68

PAT HANLEY MET HIM in Room 606 on Monday night. Fiore first took the elevator to the bar at L’Apogee on the top floor of the Biltmore. He sipped a Grand Marnier over ice while talking baseball to the bartender and a stranger who recognized him.

“I just seen you on the news in my room an hour ago,” the man said. “At Cardella’s funeral, I mean. You look better in person than on TV.”

Fiore thanked him, asked where he was from, and said he needed his vote on election day. He finished his drink, left a 10-dollar bill on the bar and took a few more peanuts from the bowl on his way out.

Pat was in great spirits. Her afternoon was spent in town, shopping at the mall and then joining a friend for an early dinner at “Cafe Prov,” in the lobby of the Patriot National Bank Building. Afterwards, she returned to the Biltmore for a leisurely bath. When Doug arrived, she was just pouring herself a second drink.

“Brad flew to Ohio this morning to see some customers,” she said. “He’ll be away overnight.”

“How’s he doing?”

“He’s still putting in too many evening hours at the plant.”

Fiore remembered what he learned from Sandy Tarantino about Hanley’s regular visits to one of the Family’s clubs. It wasn’t the right time to mention it to Pat.

“I’m so happy that business is much better this year than last,” she said. “Brad used to worry about how it would be almost impossible for him to find a job with another wire or steel company if Ocean State ever shut down. That would be a disaster for us.”

“Why such a disaster?” he asked. “You could sell that big house, move into something a lot smaller in the burbs and Brad would have plenty of time to look around.”

Pat sipped from her drink and pushed the bottle on the coffee table closer to Doug. “It’s not what it all seems, my love. Some guy said that in a book I read. At least I think he did … Actually, I’m not really sure if I read it or heard it.” They both laughed. “The truth is, Doug, we’ve got hardly any equity in that place. There’s a second mortgage with a finance company, and a large part of the deposit we put down was money borrowed from my parents. If we had to sell it right now, we’d have very little left for ourselves. Besides, it’s probably worth only eighty percent of what we paid for it nine years ago. The market was moving toward its peak back then. So buddy, can you spare a dime?”

She flashed a smile at him. “But now isn’t the time to worry,” she continued. “Not when the wire machines at Ocean State are running two full shifts a day and the numbers on the bottom line are changing color. Things are looking better every month, thanks to Brad.”

Fiore considered telling her what was really going on, how poorly Ocean State was still doing, but he knew that would kill the evening. He felt quite certain that Pat wouldn’t expect him to be aware of the Company’s monthly profit and loss statements. Besides, if the Platt brothers did decide to give up on the business, he knew she’d be too busy blaming Brad for lying to her to start wondering whether Doug knew enough about it to warn her when they were together. He’d let her know the truth when the time was right.

“Here’s to Brad,” he said, and reached over toward Pat so they could let their glasses touch and clink.

“Well, Mr. Fiore, now that the odds of my sleeping with the next governor of Rhode Island have gone from one in three to one in two, I think it’s time for me to place another bet.”

“Sure thing,” Doug said. He got up and began taking off his tie. Then he smiled at his choice of words. “You’re betting on a sure thing.”