Читать книгу Deadly Game - R. B. Conroy - Страница 11

Chapter 5

The vibrating sensation ran down his leg, he slid his BlackBerry from its holster. He turned onto the long, winding drive that led to his lavish, three-story home in the exclusive Carmel, Indiana area. He looked at the name on the illuminated screen and answered, “It’s kinda late Barnes, this better be good.”

“Sorry about that, Vito, but I need to talk to you.”

“Sounds important, what’s up?” Vito pulled his sleek BMW into his four car garage, right next to his vintage 1962 red Corvette. Vito Taglioni was a muscular man in his mid-forties who worked out daily at a local gym. His black curly hair dangled over his forehead and a long scar drifted down the side of his broad, pocked face to the end of his thin dark mustache. He attributed the scar to a gang fight on the mean streets of Chicago as a youth, but others in the know put the blame for the scar squarely on the shoulders of his third wife. In a jealous rage, she yanked a butcher knife from a kitchen drawer and slashed her unfaithful husband across the face. Whatever the cause, it gave the ruggedly handsome man a somewhat fearsome appearance.

Vito had moved to Indianapolis fifteen years earlier after a less than stellar career in the bond markets in Chicago. Fired from his position as bond manager at Manufacturer’s Hanover for double dipping on commissions, he had come to Indianapolis looking for a new beginning. He borrowed some money from an old friend and opened a small investment firm, naming it First Financial Securities. Using his charm and good looks, he was able to make the right connections in Indianapolis and his firm began to flourish. One of those connections was Barnes O’Neill. With the help of Barnes and others, he was now one of the biggest securities dealers in the Midwest.

Barnes cleared his throat, “I just had dinner at the club.”

“Good for you. I just played poker for three hours at the club. Congratulations!”

“Cut the bull, Vito—this is important.”

“Okay, okay what is it?”

“Anybody around?”

“No, I’m sitting alone in my garage and the opener light just went off, so it’s darker than hell in here. I might kill myself just getting to the back door.”

“Listen up. I met with Alex this afternoon and he’s been snooping around. He’s starting to figure out how we slipped this subprime deal past him.”

“Hmmm….I’m surprised a man as smart as Alex hadn’t figured it out sooner.”

“Like I told you when we planned this, Vito, Alex only receives an annual review of the branches. He gets all the financials on a daily basis, but there was no way for him to detect, by looking at the numbers, what kind of mortgages were being made. He only knew that business was good and Midwest had decided to be more aggressive. He had no reason to be suspicious.”

Vito coughed nervously, “What about the policy changes you made when he was of town? Is he on to that?”

“Yes, he grilled me about it this afternoon. He’s madder than hell.”

Vito sat up in his seat. “Now listen to me, Barnes. You said this was an iron clad deal. You said you had it all figured out—I don’t like what I’m hearin’!”

“It’s under control, Vito—just calm down! We’ve just got to go over a few things, that’s all.”

“Like what?”

“Be sure all your filings with the Securities and Exchange Commission for branch approvals are complete and up-to-date. Contact all your branch managers and tell them to avoid calls from Alex’s office or his accounting firm. He might try to dig deeper. If you notice anything out of the ordinary, call me right away.”

Vito squirmed, “You’re makin’ me nervous, Barnes, and I want to know what’s up.”

Vito’s interior light came on, illuminating the garage as he crawled out of his car and made his way to the back door in the darkened garage. The hood felt cool on his hands as he felt his way around the vintage Corvette, eventually finding the doorknob to the back door. He stepped inside, his phone pushed to his ear.

“Just do what I say Vito.”

“Okay, okay I’ll have Claudia check all of our branch filings in the morning and I’ll call the managers.”

“Don’t forget.”

“I won’t.”

There was a click on the other end of the line. Vito stood staring at his cell phone for a moment and then walked nervously across his large kitchen into the family room. He glanced down the hall toward the master suite. His wife always left their bedroom door ajar. The room was dark. She fell asleep quickly after reading each evening; he could hear gentle snoring sounds coming from the room. He hurried back to the kitchen; perspiration was beading up on his forehead. He removed a handkerchief from his pant pocket and dabbed his brow dry. He pushed the speed dial on his BlackBerry and began pacing in front of the large island in the middle of the kitchen.

“Vito?’

“Yeah.”

“Everything okay? It’s eleven-thirty.”

“I know, I know. Did I wake you?”