quit looking under the bed. I have had absolutely no word about you at all. Everyone feels you have done an excellent job, you handled the matter of that visiting fireman very well indeed, he even remarked on your efficiency. We may not ask anything of you for a while, until this I.A. thing has passed, but don’t read anything into that, my friend. Not a rebuke, just a general precaution.”
“I was going to suggest the same thing myself, Mr. Kreiger,” said Lenington with relief in his angry voice.
When he was gone, Otto
Kreiger had a brutal, booming voice that was extremely effective in court when carping about violations of his mobster clients’ civil rights. He used it now on Jack. “I hear you had a little chat with the I.A.”
Jack rattled the ice in his bourbon, asked in his angry voice, “Those peep-show machines have fucking mikes in them?”
Kreiger shook his head and chuckled.
“You’re not the only man gets an envelope each month, Jack. I appreciate being alerted to the interview, even after the fact, but if you’ve been reasonably prudent—”
“Woulda looked bad, calling in my lawyer before I’d even had my first interview. I’m not worried about the I.A. It’s something else.”
“Indeed.” Kreiger was a large man with a square face and heavy lips and the coldest eyes with the palest lashes Lenington had ever seen. He interlaced beefy hands in front of him.
Jack said, “I had a meet with a certain guy—”
“I know.”
“I think we were clocked in and out.” To Kreiger’s narrowed eyes, he quickly added, “That’s why I had to see you.
I
wasn’t followed there—Gounaris was. And—”
“How can you be sure?”
“Jesus, Mr. Kreiger, I been a cop for—”
“Yes. Of course. The wolf knows its own excreta. So your feeling is that Mr. Gounaris was under surveillance.”
“Or it was just by accident, but who the fuck knows who he is unless they’re already watching him? I got plenty of reason to hang around one of Vince O’Neill’s jerk-off shops anytime I want, shit, I’m Vice. But Gounaris is just a John, so why would anyone notice him—”
“Dante Stagnaro,” said Kreiger abruptly. There was almost admiration in his voice. “That would be quite like him—a loose tail on the Greek.” He nodded. “Yes. Then you going into O’Neill’s place at the same time suddenly gets important.”
“You know Stagnaro?” asked Lenington cautiously. Frankly, Kreiger scared the hell out of him. A phone call, he was meat. Just like Moll Dalton had become meat after a phone call.
“Not socially, of course.” Kreiger waved an arm. “He’s that most dangerous of men, an idealist smart enough not to be corrupted by his own obsession. Which is our destruction. He visited Gounaris shortly after you two talked.”
“There you are,” said Lenington in angry vehemence. He was damned glad he’d come in and told his side of the story. Then he paused, suddenly hesitant. But it had to be said; it was what he was here for. “I wanted to tell you about it, Mr. Kreiger. And I, ah, wanted to ask you… there hasn’tbeen… I mean, I wouldn’t want anyone to think
I
had led…”
“I can assure you that your reconstruction makes sense to me,” said Kreiger.
“So there’s no… uh… word out that—”
“I can assure you, Jack, none at all.”
He was on his feet, moving around the desk. Jack stood up, took the huge callused palm that was offered to him. He spoke as Kreiger put a hand on his shoulder to walk him to the door.
“I mean, if they want me to take an early retirement so the I.A. can’t keep—”
Kreiger chuckled to silence his plaint.
“Jack, Jack, quit looking under the bed. I have had absolutely no word about you at all. Everyone feels you have done an excellent job, you handled the matter of that visiting fireman very well indeed, he even remarked on your efficiency. We may not ask anything of you for a while, until this I.A. thing has passed, but don’t read anything into that, my friend. Not a rebuke, just a general precaution.”
“I was going to suggest the same thing myself, Mr. Kreiger,” said Lenington with relief in his angry voice.
When he was gone, Otto
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