have the best black coffee that I have ever tasted.
The waitress returns with my coffee. I order a Panini with fresh mozzarella, basil and sundried tomatoes along with a mint iced tea. Someone has left today's copy of the New York Times on the bench next to me.
Let's see… 'Rising Gas Prices Give G.O.P. Issue to Attack Obama, Santorum Mocks Romney Over Olympics, Tax Cut Extension Passes, In Maryland, House Passes Bill to Let Gays Wed'. Same shit, different day. Politicians, the biggest whores in the world. Biggest thieves, for that matter!
The sandwich is delicious. I finish, pay my tab and step outside. Pull a 6 x 60 from my pocket, start to chew on it and head uptown on foot to Penn Station. It's finally time to play catch up. I pull the cell out and dial a number that I know from heart.
'It's me.'
'Oh, shit, Picker. Where the hell have you been? Where are you?'
'New York. Got shanghaied'.
'Well, in that case, get your sorry ass back here. Now!'
'Tell me what's up?'
'What's up? I'll tell you what's up! Doo Wop is dead and Millie is missing!'
September 1973 Paris
The two men sat at the outdoor cafe.
'Le travail merveilleux, mon ami. Our friends are very pleased with the work that you have performed for them.'
The Cafe de Flore pavement tables were once the favorite rendezvous of Simone de Beauvoir and Jean-Paul Sartre. It was in the mid-seventies and a handful of clouds dotted the sky.
Aronson lit his Cuban cigar, a Romeo and Juliet Churchill. 'Good, I wouldn't want to be on the wrong side of the Russkaya Mafiya.'
'Tout a fait le contraire, they are interested in more such work in the future.'
Simon Aronson had successfully laundered close to five hundred million dollars for the Russian Mafia. He was able to process the funds in record time by purchasing the controlling interest in an established bank.
The Frenchman passed an envelope across the table. Aronson peered inside. A check made out to him for ten million dollars. 'Il est suffisant, je font confiance?'
A wry smile crossed Aronson's mouth. 'It will have to be, won't it?'
They sat quietly for a few minutes sipping their espresso, enjoying the cigars and discreetly observing the parade of Parisian women.
'Jean Pierre, I'm no longer interested in this line of work.'
'Pourquoi non, mon vieil ami?'
'A couple of reasons. Elisabeth is pregnant. I'm not interested in jail time. For that matter, I don't wish to deal with these types of people. They're never happy for long and they think that they own you. Time to move on.'
'Comme vous souhaitez.” As you wish. “Congratulations on the baby. Please let me know when he is born.'
'He? What makes you think that?'
'Just a feeling. Good luck, Simon. Stay in touch.'
The men parted ways. Simon strolled down the Boulevard St Germain. Crossed The Seine river, turned left toward the Allee de Castiglione.
Simon was considering his options. He walked past the Place du Carrousel, situated on the site that was formerly the Tuileries Palace.
The 'bank capture' method that he had used with the Russians was highly effective. It did, however, have serious limitations in terms of scaling.
Simon passed under the Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel. It was a sight to behold, especially when viewing it for the first time. It was built between 1806 and 1808 to commemorate the military victories of Napoleon Bonaparte.
Simon Aronson was a talented, yet run of the mill grifter. That is, until one day when he had a realization. Men pitch pennies for pennies and men pitch pennies for a million dollars. His motto had become 'never steal anything small.'
He proceeded straight passing through the public gardens between the Louvre and the Place de la Concorde.
Aronson formulated a new plan. He would specialize in shell companies and trusts. They were the perfect vehicle for hiding the true owners of money. Depending on jurisdiction, corporate vehicles were not required to disclose true ownership.
He continued down the Rue Saint-Honore arriving at 15 Place Vendome, his hotel.
The second tool in his arsenal involved real estate. Done properly, real estate could be purchased with illegal funds and then turned around to be sold. For all intents and purposes the income derived would legitimate. The best bit was, all of this was scalable. But, even better than that, it was all perfectly legal.
It was just past noon. Simon walked into the bar and asked the bartender for his mail.
The Hemingway Bar at the Ritz Paris still functions as a mail drop for writers and journalists.
In fact, if you are an aspiring writer and plan to be in Paris anytime soon, here is what you do.
Have any correspondence addressed to you in the following manner:
Your Name
Bar Hemingway
Ritz Paris
15, Place Vendome, 75001 Paris
When you arrive in The City of Light, drop in at the Hemingway Bar. See the bartender. He will retrieve your mail from the glass display that is directly behind the bar. You don't even have to be a guest of the hotel to enjoy this service.
He strolled over to a table in the corner of the bar.
'Have you been waiting long?'
'No, laddie. Only been a few minutes.' Moses Aronson was seated in a black leather chair nursing a single malt scotch.
The hotel was founded by Cesar Ritz in 1898 along with renowned chef Auguste Escoffier. The Ritz Paris overlooks one of the central squares in Paris. Historically it is known to be the first to provide a bathroom in the suite; a telephone and in each room, electricity. Known the world over for luxury, the client list includes royalty, politicians, movie stars, singers and especially writers.
Simon removed the check from his suit coat and passed it to Moses. 'Mazel tov!'
Simon ordered two more drinks.
'Uncle Moe, I've been thinking.'
'Always a dangerous pastime my boy.'
'Bollocks, I've a few bloody dollars now. Haven't had to do any petty ante grifts for ages now. I'll tell you what's crossed my mind. Simply this, laws are written to protect the rich and powerful. Not for blokes like us. It's the wealthy and politicians running the biggest scams and no one can touch them. Well, I'm a scammer and there's no reason why I can't do the same.'
'Ye got a point, boyo. The higher they go the crookeder they get.'
'Uncle Moe, I've got a question. You see that check there. On the one hand, it's a tidy sum. On the other, it is a fraction of what that job was worth. Not that there is anything that can be done about it, but why do you suppose that is?'
Moses Aronson took a deep breath and let it out slowly. 'They don't respect you, son. It be your last name.'
'Come again?'
