Small Bytes

by Robert Germaux

  Or maybe not. Maybe I’d been looking at this from the wrong angle. Instead of asking where, perhaps I should be thinking who. To whom would Terry give something for safekeeping? How about somebody he figured hardly anyone else knew about?

  Dee-Dee.

  And I remembered that when I’d talked to her the week before, there had been just the slightest hesitation when I’d asked if Terry had mentioned anything about a partnership. Dee-Dee. Oh, yeah, I definitely would be seeing Dee-Dee again. And soon.

  After my run, I shaved and showered and called The Joker’s Wild. Jake answered the phone, and I identified myself.

  “Decided to take me up on that bouncer’s job?” he asked.

  “Not today,” I told him, “but I’ll keep you in mind. In my business, you never know when your revenue streams might dry up.”

  “So what can I do for you?”

  “I need to talk to Dee-Dee again for a minute. I assume she’s not in yet, so I was hoping you might be willing to give me her home phone number.”

  “Tell ya what,” he said. “How about I call Dee-Dee and give her your number instead?”

  Jake hadn’t lost his cop instincts.

  “Works for me, Jake. Thanks a lot. Give my best to Marko.”

  “Right,” he said, and hung up.

  Five minutes later, Dee-Dee called. I asked her if we could meet somewhere for a few minutes, and she suggested I drive over to her place, which was not too far from where she worked. I wanted to talk to Dee-Dee in person, and I preferred that it not be at the bar, since I didn’t want the possible distraction of another go-round with Marko, so I said her place would be fine, and she gave me directions.

  * * *

  Within an hour, I was pulling into the parking lot of her apartment complex. There were four buildings in all, each three stories high, each with an exterior stairwell. I’ve never liked that arrangement, especially anywhere where the winters tend to get harsh. If you’re not going to spring for elevators, then at least put the stairwells inside. On the other hand, as I looked around the complex on my way to Dee-Dee’s first floor apartment, it didn’t appear that the builder had adopted a spare-no-expense approach to any aspect of this project. The parking lot had several potholes, the wooden sidings of the buildings were in need of repair, and some paint would have helped here and there or, more to the point, everywhere.

  Like all the units, Dee-Dee’s apartment had a steel door of some indeterminate grayish-green color. She opened it when I knocked and invited me inside.

  I doubted if Dee-Dee could wear anything that didn’t carry with it at least the suggestion of sexuality. Today she had on a pair of designer jeans that were tighter than the corners of the bedsheets in a good hotel, four-inch heels, and a snug-fitting white blouse with the top three buttons undone. Her blonde hair cascaded down around her shoulders, framing a face on which the makeup had been expertly applied. More than just her physical appearance, though, there was an attitude there, something about the way she moved and spoke or even just stood still, that seemed to convey a sense of, what? . . . hardness, I guess. Dee-Dee had told me that her body was, in her words, the one thing she had to offer, and that message came across this morning. I was betting it came across all the time. She made no pretense of it being any other way.

  “You wake up looking like that, or what?” I asked her.

  She smiled and said, “I wish. Actually, I have a job interview in an hour, so I appreciate your being willing to drive out here so quick.”

  I tried to think about what sort of job she’d be applying for in that outfit, but gave it up after just a minute.

  “Oh,” she said, “by the way, Jake knows about the interview. I mean, I like working for him and all, but it’s not like he thinks I’m planning on spending the rest of my life at The Joker’s Wild.”

  “Don’t blame ya,” I told her.

  “Sit down,” she said. “Can I get you something?”

  “No, I’m fine,” I said, “and I won’t take much of your time. I just need to ask a couple of questions.”

  As I walked over and sat on the sofa, I glanced around the place. It was small, but nicer than I’d expected. It appeared to be a one-bedroom unit with a small kitchen off the living room. The furnishings were pleasant, and there was even some artwork on the walls. Dee-Dee noticed me looking around.

  “Not the fanciest place in the world, huh?” she asked. “But it’s cheap and convenient. I can get to work in less than ten minutes. I spend a lot of my money on clothes, but most of the rest I’m saving for a down payment on a nice condo or a little house.”

  I nodded.

  She sat down next to me and said, “So, Jeremy, what can I do for you?”

  “You said you last saw Terry just a few nights before he was killed, right?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “It was just two or three nights before. Why?”

  “Did Terry say anything to you about a disc?”

  She hesitated.

  “A disc? What kind of a disc?”

  The hesitation could have been because she was hiding something, or because she truly didn’t know exactly what I meant by disc. I wasn’t sure.

  “A computer disc,” I said.

  She frowned and said, “Un-uh, I don’t think so. Is the disc important or something?”

  “Probably not,” I told her. “It’s just something that came up a couple of days ago, and I thought you might have heard Terry mention it.”

  “Nope,” she said. “Sorry. I wish I could have been more help.”

  I stood up and said, “Well, good luck with the interview.”

  “Thanks,” she said, as we walked over to the door of her apartment. “So, I guess you really came out here just for the case, right?”

  “Huh?” I said. Then I got it. “Oh. I mean, well, yes, that’s why I came out.”

  She smiled and said, “You blush easily, don’t you, Jeremy?”

  “It’s a family trait,” I told her. “A curse that extends back through several generations of Barnes men.”

  This time, she laughed.

  “Well, if you ever decide you want to talk to me about something other than this investigation, you know where I live.”

  I assured her that I did, and made as graceful an exit as possible. Which, in my case, was not very.

  Driving back home, I thought about two things. First, did Dee-Dee know anything about the disc? I had a hunch she did, but there was no way to force her to tell me what she knew. Once I had more information about what was on the disc, maybe I’d take another run at her.

  The other thing I thought about was, first Sandra, then Dee-Dee. I could see this blushing problem wreaking havoc with my manly image.

  Chapter 36

  On Friday morning, while doing some abs exercises, I thought about what to wear to lunch with Elias. I used to work my midsection by doing sit-up after sit-up after sit-up, until I couldn’t do anymore, but I eventually reached the point where I could spend the better part of a day doing sit-ups if I wanted to, which I didn’t. Lately I’ve been taking advantage of the best thinking on the subject and doing very slow stomach crunches. It doesn’t take nearly as long to reach exhaustion, and the results seem to be just as good, if not better. Usually, I hold a lightweight dumbbell in each hand while doing the crunches, which speeds the exhaustion process along nicely.

  By the time I was finished, I’d decided on my luncheon ensemble. Single-breasted navy suit, dark blue shirt, burgundy tie, gold collar pin, highly-polished cordovan shoes. Elias would be proud of me.

  I thought about the fact that it would apparently be just Elias at lunch, not Elias and William. More and more, I figured that, although they were supposedly equal partners, Elias was the alpha male at Chaney and Cox. I wasn’t sure what the purpose of the lunch was, but I was betting that it would somehow involve my investigation of Terry Pendleton’s murder. More to the point, I was sure that Elias was going to do or say something designed to either solicit infor
mation from me or get me off the case.

  At exactly one o’clock, smartly attired, I presented myself at the door of the College Club, conveniently located in the heart of downtown Pittsburgh’s financial district, which is to say, near a bunch of lawyers’ offices. Actually, I’d had lunch at the place once before, when I’d done some work for a colleague of Simon’s. The colleague was a member and had invited me to lunch to celebrate the successful conclusion of the investigation. After lunch, we’d continued the celebration at her apartment. Thus, I must admit that I have nothing but fond memories of the College Club.

  Pittsburgh has a sizable number of Ivy League graduates, but not enough that any one of the institutions felt the need to open its own club, as is the case in many other cities. Sometime during the mid-fifties, however, several alumni of Harvard and Yale and Princeton got together to discuss the possibility of their purchasing a small, three-story office building and converting it into a facility at which graduates of all the Ivy League colleges could relax and dine in a congenial atmosphere free from the stress of overseeing the portfolios that, in many instances, they had acquired by having had the good sense to be born into wealthy families. Theoretically, anyone with a degree from one of the ivy-covered institutions can join the College Club, but you’d better also be fairly well-off, too, since the annual dues are substantial and, to the best of my knowledge, cannot be charged to your Discover Card.

  A short, slightly-built man in a tuxedo greeted me as I opened the door, and when I indicated that I was meeting Elias Chaney for lunch, the man said, “Oh, yes, Mr. Barnes, how nice to see you. Won’t you follow me, please?”

  Where I followed him was down the heavily-carpeted and wide hallway. I assumed we were going to the main dining room, off to the left, but we continued on past it. I glanced in as I went by, and I saw the mayor, several city council members, and at least one U.S. senator. At the end of the hall, we turned right and entered a small private dining room. When we went in, the man said, “Mr. Barnes, sir,” to Elias.

  “Thank you, Jameson,” Elias said, and Jameson left, closing the door behind him.

  “Thank you for coming, Mr. Barnes,” Elias said to me, standing and shaking my hand as he did. “Please sit down.”

  The room looked like the small library of an English estate. Dark-paneled walls, filled with shelves of books written by the likes of Shakespeare and Wordsworth and Dickens. Our table, the only one in the room, was set in a bay window that overlooked the sidewalk below. The tablecloth was fine linen, the china was edged in gold, and there were more eating utensils next to my plate than I generally use in a week.

  A waiter appeared from another door, this one in one of the room’s corners. He poured wine for each of us from a crystal decanter, while at the same time asking what we’d like for lunch. I didn’t see a menu anywhere, and for a moment, I wondered if the chef at the College Club would simply prepare whatever one ordered. Before I had a chance to test that hypothesis, though, Elias said, “Shall we try the squab? It’s superb.” I said, “Of course,” and the waiter, whose name was Emilio, then rattled off a variety of options to accompany our meals. After we’d made our decisions, Emilio disappeared, having never once taken a note on our choices. I wasn’t impressed, though, because I knew a waitress at a local Denny’s who could do the same thing. Let’s see if Emilio got everything right the way Brenda does.

  Taking a sip of his wine, Elias looked at me and said, “Anything new on that disc angle?”

  “No,” I told him. “Probably nothing there in the first place, but I had to check.”

  “You like to be thorough, don’t you?” he asked.

  “Beats being sloppy, I’ve always thought,” I said.

  “Good for you,” he said, and I swear for a minute, I thought he might reach over and pat the top of my head. “At Chaney and Cox, we admire thoroughness.”

  That didn’t seem to require a response, so I didn’t offer one.

  “In fact,” Elias continued, “William and I have taken note of how diligent you’ve been on this investigation. And that brings me to the reason for this little get-together. Let me get right to the point, Mr. Barnes. For some time now, Chaney and Cox has been considering hiring a full-time investigator, and we think you’re the right man for the job.”

  “I’m flattered, Elias,” I said, “but exactly what sort of work would I being doing for you?”

  “Oh, a number of things,” he said, and then our conversation was interrupted by Emilio, who brought our salads in, along with a variety of breads and rolls and a small bowl of olive oil for dipping.

  Once we’d begun eating the salads, I asked, “Could you be a bit more specific regarding the kind of work you would want me to do?”

  “Well,” said Elias, “we sometimes find it necessary to obtain background checks on people with whom we are contemplating entering into business deals, and, of course, it is imperative that those checks be done with absolute discretion. Also, some of our clients like to have all their legal business handled by one firm, which means we’re occasionally asked to involve ourselves in civil and, rarely, even criminal cases. A man of your experience and expertise would be invaluable in such situations.”

  “I see,” I told him. “I must say, Elias, this is both surprising and flattering. I’m not sure how to respond. Off the top of my head, though, one thing that comes to mind is what happens to my own firm?”

  “Naturally,” he said, “Chaney and Cox would require your services full-time. You would have to give up your current investigatory work. However, we would make it well worth your while. What say we start you with an annual retainer of seventy-five thousand dollars, plus end-of-year bonuses and other incentives that we can discuss later.”

  “That’s very generous,” I said. “Say, what about the Pendleton case? Would I have time to complete that before coming on board with you folks?”

  “I’m afraid we’d need you immediately, Mr. Barnes. I’m sure the police are quite capable of bringing that investigation to a successful conclusion.”

  Bingo!

  “Tell you what, Elias,” I said. “A decision as important as this one shouldn’t be made lightly. Could you give me some time to think it over, until, say, Monday?”

  He frowned for a second, to indicate that he failed to comprehend why anyone would need to “think over” the prospect of joining Chaney and Cox. Then he smiled and said, “Of course. You are right to want to take some time on this. But I really must insist on a reply by Monday at the latest. We have several projects already waiting for our new senior investigator, which, by the way, will be your title at the firm.”

  Will. Not would, but will. As far as Elias was concerned, this was a done deal.

  Emilio arrived with our entrees. The baby pigeon was, indeed, superb.

  The rest of the meal was passed in pleasant conversation about this and that. Nothing further was said about the job offer. Or the unfortunate murder of Terry Pendleton. Elias had made his point.

  It was all very civilized.

  After lunch, I went home and took a shower.

  A long one.

  Chapter 37

  I had a few errands to run on Saturday morning, and as I went about them, I did some more thinking about Elias’ offer. There were two ways I could go here, of course. Take the job and maybe get a chance to snoop around the firm, see what I could uncover. Or turn him down and see what they’d do next. And I was certain that they would take some kind of action, because I now knew something that didn’t surprise me at all. Somewhere at the bottom of this mess, there was money, and a lot of it, because if these bozos were willing to ante up seventy-five thousand just to get me off the trail, then the end of that trail had to have a whole lot of dollar signs. I had no idea yet what Chaney and Cox’s involvement was in Terry Pendleton’s murder, but I was convinced that there was some kind of connection between his death and his job. I’d told Elias I needed the weekend to make my decision, partly to keep him nervous a
nd partly to buy myself more time until I could get the disc to Irv. I already knew that I’d be calling Elias on Monday and saying thanks, but no thanks. Meanwhile, after taking care of my chores, I drove home and gave Angie a call. The phone rang several times, and I was just about to hang up when she came on, her voice sounding a little out of breath.

  “Hello,” she said.

  “Ang, it’s me.”

  “Hey, Jeremy. We just got in from soccer practice. I heard the phone as I was unlocking the door. What’s up?”

  “Just wanted to see if you’d heard anything from Tommy.”

  The doctors had told Angie and Simon that there would be no communication with Tommy for the first two weeks of his rehabilitation, which had begun exactly two weeks ago today.

  “He called last night, JB.”

  “How’d he sound?” I asked.

  “Different,” she said, “but not different bad, if you know what I mean. His voice was quieter than usual, but he seemed to be more focused than he’s been in a while.”

  “How’s he feel about the program?”

  “He said some days are harder than others, but he’s trying. He likes his counselor, and he said his group sessions can be brutal, but he knows they’re good for him. Oh, and he complained a little about the food, which the doctor had told us would be a good thing when it happened.”

  “He gonna stick it out?”

  “He says he is. He said he owes it to himself and us and the kids. He threw you in there, too, Jeremy. Said to be sure to say hello.”

  “Next time you talk to him, Ang, tell him I’m rooting for him, okay?”

  “Sure. Hey, meanwhile, big night tonight, huh?”

  “What?” I asked. “Oh, yeah, you must mean my visit to the Frick with Laura Fleming.”

  “Your visit to the Frick with Laura Fleming? Jeremy Barnes, you are so full of it. You make it sound like the two of you are visiting a sick aunt. You know you’re excited about tonight.”

  “Okay,” I said, “so maybe I’m looking forward to the evening. Nothing wrong with that, is there? By the way, did Laura, uh, say anything about the date?”