The Big Killing Read Online Free

me.” He was breathing hard and his curly hair fell over his forehead. He shook her hand energetically and winced. She looked down at his hand. His knuckles were raw and red.
    “You look terrible,” Wetzon said.
    “I know,” he said unhappily. “All I wanted to do was to get my life together and now I’m in over my head.”
    With alacrity, Martin arrived at their side. “The balcony?” the maître d’ asked, knowing Wetzon preferred this area for its privacy.
    “Yes,” Barry said, before Wetzon had a chance to answer.
    The Grill Room was really three separate areas. The bar area itself was cut off from the main Grill Room by large smoky Lucite panels. These “shields” were not more than five feet high, just enough to cut off the bar and its noisy sportmakers from the more conservative crowd who preferred the main Grill Room.
    At the back of the Grill Room was a wall of rosewood paneling, and on either side, a staircase of a dozen or so steps leading up to an open balcony with two long rows of tables overlooking the main room. The balcony had the best view of the entire area. From this location you could see anyone coming or going.
    Barry put his hand on her elbow as they climbed the stairs, an odd, almost quaint thing for him to do. The last man who had done that was a very courtly, older Broadway producer who had taken Wetzon to dinner several times and had wanted to make an arrangement with her. She smiled at the memory.
    They sat at one of these tables, Martin pulling out the chairs for them.
    “The usual?” Martin asked Wetzon, smiling at her with his eyes.
    “Yes,” she said.
    “What can I get for you?” he asked Barry.
    “A Bloody Mary,” Barry said, with a short laugh.
    Martin left them and with dispatch, a salmon-jacketed young man brought a small plate of salted nuts.
    Barry was always hyper, but Wetzon had never seen him so agitated. His hands were shaking as he reached for the nuts. And he was continually scanning the floor below, checking everyone who came or left the Grill Room. He winced when the salt of the nuts touched his cut lip.
    “What’s with the shades?” she asked lightly.
    “I had to see you,” Barry said, ignoring her question. “I need a favor.” He lifted the dark glasses and then lowered them quickly, giving her a fast look at a very bruised eye. She flinched.
    “Okay, I’m here. What’s the problem?”
    “It’s a long story.” He sighed, brushing his hair back nervously. “Oh, God, look at my hands,” he said. “I worked it all out—I had it made .” He sounded almost boastful. He banged the table with his fist, his voice rising defiantly. “I don’t know how he got on to me—”
    “Barry,” Wetzon said, trying to soothe, “just tell me what—”
    “Oh, shit,” Barry said, losing his bravura, holding his head in his hands. “You know, Jake runs pretty much on I.P.O.s,” he said.
    “I know, but that’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”
    “Yeah, I wanted to learn that end of the business, because I figured that’s where the big money was to be made over the next few years.”
    Barry always had a new theory about where and how to make the big money. First it was in the over-the-counter market, then takeover stocks, the success of which was often dependent on insider information. Now, it was I.P.O.s, Initial Public Offerings—new issues—which is what he had at Jake Donahue’s.
    “I really thought I had it made this time.” His laugh was bitter. “In this business you can never know too much, but for once, I think I do....”
    “Barry, will you tell me what this is all about?”
    “I’m dead,” he said. “I—”
    Their drinks arrived on a small brown tray with a salmon-colored napkin placed under each drink. Without waiting for the salmon jacket to leave, Barry took a great gulp of his drink.
    “Do you know what repos are?”
    “Something to do with government securities, but I’m not sure,” Wetzon replied. His agitation was making