This is episode nineteen of the novel, From Here To 1137.
Plummer and Howton At Granville's
Before Tom grabbed the door handle to Granville’s, he heard the sounds of laughter and rock music. He opened the door and walked in.
‘It sounds more crowded than it really is,’ he thought.
It wasn’t a weekend crowd, but definitely an after-work crowd. It was half full. It was clean; a turn of the 20th century bar and backbar. The rest of the exterior matched.
‘Brain, find Walter Plummer and Jason Howton for me.’
‘Third booth on your left.’
‘Thanks, Brain.’
Tom walked past a couple of tables and stopped at Plummer’s and Howton’s booth.
“Are you Plummer and Howton?” Tom asked.
A thin-faced man with oily black slick hair said, “Who wants to know?”
Brain interrupted, ‘That’s Howton.’
“I’m Edgar Bales’ brother, Tom.” Tom tossed the bags on the benches, one next to Howton and the other next to Plummer.
Behind Tom was an empty table. He grabbed a chair and set it in front of the booth, and he sat on it.
The waitress came.
Tom reached into his pocket and handed her a $20 bill. “We don’t want anything.”
She raised her eyebrows, smiled, and walked away.
“What’s this all about?” Plummer asked. He was a round smooth faced boyish looking man.
“You two are bottom-feeding blood suckers,” Tom said.
“Hey, Clem,” Plummer said sarcastically, “we can take this outside, if you want.”
“Believe me, pal,” Tom said, “you don’t want that.”
“Careful,” Howton said, “Jethro may have a whittlin’ knife.”
“What’s in the bags?” Plummer asked.
“Money,” Tom said. “$50,000 in each bag. It’s yours.”
“For what?” Howton asked.
“To get lost,” Tom said. “I know you don’t believe me. Before going further, look in the bags.”
They unzipped the bags and looked in. Their eyes widened. They took deep breaths as they looked at each other.
“Okay,” Howton said, “you have our attention.”
They relaxed.
“Believe me, my friend,” Plummer said, “that isn’t near enough. That might get me an upgrade in an apartment, and that’s about it. Jason and I live pretty well.”
“When I’m done here, I go and see Frankie Grasso,” Tom said. “I’m going to give him a large sum of money. He’ll be happy to receive it. Grasso will soon figure out that the money I gave him was his own, taken from his safe deposit box. I happen to know that box is a drop-off. He has a key. The bank has a key. And one of you has a key. He’s going to think one of you, more likely both, gave the money to me to pay off my brother’s debt.”
“It doesn’t make sense,” Plummer said.
“Crime doesn’t make sense, does it?” Tom said.
“How many times have you defended someone and said to yourself: ‘Why did they do that, it doesn’t make sense?’”
“What’s your point?” Howton asked.
“The point is, you have chosen to slip into bed with a criminal,” Tom said. “He knows guys who associate with him are criminals. They are willing to take risks. He’s going to figure you guys were willing to take a risk. Risk comes with rewards. Risk can come with disaster. No matter what you say, he won’t believe you. He will think you were taking a risk—a risk with his money. You know him and his type better than most. You take his money is like taking one of his family members. What do you think the response will be?”
“We’ll just take the money to him and tell him the truth,” Plummer said.
Tom grinned. “Did you hear that? Truth! How do you think he will process that information? Let me help you. These guys stole a hundred thousand, hoping to make a killing with it. He will probably think you guys could buy $100,000 in coke and triple or quadruple your money. The deal fell through, and all the money was lost. You begged, borrowed, stole, and scraped enough money together to pay him back.”
Howton and Plummer stared across the table at each other. They knew that’s what Frankie Grasso would think.
Howton sullenly looked at Tom. “How do we know that’s Grasso’s money? How could you possibly get a hold of it?”
“I’m going to give you some advice,” Tom said. “You can take it or not.”
“What is your advice?” Plummer said. “Assuming what you are telling us is true.”
“Fifty thousand isn’t a lot to you two,” Tom said. “I mean, it’s a lot, but not when compared to your potential.”
“Get to the point,” Howton demanded.
“Go home and pack,” Tom said. “Go to any ATM and clean out your accounts. Go to a bus station, train station, or airport. Go somewhere and start a new life under a new name. Because tonight, I’m going to meet with Frankie Grasso. I’m paying off Edgar’s debt. It will be paid off with the money I took from him. That means tomorrow, when he takes this cash to his safe deposit box, he’ll see money is missing; money, in his mind, that only one of you could have taken. He’ll feel as if somebody has taken advantage of him. And you know who that is.”
“None of that will happen,” Plummer said.
Tom stood. “Take the money and have a good time, or take the money and run.”
He turned slightly toward the door and stopped. “I almost forgot; how did I get the money from the safe deposit box? An alien intelligence source transported me inside the safety deposit box room and out again. And just so you believe I’ve been there, the box number is 247.”
Tom walked out of Granville’s and back to the alley.
“Brain,” Tom said, “Have you been tracking Frankie Grasso?”
“Yes,” Brain said.
“Where is he?”
“He’s at what the police call a mob bar in Brooklyn,” Brain said. “It appears he has been there for twenty-one minutes.”
“Is there a similar vacant alley close to the bar?”
“There’s one on the same block,” Brain said.
“Can you look around for hoodlums this time?” Tom said.
“You handled the situation admirably,” Brain said.
“Thanks,” Tom said.
“Are you ready for the transfer?” Brain asked.
“One more thing,” Tom said. “Can you Instaport the other bag of money?”
“Yes,” Brain said.
“Then, I’m ready.”
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