by J. L. Abramo
“Why should I believe you?”
Fortunately Joey Russo decided that we didn’t have all day.
“Because Jerry and Tom would like you to,” he said.
The kid looked at the Fanelli brothers. Jerry and Tom were smiling and nodding affirmatively like matching bobbing-head dolls. The kid shyly extended his hand.
“Myron Coolidge,” he said.
I took his hand and gave it a few pumps.
“Jake Diamond,” I said, “I need to look at Jimmy’s case files.”
“Are you looking for something in particular?” Myron asked.
“I’m not sure. If you could point us in the direction of his file cabinet maybe something will jump out at me.”
“There is no file cabinet.”
“C’mon, Myron. Help me out here,” I said, “where did Jimmy keep notes on his cases?”
“It’s all in here,” said Myron, tapping the nearest computer monitor. “I can bring up a document list, but it’s actually confidential.”
“Think you could bend the rules a little, Myron?” asked Joey.
Myron took another look at the Fanelli boys.
“Okay,” he said.
I followed Myron back to his terminal.
“Jerry, go take a look around Jimmy Pigeon’s office,” said Joey.
“It’s the one on the right,” Myron volunteered. “His name is on the door.”
Hopefully it would help Jerry navigate.
“What am I looking for, Mr. Russo?” Jerry asked.
“Anything that looks like it doesn’t belong.”
“Where is everyone?” I asked Myron.
“Gone. When Mr. Pigeon was killed, most of the staff left. After what happened to Mr. Harding, no one came back but me.”
“To do what?”
“I’m just trying to handle any requests that come in. Just doing my job.”
Who said that you can’t find good help anymore.
“Who’s paying you now?”
“I’m not sure. The payroll lady is gone.”
“What did you get?” I asked, after the kid had searched around for a minute.
“Here’s a list of all of Mr. Pigeon’s ongoing cases,” he said.
I pulled up a chair and sat beside him. I quickly spotted the two names.
“Open the one named Richman,” I said.
Myron clicked on the file.
“I’m locked out of this folder. I don’t have the password.”
“Try the one called Carlucci,” I said.
“Locked out,” he said.
“Who has the password?”
“As far as I know, only Mr. Pigeon had it. Maybe Mr. Harding. I’m afraid that I can’t help you,” Myron said, sounding afraid.
Terrific.
“Can’t we bust it open, Mr. Russo?” asked Tom.
“No Tommy,” Joey said kindly, “it takes a secret word to get in.”
“Like open sesame,” said Tom.
“Maybe, let’s try it,” Joey said. He looked at Myron, who was just about to open his mouth but thought better of it and hit the keys instead.
“Nope. Not it,” the kid said, “not a bad guess though.”
“I found this, Mr. Russo,” said Jerry, returning with an Express Mail package.
It was addressed to Jimmy Pigeon.
“Why didn’t the cops take this as evidence,” Joey said, taking the package.
“It arrived after Mr. Pigeon was killed. The police were already done here,” said Myron, “I didn’t know what to do with it.”
Joey knew. He opened it. He removed the contents. Lots of fifty-dollar bills.
“Jesus, how much is that?” I asked.
“I’m guessing twenty grand,” Joey said.
“I don’t suppose that there’s a name on the return?” I said.
“No name, but there’s a return address. Union Street, San Francisco,” Joey said, “just down from your office.”
“Carlucci’s Restaurant?” I said, knowing it was.
“Myron.” Joey said the kid’s name like it was a prayer.
“Yes.”
“You’re going to stay here until you figure a way to get to those files. I don’t care how you do it or how long it takes,” Joey said, counting out twenty of the bills. “You’ll get another thousand when you call to tell me it’s done. I’ll leave my cell phone number.”
He placed the money beside Myron’s keyboard.
“What if I can’t?” Myron said.
“Myron.”
“Yes.”
“Myron, look at me when I’m talking to you,” Joey said very softly. Myron looked up into Joey’s eyes. “I have confidence in you, son.”
“Thank you,” was all Myron managed to choke out.
“Now get started,” Joey said, and then he turned to me, “what now, Jake?”
I really didn’t know what now, but before I could say so Joey’s cell phone rang.
Joey snatched it out of his pocket, flipped it open, and brought it to his ear.
“Darlene,” he said, handing the phone to me.
“Jake, Ray Boyle called looking for you.”
“Did you tell him I was down here?”
“No, but you should call him. He said he knows who killed Harding.”
“Okay, thanks Darlene, I’ll stay in touch.”
“Jerry, Tom, go through Pigeon’s office, and Harding’s,” I heard Joey say, “look for anything that might be a password. Use your judgment.”
“Sometimes people tape stuff on the bottom of their desk drawers, Mr. Russo,” said Tom.
“They sure do, Tom. How about each of you takes one office, flip a coin if you can’t decide. You can start with the desk drawers if you like. Don’t worry about making a mess.”
Jerry and Tom started off and I sat at the desk next to the one where Myron was tapping furiously at his computer keyboard.
“How has business been, Myron, I mean apart from the recent executive and clerical vacancies?” I asked.
The kid looked up at me from his computer, and then over to Joey Russo.
“It’s okay, Myron. Take a break and answer Mr. Diamond’s question.”
“Not very good. I think that most of the people who bailed out would have been laid off anyway.”
“What would you say it’s worth?”
“Right now?”
“Let’s say a few weeks ago, for argument sake.”
“A few hundred thousand, tops. And then whoever bought it would have to invest a good chunk in marketing to make it pay off.”
“Lincoln French was right,” I said, “doesn’t sound worth killing for.”
“Maybe it wasn’t about money,” said Joey. “I’ll go check out how Tom and Jerry are doing. Myron, get back to work.”
Twenty One
Twenty minutes later Joey and I were back in the car.
Joey drove. Jerry and Tom stayed behind to continue turning the offices upside down and to keep Myron busy trying to hack into the locked computer files.
“Do you think that Richman could be behind this,” I asked.
“With any luck Myron will get into those records and we’ll see what Jimmy has to say. Jimmy may have been working for Richman or investigating him. It seems obvious that Ex-Con dot com was fairly worthless; it must have been something Jimmy knew that got him killed.”
“Have you ever killed anyone, Joey?” My question surprised us both.
“No, Jake, I never have. It’s a lot different now than it was in my grandfather’s time; it takes more brains than muscle to survive these days. My businesses are technically legitimate. Of course, the laws of business in this country provide a lot of leeway. I try not to harm innocent people. Territories are pretty well laid out. If no one gets too greedy, everyone does alright.”
“There must be times when someone needs a little reminder,” I said.
“Sure. So we get together and do some reminding. But there are ways to teach a lesson other than
capital punishment, some a lot more effective where it really hurts. Like in the pocketbook.”
“So there are rules.”
“Yeah, sort of. And if you’re asking does Walter Richman play by the same rules, I don’t know. He’s an outsider, I really don’t know much about him. How greedy he is.”
“You’re a complicated man, Joey.”
“I’m a simple guy, Jake. I work hard, I provide for my family, and I try to enjoy myself. That’s why I’m here.”
“You call this enjoying yourself?” I asked.
“This is fun for me, Jake. You keep thanking me for all I’m doing, but it’s you doing me the favor. I get bored. A chance to get away from the backyard grill is a very welcome diversion.”
“I doubt that Angela would agree.”
“Angela knows that what eases my boredom is good for both of us,” Joey said. “Where to? Are you ready to see Richman?”
“Maybe we should see Boyle first. Find out who he thinks killed Harry Harding.”
Joey directed the car to Parker Center.
Joey pulled up in front of the LAPD headquarters. He didn’t move to get out of the car.
“You’re not coming in?”
“Nah, I don’t like it in there. Besides I don’t want to get hit with a parking ticket.”
“You mean to tell me you don’t have a park-anywhere-you-damn-well-please permit?”
“I have one for San Francisco, but not for down here. Angela’s brother Giovanni is working on it.”
“Okay. I won’t be long.”
“I’ll be here.”
As I walked to the entrance of the police station I was thinking about how much I’d come to know Joey Russo these past few days. How lucky I was to have his help, since I would have been useless without it. And how undeserving I felt.
I’d never really gone out of my way for Joey. Part of it was that he never asked, and I talked myself into believing that I would be offending Joey if I suggested that he couldn’t handle his affairs alone. I was shy to ask Joey if he wanted help, whether he needed it or not.
Joey probably got that kind of treatment all the time.
I was beginning to see things differently.
I have to admit he scared me some at first. Joey had a reputation for being dangerous. I was finding out that it was mostly myth. He wasn’t really a violent man at all. There was only one thing that would make Joey a very dangerous man, and that was doing anything that he might consider even remotely threatening to his family.
Joey Russo was a family man first and foremost. Angela nagged him a little too often maybe, but they were crazy about each other. After thirty years of marriage they still reminded me of high school sweethearts.
Walking into Parker Center I was feeling something that I hadn’t felt in a very long time. I felt that I had a real friend.
I would try to be one in return.
When I walked into Boyle’s office he set the tone immediately.
“Why am I not surprised to see you back in my little town, Diamond.”
Boyle acted like he owned LA. As far as I was concerned he could have it.
“I ran right down from San Francisco the moment I heard that you broke the Harding case, Ray.”
“Back off, Jake. I’m not in the mood.”
That was a big part of Boyle’s problem; he was never in the mood.
“Okay, I’ll be good. So who killed Harry?”
“Follow me,” he said.
I followed him. He took me into room with a one-way window looking into a larger room. Bobo Bigelow sat at a table behind the glass, sweating it out.
“Bigelow killed Harding?” I asked.
“No. But he seems to think that Al Pazzo did.”
“Okay, I’ll bite.”
“Harding was into Pazzo for a lot of cash. A loan he took from Pazzo, at heavy interest. Close to a hundred grand. Harding was hiding from Al, not us.”
“If he was afraid of Pazzo, why didn’t he come to you?” I asked.
“Harding knew he couldn’t drop a dime on Pazzo’s loan sharking and stay alive. Harry told Pazzo that he would get the money and that he wouldn’t go to the police.”
“Where was the money coming from?” I asked.
“I spoke to Harding’s wife this morning. She said her husband was so terrified by Pazzo that he was ready to jump out of a window. Then out of nowhere Harding got an offer for the Internet business and it looked like his problem was solved, but your pal Pigeon was holding up the deal. Richman withdrew the offer, Jimmy got iced, and Harry took off.”
“If the offer was pulled before Jimmy was killed,” I said, “then Harding had no motive for Jimmy’s murder.”
“That’s how I figure it,” said Boyle.
“And Crazy Al wasn’t taking Harry’s silence and ability to pay on faith.”
“And the slime in the next room,” Boyle said, looking at Bobo fidget, “sold Harding out to Pazzo.”
“Are you going to pick Pazzo up?”
“I have no proof. If you would have given me a jingle when Bigelow clued you to the house on Alvarado, I might have been there waiting for Pazzo with open arms.”
Boyle wasn’t helping to ease my conscience.
“The Pigeon case is still open, Diamond,” Boyle said. “If there’s anything you’re not telling me, now is the time.”
“Look, Ray, I don’t know any more than you do. I was following a few leads and they went right in the toilet. All I’ve really been interested in from the start is finding out who killed Jimmy. He meant a lot to me.”
“You can put the violin away, Jake, I’m tone deaf. You’ve been running around here all week and all you’ve managed to accomplish is getting under my feet.”
“I didn’t want you guys to settle for Harding and close the book. If I hear anything you’ll be the first to know.”
“Why is it that everything you say sounds to me like a load of crap?”
I was afraid that if I said another word Ray would explode, so I just shrugged my shoulders. For a second I thought Boyle was going to pull his revolver and plug me.
“I gotta go, Ray, I’m double-parked.”
“Get the fuck out of here, Diamond, before I shoot you.”
I turned around and moved quickly down the corridor. I was pretty sure he wouldn’t put one in my back, but found myself weaving nonetheless. I made it to the main lobby and out onto the street just as Joey pulled up in front.
“I had to go around the block a few times,” he said as I climbed in.
“Let me see your phone,” I said.
I dialed Walter Richman’s number.
“Richman International, Ms. Fairbanks speaking.”
“Ms. Fairbanks, this is Jake Diamond. Is Mr. Richman in?”
“Let me check.”
“What’s the story?” asked Joey.
“From what Boyle got out of Evelyn Harding, the timing on the Richman International buy-out offer was a little too perfect.”
“Mr. Diamond.”
“Yes, Ms. Fairbanks.”
“I’m very sorry, but Mr. Richman says he doesn’t know who you are.”
“Ms. Fairbanks. Do your boss a big favor and tell him that it’s extremely important that I speak with him.”
“Hold on,” she said.
“Mr. Diamond?”
“Mr. Richman. Thank you for taking my call.”
“I was told that it was imperative. What is this about?”
“I need a little of your time, and it is urgent” I said. “I was hoping that I could drop by your office.”
“Mr. Diamond, I’m late for an appointment. I have to leave this minute. I can see you for a short time this afternoon.”
“What time?”
“Two?” he asked.
“I’ll be there,” I said.
“So?” said Joey.
“Richman will see me at two,” I said. “Harding needed quick liquid assets to square a debt with Al Pazzo. All of a sudden som
eone at Richman International takes an interest in a washed up Internet business and it’s like the Cavalry arrived. Then the deal fell through and Pazzo fell on Harry.”
“So, we’re back to Richman, another little buzzing in your head?”
“It’s more like a chainsaw. What’s going on down there? Money is going in and out the door. No one wants to bother Richman with mundane concerns like million-dollar throwaways and internal investigations. Maybe Jimmy stumbled onto something. And where the hell does Tony Carlucci fit in?”
“Look, Jake. You’ll talk with Richman in an hour or so, and with any luck we’ll see Tony C tonight. We can sit here shooting in the dark or we can take a break.”
Joey had the thankless job of having to continually reel me back in.
“We have time to kill before your meet with Richman,” he said, “how about we do something that has absolutely nothing to do with the case.”
“Do you know somewhere I can get a suit and a shirt?”
“Never knew you to be too concerned about what you were wearing, Jake.”
“There’s something about LA that brings out the fashion awareness in me.”
“I know just the place,” Joey said, “and we have just the kind of cash on hand to do it up right.”
It was one-thirty in the afternoon. A Wednesday. At just about that time the previous Wednesday I had been clearing my folded underwear off a chair in my office for Evelyn Homely.
Joey and I walked out of the Gentleman Caller’s Shop. I was wearing a five- hundred-dollar suit, which was actually mid-priced in that particular part of town, a shirt that ran ninety-five bucks and a pair of shoes like the one’s O.J. may or may not have owned. Not only was it the most expensive outfit that I had ever worn; it may have out-cost all of my other clothing put together.
“How did your brother-in-law afford locating on Rodeo Drive?”
“When Giovanni first opened it was more a laundry than a clothing store, if you get my drift. I really love what he calls the place; Giovanni is big on Tennessee Williams. He considers The Glass Menagerie the greatest play since Richard the Third. Why didn’t you pick out a few ties while we were in there?”
“I don’t know; it’s hard to explain. I just don’t feel ready for the ties quite yet. Let’s go see Richman.”
Twenty Two