“What is it?” Darlene asked. She reached out and pulled Raymond’s hand away from his mouth.

Raymond quickly explained about the upcoming autopsy on Carlo Franconi and repeated Taylor Cabot’s threat to scrap the entire enterprise.

“But it’s finally making big money,” Darlene said. “He won’t scrap it.”

Raymond gave a short, mirthless laugh. “It isn’t big money to someone like Taylor Cabot and GenSys,” he said. “He’d scrap it for certain. Hell, it was difficult to talk him into it in the first place.”

“Then you have to tell them not to do the autopsy,” Darlene said.

Raymond stared at his companion. He knew she meant well, and he’d never been attracted to her for her brain power. So he resisted lashing out. But his reply was sarcastic: “You think I can just call up the medical examiner’s office and tell them not to do an autopsy on such a case? Give me a break!”

“But you know a lot of important people,” Darlene persisted. “Ask them to call.”

“Please, dear…” Raymond said condescendingly, but then he paused. He began to think that unwittingly Darlene had a point. An idea began to germinate.

“What about Dr. Levitz?” Darlene said. “He was Mr. Franconi’s doctor. Maybe he could help.”

“I was just thinking the same thing,” Raymond said. Dr. Daniel Levitz was a Park Avenue physician with a big office, high overhead, and a dwindling patient base, thanks to managed care. He’d been easy to recruit and had been one of the first doctors to join the venture. On top of that, he’d brought in many clients, some of them in the same business as Carlo Franconi.

Raymond stood up, extracted his wallet, and plopped three crisp one-hundred-dollar bills on the table. He knew that was more than enough for the tab and a generous tip. “Come on,” he said. “We’ve got to make a house call.”

“But I haven’t finished my entrée,” Darlene complained.

Raymond didn’t respond. Instead he whisked Darlene’s chair out from the table, forcing her to her feet. The more he thought about Dr. Levitz, the more he thought the man could be the savior. As the personal physician of a number of competing New York crime families, Levitz knew people who could do the impossible.

CHAPTER 1

March 4, 1997

7:25 A.M.

New York City

Jack Stapleton bent over and put more muscle into his pedaling as he sprinted the last block heading east along Thirtieth Street. About fifty yards from First Avenue he sat up and coasted no-hands before beginning to brake. The upcoming traffic light was not in his favor, and even Jack wasn’t crazy enough to sail out into the mix of cars, buses, and trucks racing uptown.

The weather had warmed considerably and the five inches of slush that had fallen two days previously was gone save for a few dirty piles between parked cars. Jack was pleased the roads were clear since he’d not been able to commute on his bike for several days. The bike was only three weeks old. It was a replacement for one that had been stolen a year previously.