102

BERMAN AND RYDER SAT together in the back seat of Lester Karp’s Lincoln. Karp and Russell Walsh were asked to make themselves scarce for a while. Fiore was inside The Gables, a restaurant in Warwick, getting ready to address that city’s Post 1813 of the Veterans of Foreign Wars. He would praise their bravery and tell them they hadn’t risked their lives on the battlefield for a Rhode Island that would take money from the poor in State-run casinos instead of biting the bullet and doing whatever had to be done to stimulate a real economic recovery. His elderly audience, welcoming the attention, would ignore the fact that he avoided the Vietnam War through a questionable deferment, and give him a strong ovation.

The pictures caused Berman to whistle through his teeth. He listened patiently to everything Ryder said, trying to think of a way out of the mess created by his client. Berman didn’t want to face the fact that his hundreds of hours of work could end with a whimper instead of a bang because of this ugly development. But his gut was roiling and told him that the ballgame could be over. He remembered with dismay that when the press forced Gary Hart to withdraw as a presidential candidate, all it had for leverage was a picture of Donna Rice sitting on his lap and a shaky allegation that he spent a night with her. Getting caught in bed with two women, for all the world to see, after plotting to entrap his opponent in a similar fashion, put Fiore in a much higher league of his own.

“Are we off the record, Mr. Ryder?” he asked.

“Certainly, if you want to be.”

“I had a feeling right from the beginning that there wasn’t a zipper strong enough to hold Fiore’s prick in his pants.”

Ryder smiled.

“But tell me the part about Hanley and Bruce Singer again.”

Ryder repeated the scheme Fiore worked out to get Singer caught in bed with Pat Hanley. He explained why she felt she had to go along with it. “All she knew was that at midnight she was supposed to open the doors separating the two rooms, go into the other room and get in bed with the man who was there. Fiore said it would be Singer.” Ryder’s version of the facts made no mention of Carol’s involvement.

“How did Fiore know that Singer planned to be staying at the Biltmore last night?”

Ryder downplayed the question. “My guess is that when he hatched the plan, he got Singer’s schedule from someone in the media.”

Berman turned to look out the window and tried to dissect everything Ryder told him. He felt that the story was still fuzzy around the edges. “So you’re saying that Singer cancelled out, Fiore found out about it somehow and told the Hanley woman he’d be staying there himself. She agreed to share his bed for the night and then arranged for a photographer to show up and take pictures. Is that it?”

“I guess that’s it.”

Berman rubbed his chin with his hand. “It’s hard to figure. She stood to gain nothing for herself or her husband by doing this. In fact, she had to know that Fiore would want revenge and do whatever it took to make sure her husband lost his job. That’s what I’m having trouble understanding.”

Ryder was ready to offer the answer. “You know that old expression, ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.’ She told me she was so upset at the position Fiore put her in—actually blackmailing her and being willing to humiliate her for what he’d get out of it for himself—that she just wanted to strike back at him any way she could. When Singer couldn’t make it to Providence and Hanley knew she’d be alone with Fiore, she got the chance and moved on it. I guarantee you this lady’s not worried at all about what happens next.”

“Then why did she bring another woman into it with her?”

“Who said she brought the woman?”

“Didn’t she?”

“You can ask Fiore that question.”

“And who is she anyway?”

That was more than what Ryder could divulge. “I’d have to say it’s pretty inconsequential,” he replied.

Berman was through. “All right. I’ll speak to him as soon as the lunch is over. Can I keep these pictures?”

“No. You can show them to Fiore and then I’ve got to have them back. I’ll wait in the Ford wagon over there.”

* * *

Doug Fiore wasn’t sure what was happening. He arrived home from the Biltmore at seven o’clock that morning, showered, changed into a heavier suit and read part of the newspaper with his breakfast. Later on, before driving to the Airport Hilton where he arranged to meet Berman and the others, he called Scardino at home. Frankie’s wife said he wasn’t there, that he and several of the senior partners were spending the weekend in Boston on a retreat to discuss the firm’s operation. He asked for the name of the hotel where they were staying, but she had no idea what it was.

Fiore was certain that Scardino didn’t mention any Boston retreat to him, and doubted that Ed Jackson would initiate one without clearing it with him first. He went to a file in his study where he kept the names of everyone employed by Walters, Cassidy & Breen. He returned to the kitchen with Janice Rossman’s home telephone number and was dialing it when Grace came into the room. Doug hung up the receiver casually, remarking that he was unable to reach Berman all morning.

At the Hilton, Fiore told Walsh he wanted to use the men’s room before they got on the road. He called Rossman again and asked her where Frankie was.

“I don’t know, Mr. Fiore,” she said, sounding as innocent as she could. “He told me he was going to a meeting in Boston.”

“Listen to me carefully, Janice. If I find out you’re not telling me the truth, I’ll fire you on the spot.”

Rossman hesitated. “Can you hold on just a minute?”

“I’m holding. Go get him.”

Scardino came to the phone. “Sorry Doug. She was afraid to say I was here.”

“Did you call that goddam photographer?” he asked.

“It’s all taken care of. I left a message on his machine, switching it to tonight at the same time. Don’t worry, he’ll be there.”

Fiore bent down inside the phone booth and pulled the receiver to his ear. He had it as low as it would go, about six inches below the metal counter. “Well, if he’s coming tonight, why the fuck did he show up last night?” he shouted.

Scardino didn’t know what to say. “I can’t figure it, Doug. Let me find out and call you back.”

“I can’t wait here. I’ve got to get rolling with Berman. When you reach him, tell him to put the goddam negatives in an envelope and deliver them to you. I want them in my hands tonight. You can bring them to East Greenwich when I get home. Are you going to be at Rossman’s all day?”

“I planned on it.”

“What is that cunt trying to do, make partner?”

* * *

In the back of the Lincoln, outside The Gables, Berman handed the envelope to Fiore. “I’m afraid I’ve got to show you this.”

Fiore looked at the pictures. “Who brought these? Frankie Scardino?”

“No, a lawyer named George Ryder. He’s sitting in the Ford over there.” Berman pointed across the street. “He says he represents a woman named Pat Hanley, and that she’s ready to go public with these pictures right away unless you withdraw.” Berman recited all the details he was given almost an hour earlier.

Fiore’s head was spinning. He thought he was beginning to understand what happened. Ryder was obviously out for revenge ever since Doug forced his resignation from the firm. He probably became very friendly with Pat Hanley through Brad during the union negotiations, and somehow learned about Doug’s relationship with her. Then Pat blabbed to him about the Singer business at the Biltmore after Fiore told her the plan he had in mind. Now Ryder was capitalizing on it, and no doubt the bastard helped her set things up for pictures of them in bed together. He figured Ryder knew that Carol would be with them last night.

“Did he say anything about sending these to Grace?”

“No, he didn’t, but they probably figure she’ll find out like everyone else if you don’t play ball.”

“What do we do, Cyril?”

“I guess we go somewhere private and try to reach Sandy and his father. Ryder didn’t say who the other woman is in the picture. He was playing cat and mouse. Do you want to tell me?”

Fiore was certain that Berman would explode with anger if he knew it was Bruce Singer’s wife. It scared him to think of how Sandy and Sal Tarantino would react if they became aware of her identity. Doug couldn’t handle that right now. “No one you know,” he said, “just a friend of Hanley’s that happened to be around.”

Berman opened the door of the Lincoln and started across the street. Ryder got out of his car.

“He asked whether you sent these to his wife.”

“We haven’t yet and hope we don’t have to. If he gets out by the deadline, she’ll never know about them.”

“We’ve got to make a few phone calls. Where can I reach you if I have to?”

Ryder took one of his cards out of a billfold. “I’ll be at the office until four and I’ll be home after five.” He wrote his home number on the back of the card and gave it to Berman.

“If he pulls out, we get the negatives, right?”

“Absolutely, and all the pictures are destroyed. You have my word on that.”

“If I ever need a good photographer, I’ll know who to call.” Berman turned and headed back toward the Lincoln. He saw Walsh and Karp watching him from the corner of the street. He waved his arm, signaling them to return to the car.

Ryder watched Berman open the back door and get in. He wasn’t sure whether Fiore was looking his way, but gave him a mock military salute anyway. Then he climbed back into the station wagon, sat there and felt terrific.