The Five Year Plan (1998)

Figaro was not sure that he did. There were times when he thought Tony Nudelli one of the sharpest clients he had, and others when he thought him as dumb as daytime TV. This extended thought had left Figaro wondering what Nudelli's original point had been. But he nodded anyway and said: 'Yeah, sure.' He decided to try and steer the conversation to a different conclusion from the one he feared Nudelli still had in his malicious old mind.

'You want me to have a word with Delano, Tony? Impress upon him the absolute necessity of keeping his mouth shut? He's coming by the offices tomorrow to talk about some things. I can straighten him out then if you want me to.'

'Willy Barizon,' said Nudelli, shaking his head.

'What about him?'

'He's half-brother of Tommy Rizzoli. The guy you put out of the ice business.'

Figaro smiled uncomfortably.

'Tony, I advised him to sell the business in order that he might avoid a prison sentence, that's all.'

'Same thing. Anyway, I'm gonna get Willy to go and talk to Delano.'

'Are you gonna whack him?'

Nudelli looked pained.

'You should eat some of this pie. It's the best.'

Figaro lifted the fork to his mouth. He had to admit it was good.

'I hate to hear my attorney use a word like that,' Nudelli said stiffly. 'But no, I am not going to whack him. I just want Delano reminded, forcibly reminded, that he should still fear me.' He licked his lips and then wiped his mouth with a napkin. 'I think maybe I want something sweet to drink, with my dessert. A glass of Muscat maybe. You like Muscat?'

Figaro shook his head.

'Now where's that cocksucker got to?' he grumbled, looking around for the waiter. He stared back at Figaro. "Sides, I'd like to know more about these new friends of his before I even think of whackin' him. I heard he shared a cell with some Ivan while he was in Homestead. And that this Ivan has some important New York connections. I'd hate to whack Delano and find myself with those Russian bastards comin' after me. They like killing people. I think they like killing people more than they like making money. Well, blood will out I guess. Killing's in their history. Making money never was.'

'The room-mate's name was Einstein Gergiev,' reported Figaro. 'People called him Einstein because he was a former physicist and computer guy before becoming involved with the Russian rackets. And then here in Florida.'

'Clever son of a bitch, huh?'

'He had some twin town scam going with the two cities.'

'Which two cities?'

'The two St Petersburgs.'

'The one on the Gulf of Mexico I heard of, but where's the other?'

'In Russia. Northern Russia.'

'I didn't know that.'

'It was quite a fraud, I hear. Cost the city of St Petersburg, the one in Florida, several million dollars.'

'Is that so?'

'Anyway, Gergiev was released six months ago and deported back to Russia. But I didn't know he was connected in New York.'

'All Russian wiseguys, the redfellas, are connected there. Brighton Beach. You should see it. Fuckin' Russkie home from home. Little Odessa they call it. Connected there in New York or in Israel. Tel Aviv. Half of them Jews that left Russia are connected. That's how they got the money to get out in the first place.' Nudelli shrugged. 'I got this cousin in Tampa. Maybe he can find out something about this Eisenstein redfella. Where's Delano staying?'

'He said he was going to check into the Bal Harbor Sheraton.'

'That's a nice beach hotel. Classy. These days you can forget the Fontainebleau.'

Nudelli straightened in his chair. The waiter was in his sights.

'Hey you, Elijah. C'mere.'

Seeing Tony Nudelli, the waiter backed toward the door of the restaurant like a quarterback searching out one of his receivers. Seconds later he was out of the door and running through the old world Mediterranean courtyard in the direction of Biscayne Bay.

'Jesus,' laughed Nudelli. 'Whad I fuckin' say?'

Chapter FIVE