Read Online The Feathery by Bill Flynn - Free Book Online Page B

cash at Scott. "Take it, it’s tax free."

The fast cash offer and pressure made Scott hesitate. He was becoming more suspicious as to the real value of the antiques."I need a day to think it over, Mr. Carrabba. He indicated the golf antiques spread out on the table. "I inherited them from a good friend, and I may want to keep some."

"You what?" Rocco came on strong. "Are you wasting our time?" He was now so close to Scott’s face that the next words came with breath tainted with garlic. "If you’re smart you’ll make the deal with Mr. Carrabba right now and not fuck around with anyone else."

Rocco started to move in closer to Scott before his boss stopped him with an outstretched arm and said, "okay, Rock, that’s enough. Sorry, Mr. Beckman, Rocco gets carried away when I don’t get what I want. You need a day? That’s okay. Call me tomorrow."

Carrabba handed Scott a card and headed for the door. Uncle Anthony kissed his nephew on both cheeks, and followed behind Carrabba. Rocco snatched the satchel from the table, scowled at Scott and left the apartment behind the others.

After a squeal of rubber accentuated an angry departure by Rocco at the wheel, Scott asked, "Hey, Claudio what’s with those guys?"

"Like I told you, Uncle Anthony has all kinds of connections. Had no clue before this that one of his friends would play hardball to get some golf antiques."

"Matt, you’re awful quiet. What’s your take?"

"I think I just lived through a scene from The Sopranos. What now, Scott?"

"I’m going to call this antique dealer I know who’s a member at El Camino. He doesn’t do golf stuff, but maybe he can steer me in the right direction to get an honest appraisal around here."

After he finished the call, Scott told them the results. "He recommended an auction gallery in New York City. Claudio, can I borrow your car tomorrow?"

"Sure, only you’ll have to clean out the trunk to fit in those antiques. It’s filled with my PGA tour survival kit."
     
     
     
     
    Later, Scott took a small piece of paper from his wallet. Written on it was Lizbeth Sweeney’s phone number. He made the call and connected with the lady he had met in Monterey. They set a time and place to meet in New York City.
     
     
     
     
    T he Covington Gallery security guard was an older man in uniform. The plaque on his desk was engraved with the name, LEM SHATTUCK . He was pleasant, but with a policeman’s authoritative manner. He stood up from his desk in the lobby to ask the nature of Scott’s business. Satisfied, he phoned Jason Gamby, the golf antique and memorabilia specialist for the gallery. While waiting for Gamby, Shattuck chatted with them. It turned out he was an avid golfer and a fan of the PGA.
     
    "When I retired from the NYPD, I was planning to move to Florida, play golf five days a week and watch all the PGA tournaments there," Shattuck said.
     
    Matt asked the obvious question. "What changed your plan?"
     
    "It turns out my honest cop retirement pension isn’t enough to cover buying or renting a condo and paying greens fees. So I’ll work here and save up enough to get down there eventually."

Scott said, "good luck in retirement Mr. Shattuck."

"And the same to you on tour, Scott." And he asked for Scott’s autograph on a cap that already held those of Ernie Els and Tiger Woods. Scott was flattered to scrawl his name in their company.

Gamby entered the lobby. He was a tall thin man with sharp, angular features. A perfectly trimmed white goatee didn’t match his long jet-black hair held back in a ponytail. Gamby looked over his small rimmed glasses at Scott and Matt as if he was making a human appraisal before he would do the same with the golf antiques. His polite greeting came at them with a British accent.

Scott told Jason about Carrabba’s offer, but Gamby didn’t comment on the $100,000 amount. Instead he took a cart from a storage room behind the guard’s desk. They helped him load the antiques onto it.