Marked Man

by William Lashner

  He strode into the bar like a foreign potentate. There were heys and hurrahs, slapped backs and spilt beer. Teddy Pravitz was back in town. He bought them a round and then another, he flashed that smile, flashed a wad, he preened. There was something shaggy about him, something California, like the Philly had been burned out of him by the West Coast sun. You half expected he’d be surfing down Broad Street, what with the smile and the colorful hippie vest. He had come through a portal from another place entirely, a place with lights and banners, with a mystique he brought back with him. He was blinding.

  They slid together into a booth in the rear, the five of them, together again. And the four that had gotten stuck in the city of their birth, well, they had their questions, but he was short with his answers.

  Where you been, Teddy? Around. You married? Nah. Working? Hardly. Getting any? More than I can handle. You back for good? Just for a while. Any reason? Sure. Another round, Teddy, my man? On me. So come on, tell us. Why are you back?

  “Boys,” he said, finally, his eyes shining. “Boys, I’m back for one reason and one reason only. To give you all one last chance to save your lives, one last chance at redemption.”

  “FUNNY,” I SAID, “you guys don’t look redeemed.”

  “That’s the point,” said Joey. “Thirty years later we’re still here, busted like a fat lip, still trying to make it happen.”

  “But the painting was only a part of the haul taken from the Randolph Trust. There was plenty of other stuff taken, jewels and gold and even some cash. You guys must have done pretty damn well.”

  They didn’t answer, Little Joey and Big Ralph, instead they stared mournfully at their beer mugs. With a quick snatch, Joey downed the rest of his beer and emptied the pitcher into his mug and snatched that down, too.

  “What happened to it all?” I said.

  “We got some,” said Joey. “Our piece of the cash.”

  “And the rest?”

  “Disappeared,” said Ralph.

  “How?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “What we’re here to talk about now,” said Joey, “is making it back. Fish comes up to us. He knows we know Charlie from way back. He knows we might have some influence on him, being we are old friends and all of us were once thick as weasels.”

  “Who made the offer?” I said.

  “Does it matter?” said Ralph.

  “Yeah, it does.”

  “Fish wants it confidential. But the offer is enough to get us interested. And let me say it’s enough to get us a little pissed if it don’t come off like the fish, he says.”

  “A little pissed, huh?”

  “Yeah. So that’s the story. Tell Charlie we got ourselves a fish on the line and we all want a share of the eating. Tell him fair is fair. Tell him that the baseball bats are out.”

  “Is that a threat, Joey?” I said.

  “No, no, you got me all wrong,” said Joey. “I’m just like Charlie: nice. Aren’t I nice, Ralph?”

  “He’s nice.”

  “It’s just that we haven’t played ball in a while and we want to get us up another game. Like old times. You tell Charlie about the baseball bats, and he’ll understand.”

  “Okay, I got the message,” I said. “You hear again from your fish, you give me a call.” I handed each of them one of my cards. “Did you tell anyone else about the offer?”

  “Just a few interested parties.”

  “Like?”

  “Your father.”

  “Okay. From here on in, you keep him out of it. Anyone else?”

  “Charlie’s mom.”

  I closed my eyes, shook my head. “You guys are more stupid than you let on.”

  “We’re covering our bases here, Victor.”

  “More like you’re covering your graves. Now, before I do anything, I need to know this fish you have on the line is the real thing and not just blowing little bubbles out his butt.”

  “Oh, he’s the real thing,” said Joey.

  “How do you know?”

  “He gave us a taste. A clean pair of Bens to each of us just for talking.”

  “You mind if I take a look?”

  “Mine, unfortunately, are already gone. Expenses and such. I had a tab, you see.”

  “Oh, I bet you did. How about you, Ralph? You got any of those bills left?”

  Ralph reached into this pants pocket, pulled out a gold money clip with some sort of a medallion on it, drew out the wad, unfolded it.

  “Aw, man,” said Joey, “you been holding out on me. Didn’t I just ask you for a tenner?”

  “I didn’t say I didn’t have it,” said Ralph as he plucked from the wad two hundred-dollar bills.

  The bills he handed me were new and crisp, like they had been dealt from a thick stack fresh from the mint. I waved them below my nose, taking in the newly printed scent of the inks. And something else. I sniffed them again, more deeply this time. Something flowery, something precious. Son of a bitch.

  Lavender Hill.

  24

  “Victor Carl here.”

  “Hello, Victor. How pleasant to hear your sweet voice. You left a message on my cell?”

  “Lavender?”

  “’Tis I.”

  “Lav, dude, you’re killing me.”

  “Oh, Victor, let’s be clear about a few things. First of all, I am not and never have been a dude. Put the skateboard away and remember that you are on the far side of sixteen. As for the second part of your execrable sentence, the part about my killing you, rest assured it could be arranged.”

  “Not amusing.”

  “How gratifying, because it is not my goal in life to amuse you. Those we find amusing are not taken seriously, and let me caution you, Victor, I may twitter and chirp, but you need to take me, my offer, and my concerns, very seriously. There have been inquiries about my person in the city of my current residence. I find that quite distasteful.”

  “You didn’t think I’d check you out?”

  “I had hoped you’d show a bit more discretion. But it was almost as if your man doing the inquiries wanted word to get out that I was being looked at. Victor, there is an element of public humiliation in such an inquiry that sets my teeth to grinding. Tell your investigator to cut it out, boy, or I’ll find something else to cut.”

  “You know, Lav, you’re a lot less genial over the phone.”

  “I am not happy with you, and it is too much of strain to be genial when one is not happy. Bad for the skin.”

  “Well, color me unhappy, too, Lav, dude. Because I met up with Joey and Ralph today. Remember them? The two old guys you collared one night and gave a couple hundred each, in hard cash that smells suspiciously of your precious scent?”

  “How impolitic of them to show you the bills, and how clever of you to notice. I suppose I’ll have to do something about that.”

  “The two old men left me with the impression that you were trying to bypass my client and buy the painting from them.”

  “What did you expect, Victor? I’ve been pining for you, and yet there was no word, no message, nothing. I have been feeling ever so unrequited.”

  “I haven’t been able to talk to my client since our meeting. He’s on the run, he’s not easily accessible.”

  “Try harder.”

  “You’re making everything more difficult.”

  “Making life harder on lawyers is nothing I trouble myself about. As for your client, I’m merely giving him options. He can decide to take the money himself or to share it with his friends. And if those old comrades put pressure on him to make the right decision, so much the better.”

  “What you’ve done is made it more difficult for him to return the painting to the museum.”

  “Exactly, dear boy.”

  “Making you the more attractive landing place for Mr. Rembrandt.”

  “Yes, yes, you have seen through me like a ghost.”

  “You negotiate like a shark.”

  “I negotiate like a
hyena, Victor, with a modicum of hilarity. But I close like a shark.”

  “I bet you do, Lav. How did you find those guys anyway?”

  “Are you underestimating me, Victor? I hope so. It makes everything easier. Now, be advised that I have many virtues, a certain compassion for small animals and a talent for the rumba among them, but patience, I’m afraid, is not included. I am not a patient man, and neither is the man I represent. Move quickly, Victor, or I’ll be forced to move myself.”

  “To Cleveland?”

  “No, to Plan B.”

  “What’s Plan B?”

  “Staggeringly unpleasant.”

  “VICTOR CARL HERE.”

  “Hi, Victor, it’s me.”

  “You?”

  “Yes, me. And I was just sitting here thinking about you.”

  “About me?”

  “Of course you, silly, and I thought I’d give you a call.”

  “That’s nice, I suppose.”

  “So how are you doing?”

  “Fine, I guess.”

  “Did you see the game? The Phillies lost today. I’m always a little depressed when the Phils lose.”

  “I don’t think they make enough Prozac.”

  “I used to date a Phillie. A middle reliever.”

  “With the state of the bullpen the last couple of years, that must have been hard.”

  “God, yes. Every time he blew a lead, I’d hear about it from everyone at the club. ‘Yo, your boyfriend sucks.’ Like it was my fault his slider didn’t slide. But then they traded him to Seattle, so that was that.”

  “Too bad.”

  “Well, he really wasn’t very good. On the other hand, he signed a two-year, $4.7 million contract, so he had that going for him.”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Mon.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Monica. Monica Adair. Remember?”

  “Oh, yes, of course. Monica. Yes. Right. Monica. From Lola’s whatever. The one with the missing sister. Okay, now I get it. How’s it going?”

  “Well, the Phils lost.”

  “And why did you call?”

  “Most guys, when they take me out on a date and it goes well, the next night they show up at the club. At least to get another look. So I expected to see you sometime soon, but you haven’t been back.”

  “We didn’t have a date, Monica.”

  “We ate together.”

  “You did most of the eating.”

  “At a restaurant.”

  “A diner.”

  “And you paid.”

  “I was being mannerly.”

  “That wasn’t a date?”

  “No.”

  “Wow. I kind of missed those signals, didn’t I?”

  “Sorry about that. We were just discussing your sister. You seemed to want to talk about her, so I agreed to listen.”

  “You brought her up.”

  “No, just the name. It was obvious pretty early on that we were talking about two different people. The Chantal Adair I’m looking for is not your sister.”

  “You sure?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Why are you looking for her anyway? You never told me.”

  “It’s not important.”

  “You want to keep it private, I understand.”

  “It’s no big deal. But, Monica, really, though it’s nice to talk to you and all, I have to go.”

  “Is your girlfriend calling for you?”

  “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

  “So you’re married?”

  “No.”

  “Oh.” Pause. “I see. It’s like that, is it?”

  “Like what?”

  “You don’t date strippers.”

  “Well, I haven’t as of yet.”

  “Don’t worry, we get that a lot. You’d be surprised how many men go to the club to let us rub their bald little heads with our breasts but wouldn’t think of dating one of us.”

  “I’m not one of those guys.”

  “Like you’d have no problem taking a stripper home to Mommy.”

  “With my mother, actually, no. Pump enough vodka into her and she’d join you on the pole. But that’s not what I meant. I meant I don’t go to those kinds of clubs.”

  “But you went to Club Lola that night.”

  “To see you, to ask about the name, that’s all.”

  “Why again did you ask about the name?”

  “Really, Monica, I have to go.”

  “So you don’t want to have drinks one night?”

  “No, not really.”

  “Men always say they want a woman who is willing to take the initiative, but then when we do, they think we’re pushy and desperate. Do you think I’m pushy and desperate?”

  “Not desperate, no.”

  “Then what is it? Are my breasts too small?”

  “God, no.”

  “You don’t like brunettes?”

  “I like brunettes fine. Listen, Monica, this is too odd for words. I’m about to self-immolate from awkwardness. Really, I have to go.”

  “Then just tell me.”

  “Your breasts are fine. Better than fine.”

  “No. Tell me why you’re looking for Chantal.”

  “If I tell you, will you hang up and not call again?”

  “I promise.”

  “Okay. It’s weird and embarrassing. One night, not too long ago, I must have gotten so drunk that I don’t remember anything about what happened. But when I woke up, I had a tattoo on my chest. And on the tattoo was a name.”

  “What name, Victor?”

  “Chantal Adair. I don’t know how it got there, or why, but I was just trying to find her.”

  “That is weird.”

  “And with the juxtaposition of your stage name and last name, we thought you might be a possibility. But seeing as you’ve never seen me before and I never saw you before, then it’s pretty certain that my tattoo has absolutely nothing to do with you or your sister who went missing decades ago.”

  “No, it doesn’t. Unless…”

  “Thanks for calling, Monica, but I’m going to hang up now.”

  “Hey, Victor, can I ask one more thing?”

  “No.”

  “Do you want to meet my parents?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “They’d really like you. I’m going to set it up. I’ll let you know when.”

  “Monica, don’t.”

  “Bye-bye.”

  “Monica? Are you there? Monica? Monica? Crap.”

  “VICTOR CARL HERE.”

  “Hi, Victor, it’s me.”

  “Beth, hi. Gad, it’s been a bad night. The phone is ringing off the hook, and every call is worse than the last.”

  “And here I am, right on cue. What’s going on?”

  “Just stuff. The Kalakos case is getting a bit hairy. Still, I must say it’s nice for once having a case without any dead bodies floating around, you know what I mean?”

  “Yes, I do. This whole murder business you fell into is creepy. Not what I signed up for in law school.”

  “Theresa Wellman is what you signed up for, I suppose.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Did she recover from the ordeal of my direct examination?”

  “Quite well, actually. And the part after the break, when you had her discuss her treatment and her new job and the new house her parents bought for her, that was fabulous.”

  “See, Beth, we work well together.”

  “We do, but that’s never been the problem, has it? Are you busy tomorrow at about noon?”

  “Not especially.”

  “Can you meet me?”

  “At the office?”

  “No, someplace else.”

  “What’s up?”

  “I’ve been doing some thinking.”

  “Oh, Beth, don’t.”

  “About my life.”

  “G
ad, Beth, whatever you do, don’t do that. Wouldn’t you just rather change the channel and see what else is on?”

  “I’m taking stock, Victor.”

  “Why am I suddenly terrified? This whole thinking thing, Beth, can only lead to disaster.”

  “So we’ll leave together from the office, say eleven-thirty, is that okay?”

  “You never said where we are going?”

  “I know. See you tomorrow.”

  “VICTOR CARL HERE.”

  “Carl, you slimy son of a bitch. You busy?”

  “Busy enough.”

  “Too busy to take a drive out to meet me?”

  “I guess it depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On who the hell you are.”

  “You don’t recognize the voice?”

  “Oh, it’s a game, is it? Let me guess. You sound like some sort of rutting rhino. Is it Barry White?”

  “Close enough. It’s McDeiss.”

  “That McDeiss?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Crap.”

  25

  There are hosts of people you don’t want to hear from late on a Sunday night. Your oncologist, maybe, or the girl you had sex with six months ago and haven’t called back since, definitely, or the highway patrol, or the marines, or your mother…well, my mother. But a homicide detective might just be tops on the list.

  Detective McDeiss of the Philadelphia Police Department Homicide Unit had directed me to a street on the south edge of the Great Northeast, not far from the Tacony-Palmyra Bridge and just a few blocks east of the Kalakos house. The location itself offered a clue as to what it was all about, which was more than McDeiss had given me. McDeiss was a big man with a small capacity for trust when it came to me, which made some sense, since his job was to bang away my clients and my job was to frustrate him at every turn. He hadn’t given me any details, just the address, but once I found the street, it wasn’t hard to pick out the right house, what with the crowd, the cops, the flashing lights and yellow tape, the satellite trucks parked with the reporters waiting for their close-ups. I was surprised they weren’t selling T-shirts.

  I parked two blocks down the street from the carnival. I had slipped on a suit—nothing more faceless than a guy in a plain blue suit—and slowly made my way toward the center of all the activity, a nondescript brick row house with an open cement porch and a small plot of scraggly grass. In front of the house, I spotted the coroner’s van, the back doors open, something dark and shapeless on a gurney inside. As I approached, the doors slammed shut. I let out a sigh of relief as the van drove off. I’d been to enough crime scenes by now to know that my stomach much prefers I show up after the corpse is taken away to the morgue.