“Well, Donnie and his guys were pretty rough on him ‘cause of all the damage he did.” Candy pointed to a corner where several broken chairs were stacked. “They stuck him in a storeroom after he passed out.”
Candy motioned to us to follow her as she continued. “I found him there this morning when I was getting a fresh can of coffee. He didn’t wake up until a couple of hours ago.”
We followed Candy back into the kitchen. This was a dreary room with windows made opaque with years of grease and wooden cabinets and counters that carried the scars of much use and little cleaning or care. The air had a rancid taste.
Max Carson, Famous Author, sat on a stool at a tall kitchen table, looking very different than when we had last seen him at the book signing at The Book Nook.
His hair was a matted mess. His long handlebar mustaches went in different directions, and the beginning of a black eye was showing above his right cheek. His clothes testified to his having spent hours sleeping on the floor.
“Oh, Max,” cried April and hurried over to him.
Max gave a sheepish smile. “Hello, little lady. Did you come to bail me out?” He noticed Lynn and me. “Hey, you even brought the cavalry with you.” Candy walked over and stood next to him as he continued. “April, Greg, Lynn, I’d like you to meet Miss Candy, my savior and protector.”
Candy patted Max’s hand. “Max, I told you that Lynn and The Kid are old friends of mine.”
“Wait a second,” Max rubbed his temple. “Are you sayin’ the bookseller here is the guy who’s going to square things for me? You told me it was some famous dude called The Kid.”
“Max, that’s how Greg is known around here. Don’t worry, he’ll talk with Donnie and straighten things out.”
Max squinted his eyes and gave me an appraising onceover.
“Well, son, sounds like there’s a bit more to you than I thought.”
I waved that off. “What happened, Max?”
Max proceeded to tell a tale of personal heroism in the face of overwhelming odds. It had something to do with him rescuing a damsel in distress.
“Actually,” Candy confided as she walked with me to Donnie’s office, “Max was roaring drunk and for some reason decided that Kaitlyn was being mistreated by an important customer.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. “Just who was it?”
“Dom DeMarco.”
“It would be. Max sure can pick them.” Dom DeMarco wasn’t part of a crime organization or anything. He didn’t have to be, he was that powerful in our town. “I assume Kaitlyn wasn’t being mistreated by DeMarco?”
“No.” Candy searched for the right words. “Let’s just say she was giving him a private performance in a quiet booth.”
I didn’t press for further explanation.
Candy continued. “Anyway, Max started a fight.” She gave a smile. “He did pretty well.”
“Didn’t Angus stop him?”
“He was about to, but that was when Max passed out.”
“Max didn’t actually hit DeMarco, did he?”
“Unfortunately, I’m afraid he did. He got in a punch to Mister DeMarco’s face before his guys could stop him.”
That was bad news. Even if I could square things with Donnie, Max might as well leave town for a while. If Dom DeMarco took a dislike to Max, his book promotion appearances in the city would be beset by all kinds of problems, none of them traceable back to Mr. DeMarco, of course.
We arrived at the door to Donnie’s office. Candy knocked and then opened it. She gave my arm a squeeze as I went inside and closed the door behind me.
“Hey, Kid, long time, no see.” Donnie sat behind a metal desk painted to resemble wood. The décor of his office was from the School of Early Seventies Bad Taste. I doubt the green shag carpet had ever been cleaned. There was a chair in front of Donnie’s desk.
I stood behind it with my hands on its back.
“Hi Donnie. Likewise.”
If you asked me to rate the people I know on a scale of one to a hundred with a hundred being my least favorite, Donnie would be somewhere around two hundred fifty. He was like a toad, both physically and personally. He was short and squat with pale skin that hadn’t seen the sun in years. He kept his cheaply dyed black hair combed over an ugly balding pate. Donnie was a bully and a coward, but he was also the owner of The Pink Poodle and a minor league mobster, and therefore not someone to cross lightly.
“I got a half-dozen good chairs that aren’t any good anymore because of this friend of yours, Kid.”
“He’s not my friend, but I get your point.” I didn’t see any reason to argue with Donnie. “I’ll see that he makes good.”
“You’ll make good if he doesn’t?” While it was worded as a question, I knew it wasn’t.
“I’ll make good if he doesn’t.” I hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Our bank account wasn’t too flush.
“Well, then, that’s settled.” Donnie’s lips pulled apart, and I realized he was smiling. That put me on my guard. Donnie is not the smiling type. “Now maybe you can do something for me.”
“That depends.” I knew this was going too smoothly.
He leaned forward. “Joey’s gotten himself in some trouble.”
I considered how much I could tell Donnie. “I understand there was a shooting this morning, and he was there.”
“He was doing some bodyguard work, but the body he was guarding got killed. I don’t want to see him get tagged by the cops for something he didn’t do.”
“I thought he wasn’t working for you anymore.”
“My wife was some kind of cousin to his mother. Joey’s not too bright, and my wife is worried about him. I told her I’d do what I can.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “You have some kind of pull downtown as I remember.”
“Hardly,” I protested. “In case you haven’t heard, I’m back working the street.”
“Tell you what. You help out Joey, and I’ll talk with Dom DeMarco and see if I can convince him to lay off your writer friend.”
I didn’t want to, but I didn’t have much choice. “All right, I’ll do what I can. Where can I find him?”
“He’s at his sister’s house.” Donnie gave me the address and then lifted himself out of his chair. “Come on, we’ll tell your writer friend he can go.”
Candy had been waiting outside Donnie’s office and took my arm again as the three of us headed back to the kitchen, Donnie in the lead and Candy and I following.
Max, Lynn and April looked up as we came in. Candy put her hand on Max’s shoulder. I went to stand beside Lynn and took her hand. She squeezed mine, and I gave a squeeze in return to let her know things were cool with Donnie.
Donnie frowned at Max and then pointed his finger at him. “You’re a lucky guy. The Kid here is willing to vouch for you. I’ll try to calm down Mr. DeMarco, but you’d better stay out of sight for a while.”
“Stay out of sight?” asked Max. “I’m living in a hotel room and doing book signings every day.”
“I’ve got an idea,” said Candy. “He can stay at The Book Nook.”
Max eyed her with admiration. “That’s a great idea, little lady.”
Candy beamed, and April frowned.
Lynn sighed. “I guess that would work.”
My stomach sank. I turned to Donnie. “Just how long does Max have to keep out of sight?”
Donnie raised his hand and wiggled it. “A few days, maybe a week.” He pointed a finger at Max. “I’ll expect a check by the end of the week to cover those broken chairs. The Kid will tell you how much.”
I could see that Max was about to argue about paying for the chairs, but Lynn stopped him. She held up the copy of Max’s book. “Thank you, Donnie. By the way, Max would like you to have a copy of his book—signed, of course.”
She put the book in front of Max and opened it.
Max hesitated.
April reached into her large purse and pulled out a pen. “Sign the book, Max,” she ordered.
Max signed the book, closed it and handed it back to Lynn. She gave it to Donnie who felt the weight of it as though that was the way to judge a book.
“Huh, you wrote this? Thanks, I guess.” I got the feeling that Donnie and books were not well acquainted. Donnie hefted the book again and then left.
Max got to his feet with Candy’s help. “I guess it’s been a long time since I slept on a storeroom floor,” he explained. “I don’t remember getting so stiff and sore in the old days.”
The five of us left by way of the back door with Candy on one side of Max and April on the other. At the last minute Candy decided she should accompany Max back to the bookstore. We waited by the car while she ran in and quickly changed.
We had just enough room for all of us in April’s sedan. April, of course, had the driver’s seat, and Max took the front seat, as his long legs could never have fit in the back.
April turned on a built-in GPS and fed in the address of The Book Nook. Max made an effort at entertaining us on the trip back by trying to imitate the English-voiced device. He wasn’t successful at either.
Lynn, Candy and I leaned back in the comfortable backseat and did our best to ignore the noise from up front.
“I could get used to this,” said Candy, sitting on my right.
“Mmmmm,” agreed Lynn from my left.
All in all, I had to agree.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Barbara greeted us as we trooped through the front door of The Book Nook. “Kid, Agent Cochran and that dreadful Agent Talbot are in the back room waiting for you.”
Max overheard her. He put his hand on my arm as I started to head into the back. “Wait just a second there, son. I got some questions for you, starting with who and what the hell you are?”
“I run a bookstore, Max.”
He crossed his arms and eyed me. “So what’s with this Kid, stuff? And how is it that you’ve got pull with mobsters like that guy back at The Poodle? And why are there guys named Agent Cochran and Agent Talbot waiting to talk to you?”
I shook my head. “Not now, Max. Maybe later.”
Lynn took my hand. “I’m coming, too, Kid. This involves both of us, you know.”
As Lynn and I went into the back room I heard Max ask Barbara about Lynn and me, and I wondered what she would tell him.
Cochran and Talbot sat at the kitchen table in the back room. I noticed Barbara hadn’t offered them coffee or tea. Talbot didn’t waste any time.
“We still don’t know who or why someone murdered Zager this morning, but the data chip is still missing, and Wolfe’s got his men out hunting for it.”
Lynn faced Talbot. If looks could kill, I wouldn’t have given much for Talbot’s life expectancy.
“Does that mean they’ll be coming after Greg? He’s the one who took the wallet, after all.” She turned away for a moment, then swiveled back again, her eyes flashing with anger. “Or maybe they’ll come after Barbara and me, or maybe burn the store down with us inside. Just a little more collateral damage, I suppose?”
“I understand your anger, Ms. Vargas, but we don’t think any of you are in any danger. The word I’ve received from the man I have inside Wolfe’s organization is that it’s been totally accepted that your husband stole the wallet without knowing what was inside.”
That didn’t do much to quiet either Lynn’s fears or mine.
“So that’s it?” she demanded. “That’s all you’ve got to offer?”
Cochran lifted his head and gave Lynn a sheepish smile.
“No, he’s also offering me.” It took a moment for his words to sink in.
“You’re kidding,” I said. “You’re moving into The Book Nook again?” It was like a bad dream. “No offense, Cochran, but you have to admit that having you live here last time didn’t do anything to stop someone from grabbing Lynn, torching the store and almost killing Barbara.”
Talbot got to his feet. “Like I said, I don’t believe you are in any danger.” He gestured to Cochran. “But at Agent Cochran’s request, I’m willing to let him stay here a few days until all this blows over.” He took a step toward the door to the front of the store. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do.” With that, he turned, and the curtain swished in his wake. A few seconds later we heard the bell over the shop door jangle as he left.
Lynn and I sank into chairs at the table. I looked at Cochran and shook my head. “Seems like old times, I guess.”
He smiled. “I’ve got my stuff out in my car. I didn’t think I should bring it in just in case you said no.”
“You may as well go get it,” I said and turned to Lynn. “Where do we put this one? If this keeps up, the city is going to hit us with a hotel tax.”
“Who else is staying here?” Cochran asked.
I explained about Max Carson’s predicament and why he was taking up space for a few days at The Book Nook. After a few moments the same thought came to all three of us.
Lynn said it first. “We’re going to have to tell Max about what’s going on. If he’s here, that means he could be in danger, too.”
“Possible danger,” Cochran corrected. “The truth is that everything we know suggests otherwise.”
“Still, Lynn’s right,” I said. “We may as well get it over with. Let’s go and introduce everyone, and then we can figure out who’s sleeping where and what the shower schedule will be in the morning.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Max Carson slapped me on the back as we trooped out of the back room and into the store. “Well, I’ll be!” He looked me up and down like a ten-year-old boy meeting a stage magician. “A pickpocket, eh? If that don’t beat all.”
“A master pickpocket,” Candy corrected.
“A former pickpocket,” I corrected in turn. “I gave all of that up a year ago.”
“That’s not what people are saying at The Pink Poodle and out on the street, Kid,” returned Candy. “Seems every day someone comes up to me to tell me that you’ve gone back to working the street.” She stopped talking when she realized Cochran was with us. “Don’t I know you?”
He stepped forward and offered his hand. “Yes, I met you last year at Lynn and Greg’s wedding.”
“Oh, right. You’re one of those FBI agents, aren’t you?”
“That’s right. I’m Agent Cochran.”
Max slapped his leg. “Okay, now stop right there.” He turned to Candy. “You told me that Greg here is a notorious pickpocket. I get that. But what’s a federal agent doing in all of this?”
The next fifteen minutes were spent explaining in vague terms why it was that I was pretending to have gone back to a life of crime, as well as why Max’s staying with us could put him in another kind of danger.
“Hell, Kid. You don’t mind if I call you Kid, do you? I think it kind of fits you better than Greg. Besides, that’s what Sweet Candy calls you.”
Candy beamed, April frowned, and this time it was my turn to shrug.
Max continued. “I’m already in trouble with that DeMarco guy. If I’m going to lay low, I may as well do it where there’s a federal agent standing guard.” He cocked an eye at Cochran. “Though I can’t say you look much like a fed, no offense.”
“None taken,” said Cochran. “I’ve been working undercover the past few months, so I guess it worked.”
Candy glanced at the clock. “Oh, I’ve got to get back to the club.” She turned to Lynn. “Do you think you could give me a ride back? I can take a bus if it’s any trouble.”
“I can give you a ride,” April offered. “I have to head back to the hotel and pick up some things for Max and me, and I can swing by there on the way back.” They were gone out the door before her words sank in.
“Did I hear her say she’s picking up her things, too?” I asked Lynn.
She nodded. “Looks like we’re going to have a full house.”
Barbara took my arm. She had a big smile on her face.
“Oh, Kid. It’s just l
ike the old days.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
That night was like the first night of camp, not that I’d been to one, but it certainly fit the popular idea of it. We all stayed up far too late, drinking Belgium beer and pots of tea. I had to bring up some extra chairs from the basement so that we could all sit in the kitchen.
We spent most of our time swapping stories. Barbara reminisced about the days of the anti-war movement and the people who had stayed at The Book Nook. Her eyes grew misty as she remembered not only friends from more than forty years before, but the passion and commitment they had to their cause. April asked Lynn dozens of questions about her days as a stripper, much to the amusement of Max.
“Now young lady,” he said, in the manner of a stern, elder uncle, “what would your parents say if you threw away that master’s degree and took up dancing in a place like The Pink Poodle?
April blushed and didn’t answer.
Cochran loosened up enough to tell us a few stories of stakeouts and arrests, and Lynn told a few tales about life at The Pink Poodle. I told the story, legendary among pickpockets, of how my mentor, Fast Eddie Dupree, had removed a necktie from the chief of police during a press conference without anyone noticing.
But it was Max who told the best stories that night. I had to admit once again that for all the annoyance Max had caused, he was one heck of a storyteller. The night grew later and later as he spun one tale after another about how he began as a writer. No MFA program for Max. His alma mater was the street, and his first paying job as a writer was as a reporter for a well-known scandal sheet.
“Reporter? Hell, we weren’t reporters. Most of the stuff we wrote about we made up. The editor required us to come up with a dozen stories a week about celebrities misbehaving, flying saucers, grisly crimes, you name it.” He took a long pull from his beer and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. He thought for a second and then slapped his knee. “Do you know, we used to flip coins to see who had to put on the rubber suit while the rest of us took pictures of the spaceman walking around Central Park?”
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