Standup Guy Read Free Page B

money—what was it? Seven million?”
    Fratelli nodded solemnly.
    “But you only got the two million in the safe-deposit box?”
    Fratelli nodded again.
    “Arithmetic tells me there’s another five million out there somewhere.”
    Fratelli nodded.
    “How many guys did the job?”
    “Five.”
    “How many are still alive?”
    “Two.”
    “And where are they?”
    “Out,” Fratelli said.
    Stone held up a hand. “Don’t tell me who they are.”
    “One of them was at Sing Sing when Eddie and me were. He made a couple of attempts to get Eddie to tell what he had done with his money, but I . . .”
    “You were watching Eddie’s back,” Stone said.
    Fratelli nodded. “For twenty-two years.”
    “Did you recognize the man who shot at you?”
    “Two of them: one driving, one shooting. Young guys. I don’t know any young guys.”
    “Mr. Fratelli,” Stone said, “I think you need to get out of town.”
    “But I’ve still gotta—”
    “The rest of the money, wherever it is, has been safe all these years—a few months more isn’t going to hurt.”
    “I guess I’d better get on a plane, then.”
    “No, Mr. Fratelli, not a plane. These days everything gets X-rayed.”
    “Train?”
    “A better idea, but your shooters might be watching. Same with the bus station.”
    “Then how’m I going to get out of town?”
    “I don’t suppose you have a driver’s license?”
    “Not anymore.”
    Stone thought about it. “Do you know what a livery service is?”
    “No. Uniforms?”
    “Cars—black Lincolns, mostly, with drivers. They’re an expensive way to travel, but you can afford it.” Stone rummaged in his desk drawer, came up with a card, and handed it to Fratelli. “This is a big one, a chain. You don’t want to deal with a small, neighborhood outfit—no telling who owns it. What you do is, you pick a place you want to go, say Pittsburgh.”
    “Why Pittsburgh?”
    “It’s just an example. You call this service and tell them you want a car to drive you there. They’ll be happy to take cash. Then,after you’re under way, you change your mind and tell the driver you want to go somewhere else, like Boston or Washington, D.C. Anyplace with train service. When you get there, have him drive you to the station and take a train to anywhere you like, except back to New York.”
    “Okay, that makes sense.”
    “Something else.”
    “What else?”
    “You need a change in your clothing, to blend in better.”
    “What kind of clothing should I get?”
    “Go to Brooks Brothers. You know it?”
    “Yeah, it used to be on Madison.”
    “It still is. Buy a couple of suits, some shirts and ties, the works—a wardrobe. They sell luggage there, too. Buy a couple of pieces, insist that they fit your suits while you wait. Buy a new hat, and when you get a chance, grow some hair, maybe a mustache. Next time you get a haircut, don’t let the barber use electric clippers. You getting the picture?”
    “Yeah, I want to look like a regular businessman. But I don’t know where to go after that.”
    “Pick someplace nice, take a vacation, enjoy yourself.”
    “Maybe Florida,” Fratelli said, smiling a little.
    “Don’t tell me,” Stone said. “Another thing, on your way to Brooks Brothers, tell the cabdriver to find a Radio Shack.”
    “They still got those?”
    “They still got those. Buy something called a throwaway cell phone—you’ll find it useful, and don’t forget to recharge it every night when you go to bed.”
    “Who am I going to call?”
    “Use it to make hotel reservations on your trip. Another thing, when you open your bank account, ask them to give you something called a debit card. You can use it like a credit card, and they’ll take your charges out of your account.”
    “This is all very good advice, Mr. Barrington.”
    “Don’t mention it.” Stone picked up the phone and buzzed Joan. “Please hail a cab for Mr. Fratelli,” he said. “I don’t want him standing on the