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Oh. Bailey’s building.
“Sure, I leased subsurface rights from Corcoran. But I could care less about the other property. If you know so damn much about deeds and public records why the hell didn’t you just look up the owner and go spy on him?”
Pellam explained about the St. Augustus Foundation. “It’s fake. I thought you were the ultimate owner. That’s what I was looking for in your office. Some co
McKe
“The board members of the Foundation are fake. But the lawyer I’m working with said it’d take weeks to trace who really runs the place.”
McKe
“You can do better?”
“Hell, yes. I could do it in a couple hours. But why should I? What’s in it for me?”
That’s the most important thing for Mr. McKe
“Let’s do some horse-trading,” Pellam said coyly.
“Keep talking.”
“You’ve got leaks in your company, right?”
“I don’t know, do I?”
“Well, I knew all about your Jimmy Corcoran deal, didn’t I?”
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“You deliver,” Pellam said, “I’ll deliver.”
They rose in silence to the velvet heaven of high-rise New York.
On the seventy-first floor of McKe
The developer explained to Pavone about the arson and the St. Augustus Foundation. The adjutant too seemed impressed with this illicit use of nonprofit corporations.
Pellam said, “I think it’s Corcoran who’s behind the Foundation.”
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The developer said, “This’s way, way outa Corcoran’s league. He’s a putz. The phrase ‘small-time’ was invented for him.”
Pellam cocked his eyebrow. “Yeah? I heard he negotiated you under the table.”
“Oh, did you?”
“On the tu
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Word on the street.
Pellam said, “Is it true or not?”
The developer smiled. “Yeah, Corcoran gets a cut of the profits. But the way the contracts reads is that he gets one percent of the profit quote deriving from his property. That means he gets a piece of the action from any money I make from the tu
The developer added, “I’ll always be one step ahead of punks like Jimmy Corcoran. I was in an Irish gang in the Kitchen too, you know. The difference is, I graduated.”
“Not a great guy to have as an enemy,” Pellam pointed out. “Corcoran.”
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Pellam nodded. The Hell’s Kitchen gang that so fascinated Ettie’s grandfather.
“You know who finally broke their back?”
“Enlighten me,” Pellam said.
“Not the cops. Not the city. Lord knows the feds didn’t do shit. It was business that broke ’ em up. The New York Central Railroad. They hired Pinkerton and in six months the gang was history. If Corcoran hassles me, I’ll tell you, that little shit is going down hard.”
Pellam said, “Well, if it’s not him then who’s behind the Foundation?”
Pavone and McKe
McKe
There was some risk to the arsonist that the police or a fire marshal might find the applications. But in a city bureaucracy as unwieldy as New York’s, arson investigators would probably be content with checking only the ownership of record, foregoing deeper scrutiny. Especially if they had a suspect in custody.
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Pavone continued, “They’re going to put up a seven-story parking garage on the lot that burned and the two lots next to it.”
“Parking,” Pellam whispered. All this death and horror for a parking lot?
“So John Doe sets up the St. Augustus Foundation, buys the two vacant lots, torches the property on the third and builds his garage.”
“I want John Doe,” Pellam said. “How do we find him?”
“Who’d do Morrone’s steel work?” the developer asked Pavone.
“Bronx Superstructures, Gia
“No, no,” McKe
“You’re right, okay, okay. Probably it’d be Bedford Building and Foundation.”
“No.” McKe
“Then how about Hudson Steel? Yonkers.”
“Yes!” McKe
“Hi, Tony… Yeah, yeah.” McKe
McKe
Pellam said, “When I was over at the Tower a little while ago, taking that tour of your office?”