“Already put aside my best steak for you.”
“Appreciate it.”
Jojo took out a steak from his prep drawer and threw it on the grill, dumped a handful of freshly cut fries into the basket, and dropped it into the fryer. Wiping his forehead with a towel, he returned his attention to Coluzzi. “Find your Russians?”
“Dead end.”
“Want to tell me what it’s about?”
“Actually, I have a question for you.”
“Yeah, what?”
“Still have your season tickets?”
“Thirty years running.”
“You ever see Alexei Ren?”
“Now and then. He likes to stand on the sidelines with his players.”
While the public knew Alexei Ren as a glamorous businessman who attended fashion shows in Paris and threw lavish parties at his home in Saint-Tropez, as well as the owner of the Olympique de Marseille football club, Coluzzi was privy to a darker truth. At one time Alexei Ren had been the king of the Russian mafiya in the South of France.
“You two friends?”
“Me? I know him. He used to come in not long after he got out of the gulag in Siberia and was setting up shop. He was a different man then. Absolutely ruthless. On a mission to get back the years he’d lost. The girls were scared of him. He couldn’t get enough.”
“You ever work together?”
Jojo flipped the steak, flames shooting from the grill. “That’s right,” he said, testing the meat with his fork. “You wouldn’t know. That was about the time you were doing your stretch for that armored car job.”
“Know what?”
“We had a sweet deal running that summer. I had some boys working legit jobs at the spots up and down the Riviera. Sporting Club in Monaco. Hôtel du Cap. Byblos in Saint-Tropez. Moulin de Mougins. Only the best places. The kids were locals. They knew everyone, especially the movers and shakers. When they spotted one of the high and mighty coming into their establishment, they’d give me a call. I’d pass the word to Ren, shoot him their home address, and leave the rest to him. He had a slick crew. Very talented. Get in. Get out. Fast. Fast. Fast. They could smell jewels through three feet of concrete.” Jojo rubbed his fingertips together, grinning at the memory. “Rich pickings, my friend.”
“I never read about it.”
“Of course you didn’t. People that rich don’t want their names in the paper. They keep it all hush-hush. The insurance guys talk to the police. The police do a little looking. No one wants to give other thieves the idea there might be more. That was the summer I bought my boat. Good times.”
Jojo plated the steak, cleared the basket from the fryer, and dumped the contents into a bowl, dusting the fries with a pinch of salt from on high. After a few crisp shakes, he spilled the golden fries onto the plate and slid it in front of Coluzzi. “Hey,” he said in warning as Tino drew it nearer. Jojo spooned a dollop of garlic butter onto the steak, then gave his blessing. “Bon app.”
Coluzzi took his time eating, careful not to betray his interest in Alexei Ren. He asked for more fries, dousing them with the melted garlic butter and warm juices. “You know how to cook, Jojo.”
“Hope it’s not overdone.”
“Perfect.” Coluzzi put down his knife and fork, then wiped his mouth. “Why didn’t you keep working with Ren? I’d like to be in on a gig like that.”
“He cleaned up his act. He’s smarter than guys like us. He took that money and invested it. Pretty soon he bought that big computer company and he was off to the races. Now he’s like a superhero. Big family. Lots of kids. Setting up foundations for the poor.” Jojo laughed caustically. “Like everyone forgot what he looked like without his shirt.”
“What do you mean?”
“The tats. He was vor v zakone. A criminal for life. He didn’t come to France because he wanted to. He was kicked out.”
“That right?”
“Hoods like that have their personal history tattooed on every inch of their bodies. He came out on my boat once. It’s something you’ll never forget. Anyway, that’s why you never see him without a long-sleeved shirt and high collar. He doesn’t want anyone remembering.”
“I thought he was just being careful not to take too much sun.”
