Gino Patelli was listening to Ollie Fox, one of his underbosses, report on his collection of protection money from the south side. It had been light lately, and Gino had called his boss in to account. Ollie Fox was, despite his name, someone Gino had considered too dumb to steal. He was not, however, too dumb to be stolen from, and Gino suspected some of his minions had been skimming.
The conversation was not profitable. Fox had no idea who might have been skimming, and Gino soon lost interest in listening to a man whose underlings were hoodwinking him. When Fox was finally gone, Sylvester, who had been sitting in on the conversation, said, “What do you want to do?”
“Figure out who’s stealing the most, dump Fox, and put him in charge. I’d rather have a sharp thief than an idiot. Speaking of which.”
“Billy Barnett?”
“Why do you say it like that?”
“Why is it so important?”
“Because he’s a ghost,” Gino said. “That’s what makes him so goddamned interesting. Here’s this schmuck movie producer I ought to be able to whack any day of the week, and it’s a huge fucking project, and I want to know why.”
“It could be just bad luck.”
“Bad luck for me, and bad luck for my uncle. Anyone this guy encounters has bad luck. He surfaces just long enough to cause me trouble and disappears again.”
“Even so.”
“Even so, I’m obsessing about the son of a bitch. It seems like I can’t trust anyone else, I gotta handle this myself. So you tell me: How can I get close to Billy Barnett?”
Sylvester considered. “I suppose you could get into the film business,” he said facetiously.
Gino cocked his head, and pointed at him. “Let’s do that.”
Bradley Finch wasn’t glad to get the call. Carlo Gigante had helped him out way back when, when Bradley was first trying to get into movies. Bradley owed a lot to Carlo Gigante. But Carlo Gigante was dead, and while Bradley would never say it, it was a bit of a relief now that he was well established in the movie industry as an independent producer who had worked at the major studios. Gigante was a bit of an embarrassment to have in the background, the type of connection a gossip mag might be inclined to publish. So Bradley was glad to be rid of the obligation.
It never occurred to him it might be inherited.
The summons to Gino Patelli’s had come as a shock. So had the pat down before he was permitted to enter. Now he sat in the mobster’s den with a cigar and a glass of cognac, chatting with Patelli as if they were the best of buddies.
“Of course I knew your uncle,” Bradley said. “Great man. Shame what happened to him.”
“Yes, it was,” Gino said. “But I’m happy he was able to help you get where you are. That’s true, isn’t it, not just one of the stories people tell?”
“When I was first coming up, Carlo was very helpful.”
“I know he was. The way I understand it, he didn’t know that much about the business, but he still had influence.”
“That’s right.”
“I don’t know that much about the business,” Gino said. “I’d like to, only I don’t have my uncle to teach me. But I have you.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You know the industry inside and out. If I wanted to get into producing, what would I have to do?”
“Are you serious?”
“Do you think I brought you here to fuck around?”
“No, no, of course not. You want a shortcut?”
Gino smiled. “Now you’re on my wavelength. What would I have to do?”
“Put up money.”
“What?”
“You want to become a producer, put up money. I happen to know of a film being financed by an independent studio that’s short of cash.”
“How much money?”
“Depends how much work you wanna do.”
“I don’t wanna do any fucking work at all.”
“A million dollars. Give them a million dollars, they’ll kiss your ass, call you a producer, welcome you on the set. You want a shortcut into the movies, that’s the way.”
Gino smiled and pointed at Bradley. “I’m beginning to see what Carlo saw in you. So, here’s the favor you will do for me, in exchange for the favor my uncle did for you.
“You will find me a movie to invest in. Introduce me to the people I need to know, and help me make it happen.
“Then you will check out the people throwing Oscar parties. Find one who’s invited the producer and director of the Centurion movie, Desperation at Dawn. That shouldn’t be hard, it’s an Oscar nominee. Get me an invite to that party.”
Bradley stared at Gino, his mouth open. “Are you serious?”
“You do that, and we will consider the debt paid.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Bradley said. He hoped Gino wouldn’t consider that sarcastic. “This will take some time. When do you need it done?”
Gino shrugged. “How’s tomorrow?”