Marty Begins Looking for Conrad
It took Marty two days to catch up with Harrigan in a greasy spoon on Newark Avenue in Jersey City.
"I don't have anything to say to you," Harrigan said.
"Yes you do," Marty said with a thin smile.
"I heard about you," Harrigan said, "You like armed robbery, right?"
"I'll admit to doing time for it, yeah. But what I want from you is information on a former partner of mine, named Gentner. Conrad Gentner."
Never heard of him," Harrigan said and picked up his coffee cup.
It was a mistake and Harrigan seldom made them. Marty sapped the cup, knocking it out of Harrigan's hand and spilling most of the hot coffee into his lap.
He howled with the sudden burning pain. Marty held a hand up to stave off the waitress who had started toward the table they were sitting at.
"Sorry, my bad," he said. "Bring him some napkins, he'll be all right."
She hastened to get the napkins and Marty waited until she left. Then speaking softly, he told Harrigan that he knew where he lived; where his children went to school and where his wife shopped on a daily basis.
"You wouldn't dare ...." Harrigan sputtered, but the fear was already in his eyes, as he wiped away at the wet coffee on his trousers.
"What I what to know is what you two discussed and where I can find him. I get that you're home free, with no one the wiser. Think it over. You know me as an armed robber; ask yourself if I'm the kind of guy kills people in his way."
"You son-of-a-bitch!" Harrigan swore.
Marty laughed in his face. "Sticks and stones, Harrigan," he said. "I did eight years for Conrad and he's holding something of mine, and he doesn't seem to want to give it back to me. Now talk, or I'll have your oldest daughter raped tonight and let you watch."
Harrigan's face was bathed in sweat, and he was also as pale as a ghost.
"All right, he ain't worth it."
"Go on."
"It was June, maybe July of '81, he asked to meet, wanted advice on how to use a sum of money he'd come into. I don't know how much, he didn't say. But, um, I charge a flat ten grand for certain type advice, or introductions and he had no qualms about paying me. My guess is he had around a million to play with, but I can't say for sure."
"What did he ask you?"
"He wanted the whole enchilada and more... Heroin, cocaine... other pharmaceuticals.... As you know, they all pay very well."
Not knowing he was echoing Conrad's very words, Marty asked, "How well?"
"Done properly, maybe 5000, or 10,000 percent."
"Nice change," Marty said then waited for Harrigan to continue.
"He was . . . um, reluctant though."
"How so?"
I told him that the risk to his capital rose accordingly. Investors have been known to get themselves killed. He didn't care for the risk and wanted another option, a safer way. I told him he could invest in someone else's business rather than buying outright."
"Wouldn't there still be a relatively high risk?"
"Yes, of course. One, they can take your money and run. Two, they take the money and kill you. Three, they take the money and actually set out to complete the deal, but maybe something goes wrong, as in someone informs on the deal, and the Feds make a bust. Or, a rival learns of the deal and intercedes, possibly, no; make that probably killing those involved on the other side. Four, the deal goes smoothly, they give you your share which would be a tidy profit. And they'd tell you when they'll want to borrow some dough from you again."
"What did he say to that?"
"He asked if he could test the waters ... give something, but not all of it. I told him it would depend on the amount, that they weren't wasting their time on chickenshit offers."
"He probably didn't appreciate your candor," Marty said with a smile.
"He didn't. But he did call them. He put up $500,000 and bought some heroin from them."
"And you know this because?"
"My commission comes from both sides."
"So Conrad made out on the deal?"
"Um, yeah. I understand he ran the $500,000 up to about $1,300,000."
"So, what did he do after that?"
"I don't know. I never heard from him again."
"How do you know they paid him?"
"You're not listening. They sold him heroin. I'm guessing he sold it at normal market prices. That would net him the million, three. It's not likely that they'd pay me and kill him, you know?"
"You think he took the heroin, sold it and ran off to places unknown?"
"Yeah, I do."
"You should find another line of work. You're not cut out for this."
"Believe me, after this, I will."
Marty got into his car and drove off, leaving Harrigan sitting there.
****
He was still driving an hour later, when he stopped for a traffic light. He was red-eyed and in need of a shave. Now on Kennedy Boulevard in Jersey City close to the Union City line he began fidgeting in his pockets for cigarette but didn't find one. He pulled over and parked in front of a pharmacy and went inside to buy a pack of cigarettes.
As he came out a young woman was putting the kickstand of her bicycle down, but it didn't go down as far as it should and the bicycle fell heavily against Marty's car.
"What the hell!" he blurted.
"Oh, shit!" the girl cried out. "I'm so sorry. That was stupid of me. I don't know ... the damn kickstand didn't work."
He took in her long, lean tapered legs then the bra-band sweater covering her well-formed breasts. The woman bent to pick up the bicycle and he saw the pendulous swing of her breasts as she leaned over the handlebars.
"You put a pretty good dent in my car. Kinda careless of you, wasn't it?"
"I am so sorry," she said looking him in the eye. Marty caught something in hers when he met her eyes.
"Sorry is nice, but it don't count when things like these dents are concerned."
"I can pay you something for your trouble . . . how much do you think it would cost to repair?"
"About two thousand dollars," he replied straight-faced.
"Two thousand . . . are you shitting me?"
"Where did the nice young lady go?" he responded with a smirk.
