Lou Malkin was in the business of making enemies, and business was good.
#
It was well after midnight, but in spite of the hour there were more than a few cars in the diner’s parking lot. Lou Malkin sat in the rented Chevy Impala, far enough from the nearest streetlamp that he wasn’t highlighted, but close enough to the surrounding cars that he wasn’t conspicuous. Using an identity that did not belong to him, he’d picked up the car at Newark Liberty International Airport as soon as his plane had landed. Using a prepaid cell phone he’d bought in the terminal for cash, he’d called the client with the diner’s location and a description of the vehicle. The client would be there at any moment.
Malkin had chosen the diner as a meeting place mainly because of its locationa half-hour drive from the airport, and just a minute or two off the highway, it would be easy for him to take care of business and then get to his hotel. And while the client’s convenience was not topmost in Malkin’s mind, the diner suited him as well. It was on the outskirts of the small central Jersey town in which he lived and worked, and situated as it was, its primary clientele at this late hour were travelers jumping off the throughway for a hit of caffeine, so he wasn’t likely to run into anyone he knew. In any event, they wouldn’t be going into the diner but instead would conduct their affairs in Malkin’s car. The nature of the business made open discussion in a public place impractical and indeed inadvisable.
A car pulled into the lot, and as it passed beneath one of the lamp posts, Malkin could see it held a single occupant. The new arrival drove around slowly, passing up a number of vacant spaces as if he were looking for something other than a place to park, leading Malkin to conclude this was the man he was waiting for. The cara modest Buick sedanslowed even more as it neared Malkin, its driver peering at the Impala to confirm it was the vehicle he sought. Apparently satisfied, he slid into the vacant adjacent slot.
A nervous looking man, in his late forties and dressed in a rumpled suit, stepped out. After a theatricaland to Malkin, rather comicalglance around the lot, he rapped tentatively on the driver-side window. Malkin lowered it part way.
“You’re Bornstein?” he asked.
A nod.
“Get in.” Malkin gestured with his head to the passenger seat.
Jon Bornstein scurried around the front of the car, and after another exaggerated scan of his surroundings he opened the door and ducked inside.
“First,” said Malkin, “I need you to relax. We’re here to discuss a business transaction. Nothing more.”
Bornstein nodded again. “Right. It’s just that”
Malkin held his hand up. “Stop. I know it’s uncomfortable for you. Let’s take a step back. You have a problem. I can help you. As I pointed out, you’re not asking me to do anyone any harm, and I never resort to violence. I simply…” he waved a hand dismissively, “facilitate a solution to your problem.”
His clients always seemed to accept this benign description of the transaction in which they were about to engage. Of course, for Malkin it was all showthat “all I do is facilitate” nonsensebut if that’s what was necessary to assuage his clients’ guilt over what they were asking him to accomplish, he’d oblige them with a performance. He took pride, however, in the fact thattrue to his wordhe never did resort to violence.
Indeed, he never did anything illegal; nor did he direct any such unlawful activity. But one could not deny that bad things happened when Malkin wanted them to.
“Your partner’s name?” Malkin asked.
Bornstein’s words came out in a croak, as if they were reluctant to pass through his lips.
“Howie. Er, Howard Kaplan.”
Malkin began taking notes in a small leather-bound notebook he had retrieved from his coat pocket. He’d keep those notes only long enough to commit the information to memory and then destroy them.
“Date of birth?”
“November 8, 1958.”
Step by step, Malkin elicited from Bornstein as much detail as he could about the man Bornstein wanted eliminated. The man whose death Malkin was being hired to…facilitate. In answer to Malkin’s questions, Bornstein described Kaplan’s birthplace, the schools he had attended, and his employment history. His friends and acquaintances, his home life, and his outside interests and hobbies. Special attention was paid to Kaplan’s vices.
As the interview progressed, it became more and more difficult to extract answers from Bornstein. Most of Malkin’s clients were like thisdriven for some reason to take the drastic step of contracting for the death of another but paralyzed by the gravity of that decision. Through the years, Malkin had come to realize that very few people shared his outlook on the human condition. The phrase “It’s not all about you” disgusted him, because if you didn’t look out for yourself, no one else was going to. Since he didn’t believe in God, or in hell or an afterlife of any kind, he knew two things with certainty: One, he had only a limited time on this earth, and two, if he was willing to risk the consequences of acting outside the bounds of man-made law while here, there was little to worry about when that limited time was up. He was unhampered by the thing that held most everyone else back. Conscience.
“I understand this is difficult for you,” Malkin said. “In the end, you must be comfortable with what you are asking me to do. If you’re having second thoughts, now is the time to make them known. There’s no shame in calling off this endeavoryou’d need only reimburse me for one day’s time and for my travel expenses, and we will part ways.”
“No, no,” said Bornstein. “It’s, uh…I’ve never done something like this before.”
Malkin nodded and waited silently.
“It’s like this,” Bornstein went on after a moment. “I’ve known him for almost twenty-five years. He was, like, my mentor, when I got my first job at Hart & Morrison. You know, that big accounting firm in New York.”
Malkin let him talk. He knew his clients had to go through this processjustifying to themselves the course of action they were taking. Such reasoning was irrelevant to Malkin, but he considered listening to this drivel a cost of doing business. Besides, sometimes there was a nugget of information contained within the clients’ ramblings that would prove helpful to Malkin’s mission.
“Anyway, Howie’d already been at H&M about eight years when I got there, and a couple of years after that, he decided to leave and open up on his own. He asked me if I wanted to come, and I said yes.”
Bornstein described how the new firm struggled for the first few years, butaccording to himthrough his hard work they built up a considerable client base and grew quite comfortable. Kaplan made him a full partner, and they continued profitably for more than fifteen years. Then, the problems began.
“It started with his divorce. The usual: She faulted Howie if he didn’t earn what she thought was enough but hounded him if he put in the time needed to do it. She resented his late nights and weekends at the office, and all of a sudden, she had a guy on the side. One day, she dropped the bomb on Howieshe wanted out of the marriage.
“It was really messy. There weren’t any kids, so it was all about money. His main asset was his interest in the firm, and her lawyer came up with an appraisal that left him on the hook for a ridiculous amount. Paying the judgment tapped him out completely. That’s when he started drinking.”
At that, Malkin sat up straighter. An alcohol problem usually meant weaknesses he could exploit.
“Tell me about that,” he prodded.
“Yeah. He started missing client meetings and forgetting deadlines. Just really messing up. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, he started taking from the firm. ‘Personal loans,’ he called them. The loans got bigger and bigger, and more often too. But he never repaid anything. It’s at the point where we have no cushion left. Our income is just about enough to cover expenses and salaries. At least he can’t take any more.
“I confronted him last month, and he blew up on me. ‘I’m the majority owner, and you don’t tell me what to do,’ is what he screamed. He told me if I don’t like it, I should get the hell out.”
“Why don’t you?” Malkin asked. “Leave?”
Bornstein laughed.
“I want to, believe me. I could leave and set up somewhere elseand at this point probably take all the businessbut it would be a disaster for me. We have this bank loan, and both of us had to sign personal guaranties. If I go, the firm would definitely default, and the bank can go after me for the entire amount. I wouldn’t have enough to pay the bank and open and run a new office too.”
He turned to Malkin, a look of guilt on his face. “I have no choice. I have to find a way to turn things around.”
Malkin nodded.
“Then we go forward. You brought me a photo of Kaplan?”
Bornstein handed him a four-by-six print, which Malkin pocketed.
“The fee, as I said, is fifty thousand dollarshalf now and half upon completion. In addition, a twenty-five thousand dollar deposit to cover anticipated expenses. If I don’t expend it all, I will refund the remaining balance upon completion. If the expense fund is depleted and there is more work to be done, you will replenish it.”
Malkin held out his hand, indicating that now was the time for payment.
“Yes, of course.” Bornstein reached into his coat and withdrew an envelope, which Malkin took and pocketed.
“Aren’t you going to count it?” Bornstein asked.
“I’m sure it’s all there,” Malkin said. “After all, I would be a poor choice as someone you’d want to cheat, wouldn’t I?”
#
At six o’clock the next morning, Malkin sat at the desk of his hotel room, his notebook computer and handwritten notes from his meeting with Bornstein in front of him. The hotelone in a chain of economy lodgingswas depressing. Spartan furnishings, drab décor, and a second-floor view of the parking lot. He could certainly afford something with more creature comfortsand, in any case, the client was picking up all of his expensesbut he wasn’t here to enjoy himself. He was here to work. And when he was working, he kept a low profile and avoided ostentation.
The business of making enemies was easier than Malkin had thought when he’d first formed his little venture. While the incidences of murder abound, when it comes to motive, it’s usually one of a very few. The specifics of the motivation may change from case to case, but distilled down to basics, people kill primarily because of money, jealousy, pride, or revenge. And there were plenty of people who were willing to kill for those reasons. Who could be manipulated into killing for those reasons.
Malkin had been in the business for quite some time, and over the years the manipulation became easier. His success rate was extremely high, but there had been a handful of failures. Twice, he had failed to make the necessary enemy. One of those times, the targeta woman who had gotten cold feet just days before she was to marry Malkin’s clienthad been so inexplicably clean that Malkin could find no weakness he could exploit, no characteristic or trait that would cause anyoneother than the jilted and angered clientto wish her harm. The otherin which a client had sought to accelerate her receipt of her husband’s life insurance benefits by doing away with himthe husband was a local manager at a national pest control service with hiring and firing authority over a team of field personnel. Malkin’s investigation revealed that one of the employees was an ex-con with an explosive temper and little self-control, and Malkin had engineered circumstances that resulted in the employee’s discharge by the client’s husband. Although this unjustified dismissal should have been enough to throw the employee into a vengeful rage against his former boss, Malkin had overestimated the man’s proclivity to violence. After a rage-filled confrontation at the corporate office, the now-former worker had been content just to collect unemployment benefits without further ado.
On another occasion, the proper, capable, and willing enemy had been made, but there had been collateral damage. The client and target had been close friendsuntil the client had discovered his friend’s affair with his wife. Despite Malkin’s warnings to stay clear of his friend once things had been set in motion, the client failed to do so and was killed along with his friend when the car in which they were traveling was forced off the road by the new enemy Malkin had found for the target. This had proven unfortunate for Malkin, in more ways than one. He’d had a nasty confrontation with the client’s brother, in whom the client had apparently confided about Malkin’s undertaking. But more importantly, as far as Malkin was concerned, the client had been in no position to make the payment that was due upon completion.
The interview of Bornstein the previous night had given Malkin the direction he needed with his current assignmentKaplan obviously had money issues. And an alcohol problem. The two of them together usually combined in synergistic fashion to produce devastating consequences. There was a reason Kaplan had started taking money from the firm, and if Malkin could find out why, he might discover someone else, besides Bornstein, who would be less than enthusiastically concerned about Kaplan’s continued well-being.
Malkin needed to observe Kaplan for himself. Learn about the man from other sources, yes, but study him firsthand as well. He’d begin that day.
#
As instructed, Bornstein called Malkin when Kaplan arrived at the office. It was shortly after eleven o’clock in the morning.
Malkin found the building in which Kaplan & Bornstein, P.A. was located with no problem. The Middlesex County town, with a population of about forty thousand, had a business district approximately five blocks long. Most of the buildings were one-storied brick-faced structures and featured retail stores and restaurants. In the center of town, where three different streets met in a five-cornered intersection, stood a seven-story office building. According to Bornstein, the accounting firm occupied a suite on the top floor.
In the parking lot adjoining the building, Malkin located Kaplan’s silver Lexus LSreportedly leased in the firm’s name, so Kaplan had escaped the divorce with itand chose a parking spot that afforded an unobstructed view of both the building’s single entrance and the car. By pre-arrangement, Bornstein was to call Malkin when Kaplan was leaving the office.
His cell phone vibrated at precisely five, and a perpetually nervous Bornstein reported that Kaplan had just gotten onto the elevator. Three minutes later, Malkin watched as Kaplanwhom he recognized from the photo furnished by Bornsteinemerged from the building and made his way to his car. The Lexus exited the lot and headed west on the main street, and Malkin fell in behind it. At the first intersection, he allowed a car to make a right-hand turn in front of him from the intersecting street, and he continued to follow.
The neighborhood changed as the Lexus crossed over some railroad tracks, and Malkin thought of how clichéd that was. Eventually, Kaplan turned right, and two blocks later he pulled to the curb. Malkin drove by, watching in his rear and side view mirrors. Luckily, there were other cars lining the street, so Malkin did not stand out, and a half-block later he parked and turned in his seat to see Kaplan walk across the street into a brick-faced structure. A red neon sign in the small window announced that it was “Arnold’s Bar.”
Malkin wasn’t even tempted to follow him in. He would simply make himself comfortable, suspecting that it would be a while before Kaplan re-emerged. It was only about a quarter past five, and if Kaplan was as heavily into booze as Bornstein said, this was likely to be a long night. Nonetheless, Malkin had to do what he could to identify any patterns Kaplan might follow.
By about nine o’clock, Malkin began to wonder how much longer it would be before Kaplan had had enough, but it was curiosity rather than restlessness that made him do sohe was used to lengthy stakeouts. And it was his patience with such things that ensured the success he enjoyed. Finally, as 10:30 approached, Kaplan emerged. Appearing just slightly unsteady, he crossed the street to his car, fumbled momentarily with his keys, and got behind the wheel. Malkin followed a half-block behind.
Back across the tracks, he followed Kaplan through a series of turns. Malkin had already scoped out Kaplan’s garden apartment complexnot terrible, but a marked difference from the luxury car that he droveand it was obvious the man was heading home. There were few vehicles on the streets at this hour, so tailing the Lexus was risky, but Malkin judged that Kaplan had had enough to drink that he was focused more on driving in a straight line than on anything else.
Five minutes later, Malkin watched as Kaplan parked his car and tottered across his apartment parking lot. It was nearly eleven o’clock. Malkin waited about a half hour, to be sure Kaplan had retired for the night and wasn’t on his way back out. Then he headed back to his hotel.
#
For the next two days, Malkin watched Kaplan keep the same routine: Home until late morning, and then to the office. From the office to Arnold’s Bar until about ten thirty. Back home from there. On the third evening, however, Kaplan did something different.
He left his office shortly after five, but instead of Arnold’s, he drove to a fast food Chinese restaurant. He returned to his car, paper bag in hand, and went directly home. Malkin sat outside for about ninety minutesmore than enough time to allow Kaplan to eat and then head back out if that’s what he’d planned. However, as dusk fell, Malkin could see the glow of the television through the window, suggesting that Kaplan was in to stay.
It was therefore safe, Malkin thought, to venture into Arnold’s Bar.
#
He didn’t rush in. He arrived shortly after seven o’clock, and patient man that he was, he sat outside in his car for about an hour, watching. Comings and goings. At this hour, mostly comings. He recognized some people from the previous nights, but there were enough new faces to make him comfortable that it wasn’t the kind of neighborhood place to take on the character of a private club. He’d walked into enough joints where his presence was about as welcome as a federal agent at a summit of The Commission. Arnold’s, he was confident, was not such an establishment.
The inside was as he’d imagined. Dimly lit, not too big, the smell of stale beer, with a small bar along one wall, and a handful of tables along another. A beanpole of a bartender watched the single TV, which was tuned to a basketball game.
Malkin counted six men sitting at the bar, and another three alone at tables, all nursing drinks. After half-heartedly appraising him with a glance, they all turned their attention back to their glasses.
Three of the six at the bar were familiar to Malkinregulars whom he’d seen entering and leaving on the previous nights. One of those men, gaunt and haggardand probably ten years younger than the sixty that he appearedhad two vacant stools to one side and three to his other. It was natural enough for Malkin to seat himself equidistant between that man and his nearest neighbor to his right. He ordered a Budweiser and kept to himself.
People trickled in. Some to the bar, but some continued to the back of the room where they opened a door, stepped through, and closed the door behind them. Many appeared to be regulars, greeting each other if not by name then at least by nodding or offering a “Hey, how’s it going?” Periodically, the bartender loaded a tray with a variety of drinks and carried it to the back room. When the first round was delivered, Malkin could see, through the open door, a round table with six or seven seats, most occupied. One of the men seated there was shuffling a deck of cards.
Shortly after Malkin started his second Bud, one of the card players emerged and walked to the bar.
“Bobby,” he called to the bartender. “Another round back there, okay? Make sure it’s Jack in my Coke this time, not that piss you’ve been sticking me with.” He turned to the man on Malkin’s right. “Murph, you seen Kaplan?”
“Not today,” came the response.
Jack and Coke grunted. “Sully ain’t happy.” He went back through the door.
Sully, Malkin assumed, was one of the men playing cards in the back room. And the fact that Sully was displeased by Kaplan’s absence tonight suggested that Sully wanted something from him. What would make a man unhappy that another altered his routine and didn’t show up at a regular card game?
If Kaplan owed Sully money, and if it were a large enough sum, it might be something that Malkin could exploit.
Malkin decided it was worthwhile to stick around to see what he could learn. Two beers and about an hour later, the card room door opened again. A lean, muscular man, in his forties, walked to the bar. “Bobby,” he said, motioning to the bartender, who was emptying a plastic bucket of ice over a cooler filled with longneck beer bottles. “Yeah, Sully. Right there.”
“Kaplan hasn’t shown his face?” Sully growled as Bobby approached.
“Haven’t seen him.”
Sully shook his head in disgust.
“That son of a bitch. Twenty grand, and he stops coming around? I never should’ve trusted him.”
The other card players filed out of the room, the game finished for the night. They’d apparently had enough liquid refreshment, because they exchanged good-byes and left. Malkin had anticipated the need to time his exit precisely, so he’d already paid his tab and nursed his beer down to the point where he could decide either to leave what was left or to change his mind and order another, all without bringing too much attention to himself. When it appeared that Sully was on the verge of going, Malkin stood, said a friendly good night to the bartender, and walked out.
Once on the street, he fast-walked to his car, from which he could see Sully when he departed. His target was close behind, and Malkin saw the lights of a BMW coupe parked a few cars ahead of him blink as Sully drew near it. Malkin had to learn what he could about the man to whom Kaplan was indebted for $20,000, so he followed as the Bimmer pulled away.
#
Sully led Malkin to a quiet neighborhood of colonial-style homes, about twenty minutes from Arnold’s. The BMW pulled into a driveway, and Malkin noted the address but continued past as the garage door slid open. He rounded the corner before Sully even exited his car.
Upon arising the next morning, Malkin accessed the county clerk’s online database of real estate records and found that the housepurchased nine years previously for just under $400,000, with a $320,000 mortgagebelonged to one Christopher Sullivan. He then turned to Facebook, which reported more than a thousand members bearing that name. But thanks to the social network’s apparent desire to abet stalkers of all ilk, restricting the search to the city in which the desired subject lived narrowed the field to five. Filtering for the approximate age zeroed in on one.
The profile picture on this Sullivan’s Facebook page confirmed that he was the man Malkin wanted. Sully enjoyed sharing information online, so Malkin learned that he had a wife, Doreen, a ten-year-old son, Adam, and a chocolate Labrador retriever, Max. Employment status: Broker with Relo Realty, a local agency. Pulling Sully’s credit report required a bit more finesse, but Malkin was not without the required resources. The report showed that Sully spent within his means, more or less, and had a satisfactory FICO score.
His only obvious vice was that he enjoyed playing poker.
Nothing in Sully’s background suggested that he was much of a threat to Kaplanother than being mighty pissed off at being stiffed for twenty grand. But a debt of that amount, while not enormous, was large enough to serve Malkin’s purpose.
#
Malkin considered visiting Relo Realty but thought better of it, as Sully would likely consider the business Malkin sought to conduct inappropriate for his office. Not wanting to bring it to Sully’s home, and wishing to avoid being seen again at Arnold’s, Malkin waited the next evening in the parking lot of the strip mall where Relo was located. At a few minutes past seven, Sully left work and headed for his car. As he approached, Malkin called to him.
“Mr. Sullivan.”
Sully looked up as Malkin reached him.
“Yes. And you are?”
“Does your wife know about the card games at Arnold’s?”
“What? Who are you?”
Sully’s face and voice confirmed what Malkin already suspected. Doreen Sullivan did not know about her husband’s gambling. Or perhaps she knew about a problem but thought that Sully had stopped. Either way, Malkin was willing to bet that the nightly games and the $20,000 debt from Kaplan were things that Sully would prefer to be kept secret.
“Who am I? I’m the man who’s going to pay off Mr. Kaplan’s obligation.”
“Uh…Kaplan send you? I’ve been looking for him. He seems to have vanished since that run of bad hands.”
“No, Mr. Sullivan. Mr. Kaplan did not send me. I am, nevertheless, prepared to pay you what he owes.”
“What’s your angle? You a friend of his?”
“That’s not your concern, Mr. Sullivan. As I said, I’m prepared to pay Mr. Kaplan’s obligation. All I require is some evidence of that debt. He gave you his marker, I assume?”
“Yeah. A worthless piece of paper. I should have known better than to trust him.”
“Then our business is simple. You give me his marker, and I will pay you $20,000.”
Malkin removed an envelope from his jacket pocket.
Sully looked around the parking lot, surprised.
“Here? Right now? Just like that?”
“If you have Mr. Kaplan’s marker with you, why not?”
Once more, Sully looked around, as if for witnesses. As if he were engaged in activity that nobody should see.
“No need to be nervous, Mr. Sullivan. Simply give me the marker, and the money is yours.”
“And what? You’ll collect from him?”
“He will become my problem. But you’ll have been paid, and he will owe you nothing.”
Sully hesitated for only an instant more. Then he looked relieved. He took out his wallet and retrieved a folded up piece of paper, which he handed to Malkin. Malkin looked at it, re-folded it, and put it in his pocket. He handed the envelope to Sully.
“Do you mind if I, uh, count it?”
“By all means, please.”
Sully keyed his remote, unlocking his car. Although there was no one else in the lot, Malkin assumed he was uneasy about examining the contents of an envelope full of money in the open. Sully got into the driver’s seat and removed the bound packets of hundred dollar bills. He performed the task efficiently, counting just one of the packets, thumbing the others to ensure that they all contained hundreds, and comparing their sizes to confirm they had the requisite number of bills. Satisfied, he turned to Malkin.
“Thanks, I guess. So, who are you, anyway?”
Instead of answering, Malkin just nodded and walked to his car.
#
Malkin would have preferred avoiding direct contact with Sully. When something untoward came to befall Kaplan, the unpaid debt would provide a possible motive. A competent investigator would find Sully, and Sully would tell authorities that he had sold the marker.
But so what? Sully did not know Malkin’s identity. More importantlyand this was the ingenuity of Malkin’s business modelMalkin did not intend to do Kaplan any harm. Nor did he intend to direct, or even suggest, that any harm come to him. In the unlikely event that the authorities should ever show up at Malkin’s door, they would have no evidence that he had done anything unlawful.
That’s not to say that Kaplan would not meet a tragic end. Or that the unpaid debt would not be the reason. Malkin simply had to find a man who would not appreciate someone ignoring a financial obligationand who had no qualms about administering the appropriate penalty for acting dishonorably.
After a series of phone calls to various connections, Malkin found Hector Navarro, resident low-life of Atlantic City.
#
Navarro, Malkin learned, was a thug with a lengthy criminal record reflecting offenses ranging from petty theft to extortion to aggravated assault. He’d beaten murder charges on two occasionsone of which involved a victim said to have skipped out on a $10,000 gambling debt he’d been owed. According to news reports, the debt arose from a regular poker game played at a “social club” Navarro frequented. The other murder victim was someone who Navarro believed to have been cheating at that very game. Both acquittals came after prosecution witnesses decided they had been mistaken when they’d previously identified Navarro as the culprit.
Before heading to Atlantic City, Malkin had Bornstein replenish the deposit for expenses. A small part of the initial $25,000 had gone to living expenses, and the rest to buying the marker from Sully. Malkin would need more for his activities in AC. To his creditor as an indication of how desperate he was to rid himself of his partnerBornstein did not balk at the requirement of an additional $25,000. On deposit, as before, to be refunded if not used.
#
Malkin considered his second round bet, having been dealt the two draw cards he’d requested. The three other men sitting around the table had each gone in for $500. He needed to lose this hand, which he could do simply by folding, but after the first round of bets he had only $150 in, and he wanted to lose more. The dealer had fortuitously helped him by doling out useless replacements for the pair of aces he’d discarded. He still couldn’t figure out what this guy’s story was. A well-dressed man with a businesslike appearance and demeanor, he looked out of place in a skeevy Atlantic City bar lounge, blocks away from the boardwalk. But he might just be a degenerate gambler who simply didn’t care who took his money. Whoever he was, he’d done Malkin the favor of ensuring him a losing hand.
Sitting with a pair of threes, Malkin met the five hundred and raised the bet by another two hundred. The dealer and one other opponent folded, while the remaining playerHector Navarrogrunted as he tossed in some bills and called. Navarro was not a terribly talented poker playerhis game of choice was five-card draw, considered to be the simplest variant of pokerand he was incapable of masking what he thought of his cards. The grunt told Malkin that his host didn’t expect to win this round. He’d be pleasantly surprised.
Malkin mucked his cards, throwing them face down into the pile in the center of the table. “So much for bluffing,” he said, with a practiced air of resignation.
“You can’t bluff me,” Navarro said, although Malkin had established over the course of the last few days that this was not true. It didn’t matter whether Malkin wanted to win while holding a garbage hand or lose while holding a flush, Navarro had proven adept at believing what he wantedand he apparently believed that no one would have the nerve to try putting one over on him. Bluffing a man like Navarro was risky. Generally speaking, the commercial casinos did not afford players the right to look at mucked cards. If your opponent folded, presuming you to have a better hand, you could toss your cards in face down, and take the pot, and no one could demand to see the hand you’d just discarded. Such a rule would work to Malkin’s favor when he wanted to throw a hand as well. He could muck a full house to someone’s pair of aces, and no one would be the wiser. But here, at Navarro’s club, the rules were whatever Navarro said they were, and Malkin didn’t doubt that if his host wanted to take a peek at a discarded hand, Malkin’s citation to a contrary rule would not be very persuasive. Thus far, however, no one at the table had yet made any attempt to look at a mucked hand.
Navarro picked up his winnings and counted. He concentrated for a momentapparently straining at the effort of mental calculationsand smiled. “You’ve got to be down about $10,000, eh?”
Malkin knew to the penny how much he’d lost since he’d started three nights ago, but he paused to give the impression that he was verifying Navarro’s reckoning. He nodded. “I’m afraid that’s right.”
“Oh, don’t be afraid, my friend. We’re having fun, aren’t we?”
Malkin shrugged. “Depends on your point of view, I guess.”
Since the play had begun, Malkin had been up and he had been down. Right now, he was down. As Navarro had just pointed out, he was about ten thousand dollars in the hole. But poker was primarily a game of skill, not luck, and Malkin was precisely where he’d intended to be. Indeed, since he’d first sat down at this table earlier in the week, he had been able to orchestrate his position with near exactitude. Accomplishing this was made easier by the fact that Navarro evidently recognized his own limitations when it came to playing poker. This game was by invitation only, and he tended to invite players who were not too proficient. Malkin’s source had known the right things to say in order to secure a place for him at the table, and his winnings and losses were meant to project the image of a gambler not afraid to take risks and not always that “lucky.”
“Another hand,” Navarro declared. “I want more of your money, and you, no doubt, want to try to win some of it back.” He looked around the table.
The man to Malkin’s left shook his head. “I’m done for the night. It’s after twelve.” To Malkin’s right, the well-dressed fellow who’d dealt the last hand agreed. “That’s it for me too.”
Navarro looked at Malkin. “You bailing out too? Too much heat for you?”
This was the situation Malkin had been engineering since the beginning. Down by a sizable amount, and just Navarro and him left in the game. If the others hadn’t dropped out, he could have kept going, but now was as good a time as any to finish it off. But he had to proceed carefully.
“Hector,” he began. “I find myself in an awkward position.” He cleared his throat, as if reluctant to continue. “That was my last seven hundred. I’m through.”
Navarro’s eyes opened wide. “You, my friend? You can’t be completely tapped out. I cannot let you leave without giving you a sporting chance to regain at least some of your pride.”
Malkin shifted uneasily in his seat.
“Come. Tell me what’s on your mind,” Navarro prodded.
“I have a marker. Someone who owes me $20,000.” He retrieved it from his pocket. “You’re a gambling man, Hector. One hand. For twenty thousand dollars.”
Navarro gazed at him in silence, aware that the others were watching for his reaction to what seemed to be a challenge. He tongue flicked his lips, and he smiled.
“A gamble, yes. If I win, I get a marker from someone I don’t know. Surely you don’t expect full value$20,000if you win. We must even the odds, if I am to play along.”
Malkin appeared to consider Navarro’s point.
“That would be fair, I suppose. The marker carries an element of risk and should be discounted to a degree. Would fifty percent be fair? If you win, you get the marker. If I win, I make back the $10,000 I’ve lost since we started.”
Navarro thought for a moment and then nodded.
“Do we understand that I do not guarantee this man’s payment?” Malkin asked. “If I lose and you take the marker as yours, collection is up to you, and I bear no responsibility.”
At this, Navarro smiled broadly. “Ah, you’ve come to know me well these past few days. Yes, I like a gamble. The risk will be mine. There are not many who owe me and fail to pay, so I have little to worry about thereonly, perhaps, a bit of extra sport. This would be what I believe bankers refer to as a non-recourse transaction. You have my word, as a gentleman, that if I win that marker, I will not look to you for payment of the debt.”
“Then let’s play.”
Navarro counted out ten thousand dollars and placed the bills in a pile in the center of the table. He motioned to Malkin, who placed Kaplan’s marker on top.
The other two men had watched this exchange in silence. Neither moved to leave, and they seemed intent on seeing the anticipated hand play out. The one Malkin had come to think of as the businessman finally spoke out.
“How about if I deal?”
Navarro nodded. “Yes. You deal.”
“Name’s Walker,” the dealer said, looking at Malkin, as if it should mean something to him.
Walker passed cards around, and Malkin kept a practiced expressionless face as he saw that he had just been dealt a royal flushthe ten, Jack, Queen, King, and Ace of clubs. The odds of were astronomical. Indeed, Malkin knew them to be almost one in 650,000. Careful not to look up from his hand, he could see out of the corner of his eye that Walker was watching him. One way or another, Malkin had to lose this particular hand. His face still blank, he looked across at Navarro, who was silentno customary grunt to telegraph a weak hand. That was good. Better that he thought he held a winner when Malkin ultimately folded.
Malkin had to make some kind of play, so he removed the Jack, King, and Ace from his hand and placed them face down next to the pot. “Three,” he said to Walker. Rather than looking at his new hand right away, he kept his eyes on Navarro to see his move.
“Two,” Navarro declared, placing his discards on the table.
Navarro picked up the cards that were dealt him and broke out into a huge grin when he looked at them.
“Top that,” he said, and he laid down a full houseAces over Kings.
Malkin finally checked his cards, and it took every bit of self-control not to react. It was almost as if Walker were purposely dealing him a winning hand. He had retained the ten and Queen of clubs, and his new cards were the three remaining Queens.
He had Navarro beat. He’d have to muck the hand if he was to pass Kaplan’s marker off to this goon.
Malkin decided there was little risk. Navarro would be happy to keep Malkin’s ten thousand dollars, and he’d now have someone to go after for another twenty. When Kaplan was unable to make good on the debt, Navarro would enjoy doling out the ultimate punishment, and Bornstein’s problem would be taken care of.
Malkin released a big sigh, and mucked his cards. A smile spread across Navarro’s face, and he moved to scoop up his winnings.
That’s when things went wrong. Walker spoke.
“He’s scamming you, Hector.”
Navarro and Malkin both looked at Walker.
“Check his cards. I’ll bet he has you beat. I’ll bet he’s unloading a worthless piece of paper on you.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Malkin spat at Walker. He turned to Navarro. “Why would I throw away ten thousand dollars?”
Navarro looked at Walker, head cocked.
“Just sayin’,” Walker shrugged. “Something’s not right.”
The whole thing was going sideways. Malkin had to mollify Hector.
“I don’t know what this guy’s problem is,” he said to his host. “I’m a gambler. Like you. I wanted a chance to get even again. You won.”
Navarro seemed to be working the situation though in his mind. Yes, he got to keep Malkin’s $10,000, and he also got a marker that may or may not be worth $20,000. But there was more to the story if Malkin was trying to pass the marker off to him on purpose.
“Then you don’t have a problem with me seeing your losing hand.”
Navarro leaned forward, extended his hand to the muck pile, and began turning the top cards over, one by one. While Navarro’s attention was focused on the cards, Walker turned to Malkin and spoke softly.
“Did I mention I’d been retained by Cliff Holder? Victor’s brother.”
Victor Holder. Former client, killed in the car with his friend, the target. Collateral damage.
“I’ve been keeping tabs on you for a long time, waiting for the right opportunity.” Walker continued quietly. “I tailed you to Arnold’s, and it wasn’t too hard to find out from Sully you’d bought Kaplan’s marker. When you started looking for somewhere to unload itand I realized what you were up toit took just a phone call or two to steer you here.”
Navarro, oblivious to this exchange, flipped the last card of Malkin’s mucked hand.
“What game do you think you’re playing with me?” Navarro exploded. “I invite you into my club, and this is what you do? You cheat in order to lose? You do not cheat me.”
A handgun materialized from beneath the table in front of Navarro. Walker kept his gaze on Malkin and smiled.
“Meet your enemy,” he said.
THE END