Bloody London by Reggie Nadelson Page B

penthouse six thousand square feet, twelve million, including a swimming pool and wrap terraces. Or something smaller?”
    â€œThe Middlemarch. Level with me,” I said and showed him my old badge; he impressed easy.
    â€œAll right, look, like we figured, the apartment in the
Times
ad was withdrawn after a few days. I don’t know who listed it.”
    â€œHow could that happen?”
    â€œSomeone at my office. It happens. We never even viewed it. Brokers get set up in this market. Extortion.Collusion. False advertising, and most of the time we play hardball.”
    â€œBut not with the Middlemarch.”
    â€œExactly.”
    â€œIt was a blind alley?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œLet’s walk and talk, Sal,” I said and we strolled down Sutton Place. On the left was the row of townhouses, private gardens leading on to the river. In front of me were a pair of blue and whites, cop cars parked outside the Middlemarch.
    I stopped and looked at the building. “What’s so great about it anyhow?”
    Castle took off his little glasses, tapped his nose with them. He craned his short neck. “Look at this street, the way it’s set apart from the city, the river, the light, the history. It has the most desirable buildings in the best zip code in the country. Like the great buildings on Fifth and Park. The rooms are big, ceilings are high, the walls are thick, the service is gracious and this one has the pool. The rules are very very tough. Sweet Jesus, my grandmother in Cuba, and she was the old school, old Spanish blood, old Spanish manners, but when it comes to rules, she could have been a hippie compared with these people. I can’t afford to offend this kind of people and they all know each other.” He saw the doorman watching us. It was Sweeney, the big Irish guy. Castle looked nervous. “Let’s go.”
    â€œWhat did you mean, you can’t afford to offend them? How’s that?”
    â€œI can put an apartment on the market, I can find abuyer, he has the money. Then he waits for an interview. Weeks. Months. The co-op board strings him along, then it rejects him. The deal’s off. Rejection’s the name of the game.” He laughed to himself. Not much humor in the noise he made.
    I pulled a pack of cigarettes out of my pocket and held it out, but Castle shook his head.
    â€œManhattan is a very small island,” he said. “It’s the world’s most expensive piece of turf now that Hong Kong’s finished, and Hong Kong only counted for the money. This is the club. Limited membership. People will kill to get a decent place.”
    â€œLiterally?”
    â€œThere’s nothing left. I can get a couple mill for a classic six ‘fixer upper’, as they call it, for which read an apartment that needs a ton of work on not the best street. In, you know, an area that’s adjacent.”
    â€œWhat about financial criteria?”
    â€œInsane. Some buildings require the full purchase price in cash and two to three times that much in liquid assets, plus five years’ maintenance, say half a mill, in escrow. The country house doesn’t count as assets.” He shook his head. “That help you?”
    A few Bloody Marys, and an early lunch at Billy’s on First Avenue, loosened Sal’s tongue even more. He ordered chopped steak. I watched him eat. I wasn’t hungry.
    â€œDo me a favor, Sal. Find out exactly which apartment it was.”
    â€œI already did. It was a couple of lousy maids’ rooms,a piece of crap on the top floor. I checked around. Madame Ulanova was there a long long time. She came over during the war, there was a tremendous housing squeeze and they cut up the old apartments. Rent control came in to ease the squeeze. After World War Two Thomas Pascoe began assembling shares. He put together the big ten- and twelve-room apartments, but Madame Ulanova, who inherited her shares from her husband,