Parkway, there’s a state park. They got a picnic area there, right in front of the park police building. When people have lunch there, they feel very safe.”
“I bet they do,” Meany said. He sounded sour.
“I bet you and me, just you and me, I bet we could both get there today by two o’clock.”
“From here? Sure. What’s in it for me?”
“That’s what we’re gonna talk about.”
Meany considered that, and then said, “A little picnic lunch with you, in front of the park police.”
“But out of earshot.”
“Yeah, I got that. All right, No First Name. I’ll see you at two o’clock.”
“Brown-bag it,” Parker said.
* * *
His second call was to McWhitney’s cell phone. “He’s on. Two o’clock.”
“I’ll be in red.”
8
Parker was the first to arrive. Leaving his car in the parking area, carrying a deli-bought Reuben-on-rye sandwich and a bottle of water in a brown paper bag, he chose a picnic bench midway between the facade of the low brick park police building and the narrow access road around to the parking area. He sat with the building to his right, access road to his left, parking area ahead.
It was a bright day, but a little too cool for lunch in the open air, and most of the dozen other picnic tables were empty. Parker put the paper bag on the rough wood table, leaned forward on his elbows, and waited.
The red Dodge Ram pickup was next, nosing in and around the access road to park so the driver was in profile to the picnic area. Then he opened a
The next arrival might be. A Daimler town car, black, it had a driver wearing a chauffeur’s cap, and it stopped on the access road itself. The driver got out to open the rear door, and Frank Meany stepped out, looking everywhere at once. He was not carrying a brown bag.
Meany said a word to the driver, then came on, as the driver got back behind the wheel and put the Daimler just beyond the red pickup. A tall and bulky man with a round head of close-cropped hair, Meany was a thug with a good tailor, dressed today in pearl-gray topcoat over charcoal-gray slacks, dark blue jacket, pale blue shirt and pale blue tie. Still, the real man shone through the wardrobe, with his thick-jawed small-eyed face, and the two heavy rings on each hand, meant not for show but for attack.
Meany approached Parker with a steady heavy tread, stopped on the other side of the picnic table, but did not sit down. “So here we are,” he said.
“Sit.” Parker suggested.
Meany did so, saying, “You’re not gonna object to the driver?”
“He gets out of the car,” Parker said, “I’ll do something.”
“Deal. Same thing for your friend in the pickup.”
“Same thing. You didn’t bring a sandwich.”
“I ate lunch.”
Parker shook his head, irritated. As he took his sandwich out of the bag and ripped the bag in half to make two paper plates, he said, “People who ride around in cars like that one there forget how to take care of themselves. If I’m looking at you out of one of those windows over there, and you’re not here for lunch, what are you here for?”
“An innocent conversation,” Meany said, and shrugged.
“In New Jersey?” Parker pushed a half sandwich on a half bag to Meany, then took a bite of the remaining half.
Meany lifted a corner of bread, “Reuben,” he decided. “Good choice.” Lifting his half of the sandwich, he said, “While I eat, you talk.”
“A couple weeks ago, up in Massachusetts, there was an armored car robbery. The news said two point two million.”
“I remember that,” Meany said. “It made a splash.”
Parker liked it that Meany didn’t want to rehash their last meeting, because neither did he. He said, “They caught one of the guys right away, because it turned out they had all the money’s serial numbers.”
“Tough,” Meany said. His small eyes watched Parker as intently as if Parker were a tennis match.
“The people who have the money can’t spend it,” Parker said.
Meany put what was left of his sandwich down onto the paper bag. “You’re saying you have it.”
“No, I’m saying you have business overseas.”
Meany thought about that, and slowly nodded. “So the way you’re thinking about it, I could take this money and make it meld into the international flow and just be anonymous again.”
“That’s right.”
Meany thought about that, looking off toward the Palisades. “It might be possible,” he said.
“Good.”
“And then we’d share whatever I got out of it.”
“No,” Parker said, “it wouldn’t work like that. You’d buy it from us and we’d go away.”
Watchful, Meany said, “What price are you thinking about?”
“Ten cents on the dollar. In front.”
“And the take on this robbery was over two mil?”
“There was some slippage. Call it two even.”
“Two hundred grand.” Meany said, and shook his head. “I couldn’t give you all that in front.”
“I can’t get it any other way.”
Meany said, “Yeah, but what are you gonna do if I just say no?”
Parker said, “You fly to Europe sometimes. You go business class, right?”
“So?”
“Anybody else in the plane?”
Laughing, Meany said, “I get it. There’s gotta be other customers out there. Where’s this money now?”
“Long Island.”
“So you got it out of Massachusetts.”
“That’s right.”
“And now you’re ready to trade. This was north of two mil? How can I be sure?”
“Read the news reports. Look, Meany, I’m saying ten percent on the dollar. You can’t get a steeper discount than that. If the final number’s a little off, one way or the other, who’s gonna complain?”
Meany thought about it. “And you’re gonna want cash.”
“Real, unmarked, and unstolen.”
