He’d always liked Mimi best. She was a mischievous kid who didn’t take things too seriously. Bruno missed seeing her, and he’d never had a chance to meet the younger sister; in fact, he didn’t even know what her name was.
But in order for that to happen, Bruno had to reach some kind of understanding with McRae. Thus he’d badgered the Chief to set up a meeting. Bruno realized it was the first time he’d actually come in through the front door of the Municipal Building, and the sinking feeling was unmistakable. The Chief had warned him he’d probably be wasting his time. “Ready to enter the lion’s den?” he joked as he led Bruno down the hall to McRae’s office.
McRae was sitting at his desk, aligning the edges of a stack of papers, when they entered. He had a stocky build with a barrel chest. Now in his mid-40s, McRae was mostly bald on top, yet he wore his gray-blond hair collar length, along with a mustache, a goatee, and a large gold earring that Mr. Clean would have been proud of. He looked more like a bouncer at a biker bar than an attorney, which is exactly what he intended.
McRae stood up when they entered. He greeted the Chief but only glared at Bruno. Without speaking, he set down the stack of papers he’d been studying and positioned it neatly in a precise location on his desk. Several quick strides brought McRae face to face with his visitors. He raised his right arm; Bruno couldn’t tell if his ex-brother-in-law was going to put an arm around his shoulders or punch him in the nose.
McRae did neither. Instead he pointed a finger and shook it angrily. “Joey,” said McRae as if he’d been having difficulty remembering Bruno’s name. “Joey Kaplan. I thought I’d seen the last of you after Sharon dumped you. But here you are, in my office, going around with a ridiculous fake name, pretending to have psychic powers and bilking the taxpayers.”
“I didn’t bilk anybody, Bill. The Chief called me up and hired me to do a job. I just located that poor kid’s body …”
“You sure did. You found it in record time. I wonder how you managed that? Just like always: setting up your tricks in advance to make yourself look good. Did you kill Gussie yourself, Joey, or did you just work with the people who did? How much are you going to charge us to cough up the name? Or are you going to murder somebody else so you can try to run up your bill?”
McRae’s face was bright red. He was shouting, every muscle straining with tension, his lips within six inches of Bruno’s face. Chief Black stepped between them. He tried to pull Bruno away, but the psychic held his ground. He sidestepped the Chief so he could look McRae in the eye. “I need to see Mimi,” he said quietly. “I can solve this case, I just need a few minutes with her.”
McRae exploded. “Who the fuck told you she was involved? That was supposed to be confidential. Was it you, Buddy? ’Cause if it was I’m going to kick your ass.”
The Chief walked up to McRae and put his hands on his hips. “Go ahead, Bill. Take your best shot.”
McRae seemed to deflate physically as he sized up the Chief’s lanky strength. “I can sue you, Chief, and fine you. Nobody was supposed to give out her name.”
“He was working on the case, Bill,” the Chief said with a hint of menace. “He needed to know.”
“Well that was a big mistake, and I won’t tolerate any more indiscretions,” hissed McRae, jabbing a finger past Chief Black in Bruno’s direction. “You do not have my permission to go anywhere near my daughter. You’re not working for the Borough anymore, so you have no business hanging around. If you go within 20 feet of my house or any member of my family, I’ll have you locked up …”
“You can’t say that, Bill,” the Chief interjected. “We’re not locking up Bruno.”
“If he harasses my family …”
“He’s not threatening anyone with physical harm. He’s just requesting an interview. That’s not a crime.”
“I don’t want him around my house. He’s a suspect …”
“He is not a suspect. The newspaper does not get to decide who’s a suspect and who isn’t.”
“The Mayor says he’s a suspect.”
“The Mayor is a politician. He’s not the law in this town and neither are you. Now why don’t you go collect some overdue property tax bills and leave us to solve this murder? You’d really be doing me a favor if you’d let Bruno talk to your daughter. I’d guarantee …”
“You’ll do nothing of the kind. I guarantee that if I find him—Joey Kaplan—anywhere near my house or family, I will deal with it personally. I’ll kick your ass like it’s never been kicked before, Joey. I’ll rip your face off. I’ll break every bone in your body. I’ll bury you, you dickless weasel.”
“That sounds like a threat,” said the Chief. “Maybe you’re the one who needs a restraining order, Bill.” And he reached for his radio to call for help. It took Gary and Michelle about 30 seconds to come upstairs. Chief Black told them to keep an eye on McRae until he calmed down. Then he hustled Bruno out of the office.
“You can’t do this, Black,” McRae ranted. “I’ll have your badge. If anything happens to my daughter I’ll hold you responsible. That man is playing you for a fool. If you won’t lock him up, at least you better keep him under observation.”
“Don’t worry Bill. We’re way ahead of you.”
“I am worried, Buddy, which means you better worry too. You better make sure you keep tabs on this jerk. Cause if you don’t, your ass is mine …”
McRae’s threats melted into incoherence as the Chief led Bruno down the stairs to the police station. “Bill’s a real asset to the town.” He grinned. “When he litigates, he never loses. He either wins or gets tossed out for contempt. When he negotiates, we usually get sued. But we never lose.”
“How satisfying.” Bruno tried to match the Chief’s jaunty tone without success.
“I’m serious now. Biff’s going to be watching your every move to make sure you stay away from Mimi. So don’t you even try.” The Chief gave Bruno one of those direct looks that are supposed to confirm an agreement.
“I’ll do my level best,” replied Bruno, meeting his gaze head on.
“Make sure you do.”
Chapter 32
After an hour of tailing Bruno, Biff felt he was about to go out of his mind. Bruno had come up with a bike somewhere, which made him extremely difficult to follow. Biff couldn’t keep up on foot and, when he used the prowl car, Bruno would duck into alleys or cut across parking lots to make it difficult for him.
Eventually, he called the Chief for advice. “Hey, Chief, can I impound his bicycle?”
“No. I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t you come back here and borrow a bike from one of the meter maids?”
Biff had no choice but to assent. He didn’t want anyone to see how shaky he was on a bicycle. As a body builder, he was in tip-top shape. But he was also muscle-bound and none too secure balancing a bike.
When Biff returned, he couldn’t find Bruno. However, two of the red-headed speed freaks, Joe Kennedy and Sammy Pearl, were sitting on the low wall in front of the Presbyterian church, razzing him: “Biff, you ride like a pussy.”
“Shut up, you hard-ons, or I’ll bust you.”
They laughed insanely, spurred on by Biff’s obvious annoyance. Finally, they calmed down enough for him to ask, “Have either of you seen the psychic?”
In response, they started wiggling their fingers like stage magicians casting spells, and making horror movie sound effects: “Whheee yuuuuuu zzzzpppp.”
Biff let the bicycle crash to the ground. He set his jaw and approached the teenagers, his hand fondling his nightstick. They pretended to cower in fear, but they did in fact cough up the information he wanted, pointing up the street toward the Chinese restaurant.
Biff wondered how he hadn’t noticed him before, but Bruno was standing on the sidewalk in plain sight, pretending to take a photograph. In fact, he was spying on Judy Cohen, with a pair of miniature binoculars.
“What’s up?” asked Biff.
“Two egg drop, three wonton.”
“That’s funny.”
“I know. Five soup, only four people.”
Biff made a face. “I could arrest you for making a joke like that.”
“You know, you’re right,” said Bruno segueing from Buddy Hackett to Jackie Mason. “I couldn’t agree more. Ethnic jokes are degrading. But let’s be honest about it …” switching on the fly to Milton Berle: “Do you remember the tornado that hit South Jersey?”
“What?”
“It caused $10 million worth of improvements.”
“C’mon, Bruno,” Biff protested. “This is a nice town. Lots of people want to live in a place like this.”
“Yeah, it is nice here,” Bruno agreed, pretending to muse over the glorious quality of life in Gardenfield. In fact, he was timing his transition back to Jackie Mason. “It’s like a Jewish neighborhood. You can go wherever you please. Nobody’s afraid of getting mugged by an accountant.”
“That used to be true,” Biff replied, “before all this trouble started …”
—“Trouble …?” Bruno was teeing up the next one-liner, when an attractive young woman with a baby stroller approached them. “Yoo-wer Bruno X? The sy-kick? I’ve been reading about you in the pay-per!”
Bruno blushed. “You caught me red-handed.” He looked at her carefully. The stroller was a sophisticated piece of machinery and the dog she was walking appeared to be a Maltese poodle, a bad sign. Bruno wondered if she was going to threaten him. Maybe she had a tire iron hidden under the baby’s blanket to bash his head in. Or she might sic the Maltese on him. Many of that breed were known to be as vicious as they were neurotic.
Instead she extended her hand and gave his arm an affectionate squeeze. “I want to thank you fwor what yoo-wer doo-in’ here. My husband would say the same thing if he were here. In fact, everybody we know is behind you. We think it’s harr-ible what they’ve been saying about you in the pay-per. Just ig-noowr them and keep up the good work.” Then she continued on her walk.
Bruno was staggered. He looked at Biff to see if he would confirm what had just happened. Biff must have read his thoughts. He howled with laughter. “You can’t tell if she’s kidding or not, can you?”
The joke was growing stale for Bruno. Better get back to the task at hand. He gave the binoculars to Biff and pointed to the restaurant. “Take a look at this. Can you tell me who those kids are?”
Biff trained the binoculars on the restaurant. “Judy Cohen and her daughters? They’re the ones I’m supposed to keep you away from.”
“Yeah, I recognized them. It’s the other two love-birds I’m asking about.”
“That’s Alison Wales and her boyfriend, the Murphy kid. Everybody calls him Icky.”
“They look pretty cute sitting there together all snuggled up.” Alison had brought her iPod and she was sharing one of the earplugs with Icky. They were sitting together, listening to the same song, swaying slightly, arms around each other’s waists. “It seems I see them everywhere I go. What’s the story with them?”
“Alison’s a college kid. She studies at Penn. She and Icky have been an item all through high school. He’s not going to college though.”
“What’s he do?”
“He’s one of our local scumball speedfreaks. We think he’s trying to set up a meth lab along with those kids sitting on the wall.”
“The red-headed ones?”
“The very same.”
Just then Judy and Mimi emerged from the restaurant with two large bags of takeout.
“Aren’t you going to follow them?” Biff grinned provocatively. He seemed bored, ready for some action.
“What’s the point, Biff?” replied Bruno. “It’s obvious they’re about to go home. If I followed them, you’d follow me and grab me before I could talk to them. I know where they’ll be, so I’m just going to have to ditch you before I go see them.”
“I wouldn’t advise that,” Biff said.
“No, of course you wouldn’t. I’ve been getting a lot of good advice today. All of it free.”
“Not much of a day for you then.”
“No,” Bruno agreed. “And it isn’t over. Not by a long shot.”
Chapter 33
After the music ended, Icky and Alison were at cross-purposes. Icky wanted to smoke but was out of cigarettes. Alison wanted to get a copy of the paper to see if they were following up on the lead she’d provided.
They paid the bill and headed up Old Kings Road in search of news and nicotine. Alison scored first. She found a box selling the Pest and started riffling through it, looking for an exposé of sexual harassment at Penn.
Meanwhile, Icky was prattling excitedly about an apartment that he had rented with Sammy and Joe. It was cheap, discreet, and kind of a dump—not that any of them cared. As they approached the corner of Mechanic Street, Icky made a show of sniffing the air. There was an aromatherapy spa on the corner, and the place reeked of noxious essential oils and sinus-penetrating herbal concoctions. “It smells like a Superfund site.” Icky was pleased with his clever choice. “Put down that paper for a sec so I can show you the secret entrance.” Icky led Alison around the corner, where a door allowed entrance to the apartment in back. It was painted the same shade of white as the entire side of the building. Hardly secret, but certainly discreet. The only other feature was an old-fashioned fire escape with elaborate counterweights that provided emergency egress for the second- and third-story apartments. “We’re movin’ in our stuff and things’ll be cookin’ in a coupla days,” Icky crowed.
Just then, one of the NewGarden security guards happened to be coming up Mechanic Street from the direction of the Friends School. He was still dressed in commando getup. The combination of the beret, several days’ growth of beard, the commando sweater, and the visible sidearm gave him a startling and formidable aspect. Icky perked up when he saw him. He sniffed the air like a hound picking up a scent and told Alison excitedly, “Must be a foreign brand if I can smell it on top of this stench.” And he rushed over to bum a cigarette.
Icky returned a moment later, inhaling with obvious pleasure. “Right again: Gauloises! I don’t think that guy knows any English, but us tobacco connoisseurs speak the same language. He was so pleased that I like Gauloises, he gave me the rest of his pack.” Icky held out the distinctive blue package with four or five cigarettes in it for Alison to see.
She had more pressing things on her mind. She’d already been through the Pest once, carefully, page by page. There was no coverage of her story. Now she was thrashing each sheet, her fury growing as she noticed what they were writing about instead: car crashes, the granting of liquor licenses, the weather and the heartbreaking tale of a family that couldn’t buy a condo in Garden Township because they owned too many dogs. What did she need to do, connect all the dots, spell it out for them?
Furious, Alison wadded the whole paper into a ball and dropped it in the gutter where she started kicking it, swearing violently each time she struck it. Icky joined in and soon they were playing a form of soccer, punctuated by profanity and, eventually, laughter.
They sat on the curb in front of the barbershop to catch their breath. “Sonsabitches,” moaned Alison, shaking her head.
Icky was lighting another Gauloises directly from the one he’d just finished smoking. “I keep telling you, let it go.”
Alison shrugged. “Easy for you to say.” She took the cigarette from Icky’s lips and puffed distractedly. The harsh tobacco made her cough. Icky tenderly took the cigarette from her so she wouldn’t burn herself by accident. Finally the spasms died down enough for Alison to complete the thought that had just struck her: “If I were you, I’d stay away from those security guards. They give me the creeps.”
Chapter 34
After a bit of haggling, Biff and Bruno came up with an agreement: drinks and a movie. Biff couldn’t drink, of course, while he was working. The opposite was true for Bruno. After getting fired, screamed at and threatened by McRae—plus the stress of two murder
s to solve—he needed a cocktail or two.
They drove to the theater in separate cars; otherwise Biff couldn’t credibly claim to be “tailing” Bruno. They headed out of town, caravan-style, toward the race track circle—which wasn’t there anymore, it was just a maze of traffic lights and complicated turnarounds—and pulled into a huge parking lot directly across from the world-famous Berry Hill Shopping Mall. Fortunately the bar and the movie theater shared the same parking lot. So Bruno could imbibe as he pleased and then walk to the movie. That meant Biff wouldn’t have to bust him for drunk driving.
Bruno only had the rough outlines of a plan worked out. He’d arranged for a friend to call McRae and tell him to stand by for an important service of process that would be arriving shortly. That would keep him stuck at the office for a while. Which meant that Bruno had to figure out a way to ditch Biff and make it back to Judy’s house before McRae gave up and went home.
That part made sense. But Biff was a bulldog. Bruno really had no idea how he could get free of him: He would have to simply follow his instincts and hope an opportunity would come his way.
One thing in his favor was the fact that Biff had not yet seen Flying Panda, Rolling Doughnut 3. This was a Hollywood techno-thriller with Chinese actors, lavish special effects, and lots of fighting. Bruno felt sure Biff would find it totally engrossing. The story line featured a medieval Chinese sage who is given a cup of special tea that transports him to modern-day Los Angeles. He battles gangs, police, and corrupt business interests who are all trying to kill him—he doesn’t know why. Only his incredible fighting skills and the friendship of big-breasted, ample-bottomed, dewy-eyed Latina heartthrob Katarina Martinez (Bruno wondered why the tabloids didn’t call her K-Mart) enable him to defeat his assailants and reveal that the heirs of Confucius are actually the street people of L.A.
The Violet Crow Page 12