Clutching at Straws

by J. L. Abramo

  “And why would he even talk with us?” I asked.

  “Because he thinks he owes us one, for helping his brother Tony locate the rat who put him in the joint.”

  “What ever happened to Frank Slater?” Darlene asked.

  “You don’t want to know,” said Joey. “Look, Jake. It’s not going to hurt to talk to Carlucci. We have nothing to lose. Or I could go home and mow the lawn and you can wait here for the next chump who walks in suspecting that his wife is screwing the guy who mows his lawn.”

  “Or better yet,” said Darlene, never missing a chance to drive a point home, “you can go find out if Freddie Cash kidnapped himself.”

  “What’s that about Freddie Cash?” asked Vinnie Strings, bopping into the office.

  “You just wake up, Vin?” I said.

  “No, Jake. I was out at Bay Meadows trying to get my mind off what happened to Vic Vigoda. I heard that the fish ate his eyeballs,” said Vinnie. “What kind of sandwich is that Darlene?”

  “Does it really matter now?” said Darlene, pushing it aside.

  “I think I’ll get going,” said Joey. “I’ve got a nice piece of salmon in the refrigerator to reconsider. Call me if you want to go out to Quentin tomorrow, Jake.”

  “Who won the ballgame?” asked Vinnie after Joey left. “What’s at San Quentin?”

  “Vinnie do you have any idea how annoying it is when you persist in asking more than one question at a time?” Darlene ranted. “How did you do at the track today, Vin? Is that a new shirt? What are you doing for dinner? Have you seen the new Robert DeNiro movie?”

  “All right, Darlene,” I said. “You made your point.”

  “Only time will tell.”

  “So I guess I need a new assignment,” Vinnie said. “What can I do? What are you doing for dinner, Jake?”

  “That didn’t take long,” said Darlene.

  “I think I’ll go home, pop something frozen into the oven, and read about Edmond Dantes,” I said. “Check back with me tomorrow, Vinnie, and I’ll find something that you can do to help.”

  Darlene looked at me like I was insane.

  “You got it. What were you saying about that Cash kid who was kidnapped?”

  “It’s not important, Vin.”

  “Okay. I just thought it was funny you mentioned him, since I saw him walk out of the poker game the night I was watching for Vic Vigoda at Fort Mason.”

  I wasn’t sure that funny was the right word for it.

  “You don’t say,” I said.

  “He just said it,” said Darlene.

  “It’s a figure of speech, Darlene.”

  “So I’m told, but what does it mean?”

  “Maybe talking with Freddie isn’t such a bad idea,” I said. I was hoping that Darlene would quit it.

  “You’ll find him at Club NV at around ten tonight,” said Darlene. “Don’t you have some of Jimmy Pigeon’s old polyester shirts and his disco boots?”

  “Give me a break, Darlene.”

  “Can I go with you, Jake?” asked Vinnie Strings.

  “I’m not sure I’m up to it, Vin. I’ll think about it over a Swanson’s Hungry Man and Alexandre Dumas. If I decide to break out the bell-bottoms, I’ll give you a call.”

  Yeah, sure.

  Ten minutes later we all left the office and went our separate ways.

  My separate way pulled me up short in front of Molinari’s. I was hungry, in spite of Vinnie’s allusion to McCovey Cove fish food, and the business about frozen TV dinners was a ruse. I had decided I would try to catch Freddie Cash at Club NV, and conveniently forget to call Strings. I thought that a wedge of eggplant parmigiana might put me in better shape to deal with Donna Summers’s greatest hits. A single moment’s hesitation in front of Molinari’s door was all it took to be spotted.

  “Diamond, you’re a detective, maybe you can explain this.” Tony Carlucci strutted up to my side wearing his celluloid smile. Tony thought that just because he was five foot six and Italian American he looked like Al Pacino.

  I remembered that Joey wanted to take me to San Quentin to chat with Tony’s brother John, so I tried to grin and bear it. “How’s your mother, Tony?”

  “Great. She keeps asking when you’re going to drop in for dinner. She’s worried that you don’t eat.”

  I was losing my appetite rapidly.

  “Soon,” I said, closing my eyes quickly and wishing that I would disappear.

  “You’re a detective, maybe you could explain this.”

  The conversation had gone full circle.

  “Okay, Tony, I’ll bite.”

  “Why was Judge Chancellor trying to get in touch with me just before he bought the farm?”

  “Was he?”

  “The very afternoon. I was at the track. Mom said that Andy called from his cabin, asking for me.”

  “Andy?”

  “Me and His Honor went back some, but that’s another story. Anyway, I tried to call him at his place up the coast, but he was gone, probably on his way back down here. I called him at home later in the evening and some dick answered the phone. Needless to say I didn’t identify myself.”

  “Why are you telling me this, Tony?”

  “I heard you were interested.”

  “From who?”

  “My bartender said that Vinnie Strings was around, asking about Vic Vigoda. I put two and two together.”

  I didn’t think that Tony could count that high.

  “So what do you think Chancellor wanted?”

  “There you go, Diamond, get past the rhetoric and right down to the investigating. Thing is, I’m not sure,” said Carlucci. “The last time I spoke with the judge, a week ago in case it’s relevant, he indicated that he needed some research done and thought I could help.”

  “But you never got to the details.”

  “Bingo. The judge never got around to it.”

  “Why are you telling me this, Tony?”

  I was repeating myself.

  “I don’t like what happened to Vic Vigoda.”

  “And what makes you think that what happened to Vigoda had anything to do with what happened to Chancellor?”

  “Because you do, Diamond, and you’re the best.”

  I was beginning to feel nauseous.

  “I’m flattered, Tony,” I said. “Is that it?”

  “You talked with Lefty Wright. He told you that Vic turned him on to the score at Chancellor’s place. I can verify that for what it’s worth, though it seems that the police don’t give a shit. Vic was throwing money around that night, feeling pretty good. Then the word came down that the judge was zapped and Vic turned white. I’m no Marlowe, but I’d bet the restaurant that Vigoda didn’t know that part of the deal. Vic was a mixed-up kid, and for enough dough he would have sent his mother in there without asking too many questions, but he would have drawn the line if he suspected that he was setting Lefty up for a murder rap. Of course, that’s just my opinion. I could be wrong.”

  “And that’s it?”

  “In a nutshell.”

  “Any reason to believe that your brother John knows anything more about it?”

  “Sounds like an idea Joey Russo might come up with.”

  “Anything to it?”

  “Well, Joey knows what I’ll humbly admit, that my brother John knows more about everything than I do. And Joey also knows that if Chancellor wanted me to do something for him, he’d have to get John’s okay first.”

  “Well,” I said. It was the best I could come up with.

  “Don’t worry about thanking me, Diamond. I’m just trying to be a good citizen.”

  I considered asking Tony Carlucci if he was attempting to endear me to him, but the thought was too scary.

  “Tell your mom I’ll be in soon.”

  “You wouldn’t want to make a liar out of me in front of my mother, Jake.”

  “Don’t say anything. I’ll surprise her.”

  “Can I buy you a slab of eggplant?” Tony sa
id, nodding toward the deli door.

  Standing on Columbus Avenue with a psychic mobster, disco night at Club NV was looking better every minute.

  “No thanks, Tony. I’ll see you around.”

  “Only if I see you first, right Diamond? It’s all right, don’t say a thing. I’m used to it. I’ve been misunderstood all my life.”

  With that, he turned on his heel and did his best Jimmy Caan gait back toward his restaurant. I watched him cross Green Street and I ducked into Molinari’s. Luckily, Angelo’s son was at the counter and he wasn’t a blabber. I opted for a veal parmigiana hero and a six-pack of Sam Adams.

  I headed back to my apartment, washed down the sandwich with a couple of beers, and decided I would run over to Club NV at nine-thirty, try to catch Freddie Cash before he went in.

  I was outside the club at half past nine, watching out for Freddie Cash. I knew that I wouldn’t have any trouble recognizing him. I had seen his picture in the Examiner after the kidnapping and he looked so much like his old man the two could have done an Ivory dish-soap commercial.

  At nine fifty, I caught sight of Cash moving in my direction, alone. There were a number of ways to go. I went with blunt. “Freddie,” I said, as he came up to the entrance.

  “Yes?”

  “Your father wants to know if you kidnapped yourself.”

  I’ve learned quite a bit about reading a person’s reactions in my years in the PI business.

  It didn’t do me much good with Freddie Cash.

  “Would you mind coming inside with me, Mr…”

  “Diamond, Jake Diamond.”

  “Mr. Diamond, I’d like to show you something. I’d prefer it not be out here on the street.”

  “I don’t know if I could handle the tunes,” I said.

  “Don’t worry, we can avoid the dance club. There’s a private get-together in one of the events rooms. We can talk there.”

  “After you,” I said, and followed him into the building.

  A few minutes later we stood alone in a small side room off the main party area. The larger space, set up with a bar and tables of cocktail foods, was quickly filling with attractive men and women moving around rubbing elbows.

  “Mr. Diamond,” Freddie said, closing the door that adjoined the two rooms, “I can’t tell you how sorry I am to hear that my father suspects me. I’m quite speechless.”

  “I think it’s more worry than suspicion, Mr. Cash. Give me something that I can use to ease his troubled mind and we can wrap this up before the miniature quiches get cold.”

  When he reached down to untie his shoelace I nearly forgot what the hell I was doing there. When he removed the shoe and then the sock from his left foot I almost bolted. When I noticed that the little toe was missing, it brought to mind the plate of popcorn shrimp I had noticed on my way in.

  “I didn’t want my father to have to see this,” he said. Thoughtful kid. The privilege was all mine.

  “Your kidnappers did that?”

  “They were going to send it to my father. I told them that it really wouldn’t be necessary, but I think they had their minds set on it from the start and were incapable of improvising.”

  “What happened to the toe?” I asked. I couldn’t say why.

  “They were nice enough to offer it to me before the exchange. Had it in a small leather earring case, on a bed of cotton. I passed.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Not your fault. Do you think you can convince my father that I wasn’t involved without bringing up the little piggy that went to market?”

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  “Thank you.”

  “So, come here much?” I asked, just to give him time to dress. “I’m here for the soiree in the next room,” he said, “a fundraiser for Lowell Ryder.”

  “Oh?”

  “He’s going to be the best DA this city ever had,” Freddie said. It wouldn’t take much.

  When he had the sock and shoe replaced, I was maneuvering for escape. I followed him back through the larger room, which was reaching capacity.

  “Shrimp?” The question came from a perky brunette, holding out a platter. She wore a miniskirt decorated with the California State emblem.

  “No, thanks,” I said as politely as I could, and turned my attention back to Cash.

  “Freddie, ever play poker with a guy named Vic Vigoda?” He looked as if someone had just lopped off another toe. “I can’t say that I have, Mr. Diamond,” Freddie stuttered, after finally finding the power of speech.

  I decided to let it ride for the time being.

  I needed air more than I needed dubious answers.

  Ten

  I arrived at the office at nine the following morning. Darlene was already there and coffee was up.

  “Good morning, Darlene.”

  “Good morning, Jake. How did it go last night?”

  I filled her in on my talk with Freddie Cash.

  “Ouch. Hard for him to do the Disco Duck, I would imagine.”

  “You make a good point,” I said.

  “That’s what I’m here for, Jake,” she said. “What point is that?”

  “Freddie wasn’t limping, not favoring the foot at all. It didn’t register last night, and I’m no physical therapist, but I would think that if Freddie just lost a toe it would take longer than a week for him to get accustomed to it.”

  “My point exactly,” Darlene said, smiling.

  “See if you can get his father on the phone for me,” I said. “Please…”

  I walked back to my office. Darlene was buzzing me before I made it to my chair.

  “I’ve got Jeremy Cash on the line, Jake.”

  “Mr. Cash, Jake Diamond.”

  “Yes, Mr. Diamond. What can I do for you?”

  “I had a little man-to-man with your son last night.”

  “And?”

  Something was bothering me. I began to wish that I hadn’t called Cash, that I had waited to figure out what it was.

  I decided to let it be too late.

  “I don’t think your son was involved,” I said.

  “Could you share your reasons?”

  I suddenly realized why I should have waited to call Cash. I hadn’t taken the time to fabricate an answer.

  “The kidnappers amputated one of your son’s toes.”

  “My God.”

  “Freddie didn’t want you to know about it, I sort of promised him that I would try to delete it from my report.”

  “I understand. Thank you for telling me. It is a horrible way to be assured of his innocence, but confirmation nevertheless. What do I owe you, Mr. Diamond?”

  “I’ll send you a statement, Mr. Cash, unless there’s something more I can do.”

  “No. I’m quite satisfied. Thank you and good day.”

  And that was that.

  I walked back out to the reception area.

  “Darlene, send an invoice to Jeremy Cash when you get a chance.”

  “That was easy.”

  Too easy.

  “Give Joey Russo a call, tell him I’ll touch base later about a visit to San Quentin. And see if you can scare up Vinnie Strings.”

  “Vinnie unplugs his phone every night, at least until after noon.”

  “Maybe he forgot,” I suggested. “I’m going to see Al Wright and then over to chat with Hank Strode.”

  I left the office and headed over to Vallejo Street Station.

  I was put into an interview room with Lefty. He looked as if he were late for his own wedding. He drummed the table with his fingers.

  “It’s not looking too good, is it Jake?”

  “This will sound strange, Al, but I believe it’s looking better for you every day.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “I’m not so sure I get it myself. But the DA’s office and the SFPD brass are boasting about how quickly they got their man and what a cinch the trial will be. I don’t see it. I don’t see how they can make this case. It’s all ci
rcumstantial.”

  “I was at the scene, nose to nose with the judge. Bad circumstances.”

  “Granted. I just don’t think it’s enough to get a conviction. I think you have reasonable doubt squarely in your corner and Vic Vigoda’s death doesn’t help the prosecution any, it presents more questions than it does answers. What’s more, and here’s the part that has me talking to myself in public, I’m almost sure they know it.”

  “You’re saying that they know they can’t win? It’s not very good politics to spend taxpayer money on a losing cause, especially at election time. What’s the angle?”

  “A homicide detective down in L.A. once told me that if you don’t get your hands on the killer within the first forty-eight hours, the chances become very slim.”

  “Well, I had hands all over me in less than forty-eight minutes.”

  “And for the past three days nobody is looking for Chancellor’s killer except me. I think that you’re in here until the trail is ice cold, and then you’ll get cut loose.”

  “Do you know what you’re saying? You’re saying that I’m here to pull the cops off the trail. I get it. But that means somebody is pulling a scam—more than one somebody, maybe, and you’re forgetting something, Jake. Cutting me loose with no one to convict is not going to make the governor too happy. I think you’re giving the cops a lot of credit. I think I’m here because they’re too dumb to find the real killer and everybody is scared shitless of getting the governor mad.”

  Lefty Wright was sharp as a tack.

  “Are you playing devil’s advocate?” I asked.

  “I believe that we both are,” Lefty said, “but that’s what makes human dialogue so invaluable.”

  “Anyone ever tell you that you’re very well spoken?”

  “Yeah. My ethics professor at college.”

  “How did you wind up choosing burglary as a vocation?”

  “My ethics professor at Yale. I broke into his house for the questions on the final exam. After that, I never found anything else I enjoyed more.”

  “Do you think I’m grasping at straws?”

  “More like clutching at them. In any event I appreciate the gesture. If you came here today to try to give me hope, I accept.”

  “So.”

  “So? I’m hanging in, Jake. And if you’re right and they decide tomorrow that it’s time to drop the charge to breaking and entering, I won’t complain. But I’ll always want to know who set me up, so that I can properly express my indignity. So? If you decide to stay on the case I wouldn’t object to that, either.”