“You mean instinctual?”
“Yeah. Instinctual. Isn’t that what I said?”
Gennaro rubbed his forehead. Maybe Baker was as intellectually challenged as Snapper and Jimmy. “How did his driver know you were there?”
Baker shrugged. “Hell, if I know.”
“If you ask me, he probably thought Barrington was taking too long?” Toomey said.
Gennaro nodded. That was sound reasoning. He should have called Toomey first and made him the one in charge.
Gennaro handed Baker back his phone. “Send me that picture.”
“No problem,” Baker said.
He tapped his screen a few times, then Gennaro’s cell vibrated with the arrival of the photo.
Gennaro stood. “I have stuff to do. When you finish your beer, let yourselves out.”
Toomey motioned to the bag of peas. “Do you mind if I take this with me?”
“You think I’d want to keep them after where they’ve been?”
Toomey snickered. “I guess not.”
Gennaro shook his head and went to his office, without another word. At his desk, he took another look at Barrington’s calendar entry, then called a PI buddy.
“Hey, Benny, it’s Ricky Gennaro.”
“Ricky G. How ya doing?”
“Some days are better than others.”
“Same, my friend. Same. What can I do for you?”
“I need a background check.”
“You’ve come to the right guy. Who am I looking into?”
“You remember Johnny Fratelli?”
“Fratelli?…Oh yeah, man. Isn’t he in Sing Sing?”
“Wasin Sing Sing. He was released several years ago, then fell off the grid.”
“Are you asking me to find him?”
“I think I know where he is already. What I need you to figure out is if I’m right.” Gennaro told him about his suspicions about Coulter being Fratelli.
“You can count on me getting to the bottom of it,” Benny said.
“One thing, though. And it’s important.”
“Shoot.”
“No one—and I meanno one—can know what you’re doing. That girlfriend of yours, your mom, your boys down at the bar, none of them.”
“Not a word to anyone. I swear to you.”
