“I could see Max involved in something shady.” Delilah circled behind me, and her hands slipped around my neck. “I can see Max putting a pillow over his own mother’s face. He was talking some serious trash last time I saw him. About cutting me out as a middleman.”
“Sounds like something worth looking into.” Delilah began squeezing my shoulders.
“Dee?”
“Hm?”
“You believe in karma, right?”
“You know I do.”
“Does that mean good things happen to good people?”
The massage of my shoulders paused. “Not necessarily in a single life. Your spirituality endures.”
“I know it’s sort of a naive question. Bad things don’t always happen to bad people. I’m just saying. It would be nice if karma worked that way. It would be nice if the circles folded back on themselves in a single incarnation.”
“They do.”
I shrugged. “Usually that’s just irony.”
“Irony is karma at work.”
I looked her in the eye. “I wish I could believe that.”
“I made my move.”
“Move?”
“Scrabble.”
“Yeah?”
She led me by the hand over to the board.
The word was “bounce.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FIVE
MY LAWYER, CAROL DOONAN, IS what you’d call a tough old broad. If you said it to her face, she might punch yours. Or she might buy you a drink. Her blue eyes were so pale they were almost silver, like her short hair, both of which stood out against her deeply tanned skin. Carol had her charms for her age, which if you tried to guess you might get punched out a second time. Tough but flirty, that was Carol. She liked men, and she liked gambling. If you can distinguish between the two.
I sat in front of her giant metal desk in a metal chair. Both had been in her dad’s law office in the Stone Age. There were black-and-white photos on the wall of him with various New York celebrities, and color photos of Carol with Brooklyn politicians. He was dead a while.
The walls were lined with stacks of legal documents.
I was there alone for thirty minutes before she burst in and gave me a kiss on the cheek from behind. A second later she was at her desk poking at her computer.
“Talk to me, handsome man. Nice shave—and a haircut, too. A woman must have done this to Tommy Wommy, hmmm? What do we got? We have a half hour before the fuzz gets here.”
“You might say a woman was involved.”
“The one from Vegas? I was there, what, three weeks ago. Long weekend, busted up the tables at the Bellagio, man oh man. Met this gorgeous hunk of a man at the bar. A pilot.”
“The Vegas girl is on waivers.”
“Did she move in?”
“In and then out.”
“Easy come easy go. No more cat hair.”
“She left the cats. Four.”
“Ack! What did you do with them?”
“Took care of them, what else was there to do?”
Carol’s eyes left the computer screen and focused on me. “You dear, dear man. Want me to find her, sue her?”
“No money there. Except mine.”
“Ouch!” Her eyes went back to the computer. “Tommy Wommy, what the hell were you thinking? Ah, but you weren’t, were you?”
“How much time do we have now?”
“Twenty-two minutes, to be exact. What kind of jam are you in? Be only as specific as you need to be, bubby.”
So I told her the story this way: Three paintings were stolen from the Whitbread Museum Sunday night. Monday morning, I heard about it from an acquaintance, even though it was not reported to the police. A client of mine—Max of USA—insures the Whitbread, and even before they called—which they did—I started looking into it. My first stop was Huey, because I heard he had something to do with it, but he denied it. So then I went to Johnny One-Ball, who is a local fence. He tells me he knows something about it but isn’t comfortable discussing it in the diner, so we step outside. A bullet exploded his head, and another just missed mine. I was debriefed by the police, and I went to my masseuse for a workover and then to the museum to debrief the guards who were at the robbery. I went home and to sleep. Tuesday, I got a haircut, short to go with the new clean shave, and the barber told me the local mobbed-up guys think maybe I killed Jo-Ball and are not happy with me. I left there, made my way back to the pastry shop because I thought I might be able to make Huey flip. Jo-Ball getting killed might have made Huey nervous if he was sitting on the paintings. Just after I arrive, Huey’s head explodes. Only this time I saw the shooter across the street, a punk kid. I chased him up Sackett, the old lady attacked him, he dropped the gun, I chased, he jumped in the canal, and I lost him on the Third Avenue bus. I went home. Wednesday, yesterday, I went to Jo-Ball’s funeral. After the funeral, I took a ride with Flat Face to the cemetery, and instead of being upset, they want me to take Jo-Ball’s place as a fence for local stolen art. I told them I’d think about it because I didn’t want to get killed just yet. That’s when I ran into Doh and Crispi, who were following the funeral and spotted me getting out of the mob car. They wanted me to come to the station and talk to them. Instead I provided them with the contact information for my lawyer, said I’d be glad to talk with them if she was there and said it was OK.
Carol stopped typing. “That it?”
“Pretty much. Oh, and I owe money to a shylock, fifteen large by next Tuesday.”
“Cops know you were at the second hit?”
“Could be.”
“They know you chased the kid?”
“Could be, but I was wearing a trench coat and hat. I don’t think they have an ID that can stick. The old lady was busy hitting the kid with the broom, and only the one DOT worker got close enough to see my face. Oh yeah, and the Polish watchman at the phone yard. Like I said, I had a hat on, pulled down low to keep it from blowing off.”
“They know about the shylock?”
“Yeah.”
“They know the connected guys are hooking you?”
“They saw me getting out of Flat Face’s limo. I’m guessing they know who he is, but I don’t. Anyway, not sure what Doh and Crispi think of that.”
“I was right.” Carol’s eyes flashed. “You do have interesting problems. Did the right thing to have them call me, Tommy.”
“I’m pretty good doing the right thing. Whether it pays off or not is another matter.”
“Especially when it comes to women.”
I felt my face get hot, and I guess I turned red, because Carol looked suddenly all droopy.
“Tommy, I’m sorry I said that. I was just kidding with you. You know I love you, I wouldn’t hurt you intentionally. Say you forgive me.”
“I don’t feel any hostility toward you, Carol. No need to forgive. You are right about the women, and I’m a little ashamed, to be honest.”
“The Vegas show girl—she’s the one who put you on the hook with the shylock?”
I took a deep breath. I let it out and said, “Yeah.”
“You poor kid!” Carol jogged around the desk and pulled my head into her bosom like she was my mom or something. “Let’s take care of the police, and then we’ll look into doing something about the shylock. Which one?”
From inside her tits I said, “Scanlon.”
“Scanlon? Jesus. OK, well, could be worse. I can talk to him for you.”
Carol stepped back just in time for me to come up for air. “Thanks, Carol. I’ll let you know if that’s necessary. I think I may be able to be square with him by next week. If I can sort out these missing paintings I should be in clover.”
Carol’s desk phone bleeped. She went around to answer it.
When she put the receiver back down she said, “Only talk if I tell you to, Tommy. You know the drill. If I ask you to answer, there is only one answer.”
I just nodded, keeping my mouth shut already.
Th
e door opened, and the two detectives slid into the room. Doh looked comfortable enough when he sat down, but Crispi looked like he had better things to do. I remember thinking that Crispi must have been a very unhappy person to be so anxious all the time. It seemed like the only way he knew how to express himself was through hostility. Poor guy. Life’s too short for that.
Doh waved at me. “He fill you in?”
Carol was back answering e-mails or something. “My client told me you wish to talk to him again. Is this about the Johnny Culobrese murder? Or about the attempt on my client’s life?”
Doh shot me a glance. “There have been two murders.”
“I’ll answer the questions for my client unless I instruct him otherwise.” Carol’s eye met Doh’s. “First question.”
“We have eyewitness reports that a man fitting Davin’s description in a brown fedora was seen chasing a young man in the vicinity of the last shooting. A young man who jumped into the canal. DOT workers were there with the drawbridge up. One of them said Davin pushed him.”
I was guessing the old lady clammed up and didn’t call the cops. Figures. Brooklyn natives aren’t what you’d call quick to call the cops and get involved if they can avoid it. They’re kind of jaded when it comes to cops and robbers. I think they believe the cops and the crooks are all connected somehow and that it’ll come back to bite them in the ass if they drop a dime.
Carol smiled. “You mean someone fitting the description of someone who looks like Tommy?”
“Was it him?” Doh’s thumb was in my direction.
Carol looked at me. “Tommy, did you shove or otherwise physically affect any employee of the Department of Transportation yesterday?”
“Not that I recall.”
Doh looked at me. “Did you chase that kid?”
I looked at Carol, and she said to me, “You can answer.”
I made a mental note to make my new fedora vanish as soon as I went home. Best hundred bucks I ever spent.
I looked at Doh. “Not that I can recall.”
The detective took his finger and tapped his chin. “Funny, because the DOT guy says it was a big guy with a cleft chin. So did Smychynsky, the guard at the telephone maintenance yard. Do you own one of those hats, Tommy?”
Carol cleared her throat. “Detective, is my client accused of a crime?”
Crispi couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Your client is a material witness, who for some reason is withholding eyewitness information from the NYPD. He knows something about this sniper, and by not telling us is protecting him. Which means that your client is going to be facing felony charges when this whole thing comes out.”
Carol looked at me. “Tommy, do you know who killed Johnny Culobrese and Huey LaMouche?”
I looked Doh in the eye so he’d understand I was leveling with him. “No.”
“My client denies the accusation that he knows who the killer is that you’re looking for. Any other questions, Detectives?”
Doh slid a photo out of the inside of his jacket and handed it to me. “Know her?”
My vision swam when I saw it, and I felt a little dizzy. Mechanically I tossed it on the desk in front of Carol. She cocked her head at the photo, looked at Doh, then looked at me. “Tommy, is this Yvette?”
“Yes.”
It was a mug shot. Yvette’s big blond hair was messed up, and her dark eyes focused above the camera somewhere, like she was remembering something. Those eyes. They were so dark you almost couldn’t see where the pupils were.
Those eyes. They could look innocent. They could look mysterious. What they were, were black windows of deceit that overlooked worlds of opportunity.
Her olive face looked a little shiny in the flash of the camera. I could see she was wearing a cocktail dress, the dark red one. Dangling from the silver chain around her neck was the pendant I’d given her. An onyx cat with little red ruby eyes.
Seeing the pendant I gave her, and that she was still wearing it, made me feel spiritually misaligned. Assuming it had been taken recently and that she hadn’t been arrested anytime while she was with me and I didn’t know it. The info on the bottom of the photo, about where and when it was taken, had been blacked out. I wanted to pick it up and study it some more, but Carol handed it back to the detectives.
“Any more questions for my client?”
Doh bit his lip. “I thought your client might have some questions for us?”
Carol’s eyes tightened as they locked onto mine. I know she wanted me to keep my cool. I did.
“I have no questions.”
That was about as true as anything I’d told them that day.
I didn’t want to know where the picture was taken, or how they knew I knew her, or anything. Yvette was trouble personified, and I wanted nothing to do with it. I was hurt that she would still wear that pendant.
Doh held the photo up to me.
“Did you ever think, Tommy, that maybe this bitch has something to do with what’s going on?”
“That’s enough, Detective.” Carol was on her feet, her arm outstretched toward the door. “The interview is over. If you have any other questions, we’d be happy to meet again with you at another time.”
The smug bastards stood and left.
I just sat there trying to breathe normally until they were out of the room. As soon as they were gone …
Breathe slowly in through the nose; close the eyes.
Breathe slowly out through the lips; stroke back my hair and face.
Breathe slowly in through the nose; open the eyes.
Breathe slowly out through the lips.
I managed to focus on Carol sitting in the chair where Doh had sat, her silver eyes sad.
“I’m sorry, Tommy. I wish there had been some way to protect you from that. Rat bastards are trying to rattle you. Do you have any idea how they know who she is? How they would make a connection between what’s going on now and this woman?”
“Her name is Yvette, Vegas show girl. I have no idea what kind of trouble she’s in now. I’m out of the business of dealing with her problems.”
“At least once you pay the fifteen to Scanlon next week.”
“Here’s something I didn’t mention because it’s got nothing to do with this. The cats were catnapped the other day. I came home, the apartment was broken into, and the cats were gone.”
“There was a note?”
“Yeah, telling me basically that Yvette better get in touch with Gustav or else the cats might be in a bad way. He left envelopes with what looked like love letters, too. They’re written in a foreign language, looks like Russian or something.”
Carol slumped back in her chair. “Cripes. Tommy, even for you this is out there. I mean, out there, you know what I mean?”
I was leaning forward, forearms on my knees, looking at the corner of the desk.
“Once I pay that fifteen, she is out of my life completely. Once I’ve paid the fifteen, I’ve done my bit. I’ve paid my full penalty for trusting and loving and trying to help her.” I stood up and felt like it took a second for my stomach to stand up with me. “I’m going to get that fifteen. I’m going to have her out of my life.”
Carol eased out of her chair and reached up to hold my face. “Tommy, if she’s somehow connected to the art theft or murders, she may have one last kick in the gut for you, you know that, right?”
I tried a smile, but I think it came out as a grimace. “The guts have all been kicked out of me, sweetheart.”
“Be smart about this, Tommy. Keep your head, stay smart. Call me if there’s anything I can do. Anything.”
My feet brought me to her office door. I opened it and walked through. The elevator arrived about an hour later, and I counted exactly eight million footsteps back to my apartment and the brandy.
Only when I picked up the bottle of negativity I put it back down.
Just like grieving is not about the dead but for those afraid of dying, heartbreak is not for love lost but for th
e fear of loneliness.
I didn’t have time to die or be afraid.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SIX
SO A LITTLE AFTER ELEVEN I was walking toward the flying saucer that crashed into the Greek temple. I had an appointment to see Sheila McCracken.
Unsteady Freddy wasn’t on duty that day, so I just nodded at the guard and made my way toward reception. With a building pass, I waded through the art lovers and headed upstairs to the museum offices.
On my way to Sheila’s office, I ran into Atkins. He turned a corner and ran right into my chest.
He bounced a couple feet in the air. Not from the impact, but the surprise. “Shit!”
“Steady, Atkins.”
“Damn, Tommy, what are you always doing hiding around the corners here?” There was some pink in his face to match his lips. The mustache wiggled nervously.
“Not hiding. Walking.”
He says, “Well, you take up the entire width of the hallway.”
So I says, “I can’t help that. I’m on my way to see Sheila.”
“Sheila? Going to see Sheila? About the other night?”
“As a matter of fact.”
“What about?”
“Steady, Atkins. Nothing about you.”
“I have a right to know if it concerns museum security. I should be in on this meeting.”
“I guess if Sheila wanted you there, you would have been invited.”
“You don’t have to put it like that. I know she doesn’t like me.”
“Atkins, you’re getting anxious. Try some deep breathing, like this.”
So I started my tantric breathing exercise, but he threw up his hands. “I have no time for huffing and puffing. Just remember, don’t fuck me over with her. You and I are friends.”
Off he went down the hall, his feet making fast clicking steps like a terrier.
Odd duck, Atkins. I couldn’t help thinking he’d get a lot out of yoga.
I waited in the reception area to be called into Sheila’s office and tried not to think about that picture Doh showed me. Could Yvette be tied into this? She left me a month back, before I hatched the scheme to raise cash by shopping and settling. She couldn’t have known any of the participants, except maybe have seen Huey at the bistro. Could that have been it? Huey obviously had a wandering eye, but how would they have slipped into a conversation about art theft and come up with an idea to rip me off? And Yvette and Ms. French as a dynamic evil duo? That was a stretch like a ham on a rubber band.
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