Deadline for Lenny Stern: A Michael Russo Mystery

by Peter Marabell

  I nodded. “And he’s a pretty nice guy.”

  “No, he’s not,” AJ said, “he’s crabby, single-minded and annoying when he’s on a story. But I’ve made peace with that. If I need a friend, I’ve got you.”

  She leaned in and kissed me.

  “I’m glad to hear that,” I said.

  AJ took a small chunk of cheese. “Have you told Lenny what he’s in for?”

  I laughed. “Tomorrow morning he’ll get the details from Henri and me.”

  “Lucky him,” AJ said, shaking her head. “He ain’t gonna like it.”

  “We’ll do the old soft-sell,” I said. “Tina Lawson will be there, too.”

  “You think she’s in danger?”

  “Don’t know, but only three people have seen the documents proving corruption.”

  “Who’s the third?”

  “Kate Hubbell,” I said, “Lenny’s editor at Gloucester Publishing.”

  “Are you and Henri doing your usual routine to protect them?”

  I picked up my wine glass. “I thought we came to your house this pleasant evening so you could rip my clothes off without getting kicked out of the City Park Grill?”

  “Any minute now,” she said, “answer my question.”

  “Yes, the usual routine. Henri got him home safely tonight, will cover him to work in the morning.” I sipped some wine. “That satisfy your curiosity?”

  She nodded, smiled and took my glass away.

  She swung her leg over and sat on my lap … facing me. “There.”

  She leaned in and kissed me, slowly running the tip of her tongue around the edge of my lips.

  “That felt good,” I said.

  “How about this,” she said, and pressed herself down on my lap, moving her hips … just enough.

  I smiled.

  She put her arms around my neck, and we kissed, slowly, lingering, our mouths open.

  AJ tilted her head back and smiled. I reached up, unbuttoned her blue shirt and pulled it back.

  “You forgot a camisole.”

  “Didn’t want to slow things down,” she said.

  “Nice,” I said, and gently kissed each nipple.

  “Ooh, time to move upstairs.”

  AJ climbed off my lap, picked up the glasses and went toward the kitchen. I followed and came up behind her at the kitchen counter. I put my arms around her and kissed the back of her neck. She freed herself just enough to turn around.

  We kissed again.

  “Upstairs,” she said.

  I opened my eyes and tried to move my legs, but it wasn’t working. Not sure why. I eased my head off the pillow. Oh, that’s why. AJ was pushed in close on top of the covers, and sound asleep.

  The sun came through the window blinds, slapping a ladder of light on the opposite wall.

  I tried moving again.

  “What time is it?” she said.

  I lifted my head up just enough to see the clock. “Six-thirty.”

  “I’m going to be late for work,” she said.

  “Move your legs,” I said, “I’ll make coffee.”

  “Okay.”

  I slid off the bed, found my clothes here and there, and headed for the kitchen.

  I drank coffee and watched a squirrel dance his way along the deck railing outside the kitchen window. The back of AJ’s house overlooked a ravine thick with elms, evergreens and a variety of critters.

  “How’s my favorite lover,” AJ said when she breezed into the kitchen. She was bundled up in a long white terrycloth robe, her black hair glistening from the shower. She poured a mug of coffee. “Want me to drop you at home?”

  “Thanks, I’d rather walk.” My apartment was downtown, a pleasant ten-minute walk through the neighborhood.

  “Okay. Call me later,” she said, and went back upstairs.

  I put my mug in the sink and left by the kitchen door. A wall of heat hit me the second I stepped outside. If the temperature dropped overnight, it wasn’t obvious at AJ’s house. The July sun hung well above the trees as I moved along Bay Street. It would be another splendid day for the legion of tourists who escaped to northern Michigan each summer for a week or two, hoping someday to “live the dream” and do it “up north.”

  A few people had other, more dangerous plans in mind.

  7

  It was almost nine by the time I got to the office, a three-block walk from my apartment. I cut through Roast & Toast, picked up a New York Times at McLean & Eakin, and went up the stairs.

  “Morning, boss,” Sandy said when I came in the door. “No messages, coffee’s hot.”

  “Thanks,” I said, “but on my way to Lenny’s office.”

  “The black blazer is a nice touch with the khakis. Aren’t you warm?”

  “Of course,” I said. “It’s July. Hear from Henri?”

  “Nope.”

  “Me, either. He probably tagged along when Lenny went to work this morning.”

  “That was a good idea,” Sandy said.

  “Text me if anything comes up.” I picked up my brief bag, left the jacket behind, and headed outside.

  It was still early, and most of the shops in the Gaslight District had yet to open for the day. Tourists were someplace else, sipping coffee. I walked through downtown over to State Street.

  Henri’s SUV was parked across the street from the Post Dispatch. The side window edged down as I walked up.

  “Morning,” he said.

  “Good morning. Is our man inside?”

  “He better be,” Henri said. “Told him to use the front door, in or out.”

  “Think he’ll listen?”

  Henri shrugged. “Guess we’ll find out.”

  “Shall we go?” I said.

  Henri eased himself out of the SUV and beeped the door locks.

  We entered the newspaper building and walked straight down the hall to the newsroom at the rear of the recent addition. The newsroom featured larger windows and a much higher ceiling than the original residential house. Gray metal desks covered in printouts and computer monitors lined the walls. A large, square table occupied the center of the room. Fluorescent lights sprayed a harsh, bright light over the entire space. The buzz of the lights mixed with the din of voices.

  Lenny’s desk was off to one side, away from the door. The noise of talking dropped off as the other reporters watched us approach Lenny. Rumors had no doubt spread around the newsroom long before we arrived.

  Lenny put down his phone when he saw us.

  “You’re late,” he said. “You were supposed to be here ten minutes ago.”

  I decided to let that go. Henri folded his arms across his chest at glared at Lenny.

  “Aren’t you hot in that jacket?” Lenny asked Henri.

  Before Henri could respond, I jumped in. “Is Tina Lawson here?”

  “Of course, she’s here,” he said. “I told you she’d be here. She’s here.”

  This wasn’t going well. Be interested to know why.

  “I don’t want to be here forever,” Lenny said. “Let’s get this over with.”

  With that, he sprung out of his chair and headed from the room. He looked back.

  “You going to stand there all day?” he said without breaking stride.

  We followed him. By the time we were through the newsroom door, Lenny was standing twenty feet down the hall in front of another room.

  “In here,” he said.

  It was a small square room, without windows. In the center stood a round, dark wood table and eight high-backed wooden chairs. Tina Lawson sat in one of them with a mug of coffee in front of her, both of her hands wrapped tightly around the mug like it might jump off the table. She had a blank look on her face, as if she were bored, or annoyed.

  I introduced Henri to
Tina. They shook hands as Lenny slammed the door. We took seats, but Lenny remained standing.

  “All right,” he said, “let’s hear it.”

  He folded his arms, daring us to so much as say one word.

  “The hell’s the matter with you?” I said. “You’ve been barking since we walked in …”

  “Damn,” Tina said. “I’m glad I’m not the only one. He’s …” she flung her arm in Lenny’s direction. “Been yelling at me since I got in this morning. Who knows why?”

  Lenny remained rigidly at attention.

  “Come on, Lenny,” I said. “Right now, talk to us.”

  “This is bullshit,” he said, “bullshit.”

  “Okay,” I said, “now that we’ve established that, the hell’s going on?”

  Lenny didn’t move, but he finally looked at me.

  “I don’t like being handled, Russo. Don’t want you telling me how to do my job, how to live my life. It’s bullshit.”

  I shook my head slowly. “Got a job to do, Lenny.”

  He leaned in just a bit — for emphasis, I guessed. He didn’t need it.

  “Not just the tour. Every day and night. All the time. Have I got that right?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, you got it right.”

  “It’s bullshit.”

  “You made that clear already,” I said, “doesn’t change a thing.”

  Lenny started to say something else, but stopped when Henri stood up. He came around the table and stood in front of Lenny, a few inches away.

  “A few minutes ago, you asked me if I was too hot,” Henri said, as he slowly unzipped his nylon jacket. He took it off and dropped in on a chair.

  Henri reached in his shoulder holster and pulled out a long-barreled .357. He held it tight, close to his body, pointed at the ceiling.

  “Jesus,” Tina said. “Holy shit.”

  “Listen to the woman, Lenny,” Henri said. “This is why we’re here.”

  Lenny grinned ever so slightly. “A little melodramatic, don’t you think?”

  Henri holstered the handgun. “Got your attention, didn’t it?”

  “Lenny,” I said, and he looked in my direction.

  “You’re a good reporter, you have a job to do. I respect that. We won’t stop you.”

  “But you won’t leave me alone either.”

  “One of us will always be with you,” I said. “Doesn’t mean we sit in on a meeting or get in your way during an interview. But we stay close, yeah, especially when you’re in the open.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “To and from work, a meeting, interview, anything like that. We get you to your destination, then do our best to stay out of the way.”

  Lenny unfolded his arms. Some of the edge was gone.

  “So, you’re not with me every minute?”

  “What I just said, Lenny. You’re in the open, we’re there. We …”

  Lenny raised his hands, palms out.

  “Got it,” he said. “I … . What else?”

  “You want to sit down now?” I said.

  Lenny nodded slowly and pulled out a chair.

  The tension eased, but it hadn’t left the table yet.

  “Sorry, Tina,” Lenny said. “I don’t care about these two, but I shouldn’t have growled at you.”

  Tina paused for a moment. “No, you shouldn’t have,” she said. “I don’t get paid enough put up with that. But I accept your apology.”

  “All right,” I said, “we’ve got some work to do.”

  Henri and I outlined our routine for covering Lenny. He listened better than I expected, considering how much he hated the idea.

  When we finished, I took the manila file out of my brief bag and put it on the table.

  “Now, about the death threats,” I said, pointing at the file. “I read the emails and transcripts of the texts.”

  “I told you I’ve been threatened before,” Lenny said.

  “Well, I haven’t,” Tina said. “This might be the daily grind for you guys, but I sell books. I got scared. Especially the voicemails. They …” She shook her head.

  I put my hand on the folder. “You read all of these?” I said to Tina.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “What was it about the voicemails that got to you?”

  “Hearing the words,” she said. “It was easier to keep a distance with the emails. Just words on a page. I read true crime for a living. But hearing a voice was something … I don’t know, more real I guess. It was so soft, almost quiet, measured. It was a lot creepier than a loud voice.”

  “You think Tina’s in danger, too?” Lenny said.

  I caught a glimpse of Tina’s face. She tensed up at Lenny’s question. It had occurred to her.

  “Not in the same way as you, Lenny,” I said. “She’s not the public face of the revealed corruption, like you are.”

  “Should I feel relieved?” Tina said.

  “Well,” I said, “since only you, Lenny and Kate Hubbell have actually seen the hard evidence …”

  “But only I know where the documents are,” Lenny said.

  “You think it might be a good idea to tell us,” Henri said, “just in case you get popped on the way home?”

  “Thought you weren’t going to let that happen,” Lenny said, and smiled for the first time this morning.

  “Guess I’m not relieved yet,” Tina said. “Have you talked with Kate about this?”

  I shook my head. “Haven’t met the woman.”

  “Want me to talk to her?” Tina said.

  I looked over at Henri. He shrugged.

  “You know her pretty well?”

  “Yeah, pretty well.”

  “Keep it simple,” I said, and outlined a few things Kate Hubbell needed to know before she arrived in Petoskey for the book tour. “Tell her stay alert, vary her commuting routine.”

  “Okay,” Tina said.

  “Once the tour starts,” I said, “you’ll be with Lenny most of the time, right?”

  “Like glue,” Tina said. “My job’s to run interference for him, when I’m not selling books.”

  “Back to the documents,” I said. “Your attorney has them, right? Where have you hidden them?”

  “In plain sight,” he said. “My attorney’s around the corner at Jagger-Stovall. Know the firm?”

  Before I could respond, the door opened and in walked Charles Bigelow. He didn’t look happy. Lot of that going around.

  8

  “Someone should have told me about this meeting,” Bigelow said. He was dressed in a well-fitted dark gray two-piece suit over a white shirt and solid yellow tie. His eyes were narrow and gloomy.

  “You weren’t invited,” I said.

  Bigelow straightened his frame. A power stance, no doubt.

  “If you meet with my author, I’m invited. Is that clear, Mr. Russo?”

  Be nice if this guy went back to Chicago, and soon.

  He did a subtle double-take in Henri’s direction.

  “And who might you be, sir?” Bigelow said to Henri. The “sir” came out as anything but respectful.

  “Henri LaCroix,” I said, “meet Charles Bigelow, from Gloucester Publishing Company.”

  “Morning,” Henri said.

  “What business do you have here?” Bigelow said.

  “The man keeps me alive,” Lenny said before Henri could respond. “He’s got a real big gun. Show it to him, Henri.” Lenny muffled a laugh. He’d slipped from grumpy to stand-up comic at the first sign of a straight man.

  “That will hardly be necessary,” Bigelow said, and pulled out a chair. “Would one of you care to fill me in?”

  Henri stared straight ahead, Tina looked at her half-empty coffee mug.

  I glanced at Lenny, wondering if
he wanted to chime in again. He shrugged.

  “We were discussing keeping your client alive,” I said.

  “He means me,” Lenny said, not quite smiling.

  “How do you propose to do that?” Bigelow said, ignoring Lenny.

  “Our job is to keep Lenny alive,” I said. “We’ll take care of it.”

  “Everything regarding my author and my book is my concern,” Bigelow said. “You would do well to remember that.”

  “Hard for them to forget,” Lenny said, but he wasn’t laughing.

  “Mr. Bigelow,” I said, “you know about publishing books, we know how to protect people. It’s what we do.” I thought that sounded pretty reasonable.

  “I am paying the bill for this,” he said, and waved his arm over the table so as not to miss any of us.

  “All right, it goes something like this,” I said. “If Lenny’s at home or at the office, particularly the office, he’s safe. If he’s anywhere else, one of us …” I pointed at myself, then at Henri, “ … will be with him all the time.”

  “All generalities, with nothing to tell me how you plan to responsibly protect him,” Bigelow said.

  “For god’s sake, Bigelow.” It was Lenny. “Give it a rest. Let the man do his job.”

  I reached over and put my hand on Lenny’s arm.

  “Look,” I said, “you could explain publishing books, marketing books. I’d get what you tell me, doesn’t mean I’d understand your business. We’ll keep Lenny safe because this is our business.” I gestured across the table. “And Tina, we’ll keep her safe, too.”

  “Tina?” Bigelow said, obviously caught off guard. “Is she …” he looked over at Tina. “Have you been threatened?”

  “No,” she said, “not like Lenny.”

  “But she’s here, and she’s with Lenny,” I said, “so we assume she’s in some level of danger because of that.”

  “You’ll watch her, too?”

  I nodded. “Of course.”

  “They think Kate might be in trouble, too, Charles,” Tina said.

  Bigelow’s eyes widened. His mouth opened, and he sat back in his chair.