“Canapes, sir?”
“Ta, Chanel. Home team playing today, eh?”
I was the only one eating. All the rest were swilling at other troughs.
Chanel checked we weren’t overheard, said, “Always is the home team, Lovejoy. You gotta believe it.”
Mr Granger called out that all guests were invited through into the conference salon, where drinks would be available. I complained that I’d only just started, but there was a concerted rush for the double doors. I grabbed a load of rolls, cheese, some slabs of egg-looking thing, while Blanche hurriedly loaded up more for me. No pasties, and biscuits are New York’s lack—mind you, they’d only have tons of cinnamon in. I was last into the long room.
Places were marked, as for a wedding reception. Kelly had started giggling, was being shushed by Epsilon and Berto Gordino. I found my name card between those of Orly and Gina.
Nicko appeared, with Jennie, took the position of authority.
“Jim Bethune sends his apologies, friends.” He had one small piece of paper before him, served up by Jennie. “Lovejoy’s taking his place from now on.”
“Is that legit, Nicko?” Denzie Brandau asked easily, smiling round the table. “First I heard of it.”
“It is, Denzie,” Nicko seemed oblivious of the sudden silence. “Any questions?”
“Where exactly does Lovejoy take over from Jim?” Charlie Sarpi asked. I wondered how he managed his moustache. Sophie prevented herself from giving him the bent eye just in time. Gina was watching her across the phony mahogany.
“Right away, Charlie. Every level.”
“Look, Nicko.” Denzie did that politician’s shift to indicate exasperation. It consists of obliquely arranging his trunk, plonking a hand firmly on the table, arm outstretched, and crossing his legs. “Who
“Lovejoy’ll double the antiques stake, Denzie. There’s the beef.”
A ripple of interest ran round the table. Monsignor O’Cody peered down at me, specs gleaming.
“How’ll he do that, Nicko?” Commissioner Kilmer barked. It was honestly that, a sharp yap, grossly out of keeping with his tall bulk. I don’t know what he’d been like as a young bobby, but even ageing as he was he put the fear of God in me.
The silence meant me. I was eating my grub, which I’d made into rolls. I can’t resist anything in bread. I hurried the mouthful, swallowed.
“Lovejoy?” Nicko said.
“No, thanks.”
The silence now meant ???
“What the hell’s that mean, Nicko?”
“Stay calm, J.J.” Nicko let me swallow, come up for air. “Lovejoy. You must bring in double what Jim Bethune did. Do you know how much that is?”
“Yes, Nicko.”
His hands opened expressively. He was so patient, but getting quieter. Any minute those dark lasers he used for eyes might actually swivel onto me and sear the inside of my skull. I didn’t want that.
“Are your methods so secret they can’t be divulged?”
“Nicko.” I shoved my tray away, showing my sincerity. “I’m out of my depth here. Oh, I’ll get the gelt.”
Nicko’s gaze charred nearer, less than a yard from my right shoulder. Even Gina leant away. “With help?”
“Yes. I’ll need two helpers, full time.” Before anybody could cut in, I started my spiel. “See, I don’t know who’s on our side, Nicko. I know you are. And Gina. And I think Jennie. But these other ladies and gentlemen I don’t even know. I don’t know what the stake is to be—everything I cull from antiques? And for what?” I tried to spread my hands like Nicko but it didn’t work and I felt a prat so put them away. “This Game, Nicko. Tell me who’s got a right to know, and I’ll come clean about my methods, every detail.”
“The Game in Manhattan is finished, Lovejoy.” Nicko looked at Jennie, got an imperceptible assent. “On the
“I was behind the bar, Nicko.”
“He’s stupid,” Commissioner J.J. Kilmer barked.
Nicko nearly smiled, leant forward. “Let’s hope you’re not this stupid about old furniture, Lovejoy. The Game. We’re the players, Lovejoy. At first, we play against each other here in Manhattan. The stakes are based on personal… wealth.” Now he did smile. I wished he hadn’t. “It’s up to each player to raise his or her stake. Nobody is allowed to default. The stakes can come from anywhere.”
“Tell him,” Jennie put in. It sounded a question but wasn’t.
“If a player were to bring personal cash, Lovejoy, we’d be limited to however much he or she could withdraw from a bank account, right? So we accept promissory notes. Then the sum waged can be relatively huge.”
Jennie took over. “Very damaging, Lovejoy, in a city where any major withdrawal is noticed by Manhattan’s wallet watchers.” She held the pause, waited for my nod.
“And you can bet next year’s takings?”
Jennie smiled. “You got it, Lovejoy. If the bet’s mega dollar, and based on certain illegal practices —”
