by Robert Lane
“You do like me, don’t you?” I answered.
“You’re becoming a major drag on my time.”
“Just a quickie.”
“Just a guy.”
I pitched her the monetary element but kept it low-key. I didn’t think it would mean much to her and might even backfire. Nonetheless, I wanted to set the hook. She said she’d think about it and disconnected. I didn’t remember the last phone conversation I’d had when someone actually had said good-bye.
I relaxed back in my chair. A crab boat came by with two men in it. They were checking their traps, which were marked by single buoys. Pelicans kamikazed the surface, and a flock of roseate spoonbill glided through the summer sky as the sun’s rays blazed their pink feathers. I searched for a reason to believe the Chicago Outfit knew that Garrett and I had buried four of their own on a beach. I had no reason to believe they suspected Lauren Cunningham was alive under a new name. Even if they did know, they may well have realized she never had been a threat and had moved on. Nor did I have any reason to believe Joseph Dangelo knew of any of that. Or that Walter Mendis was plotting payback. I didn’t have any reason to believe my actions to find Jenny would, in some unforeseen manner, throw a spotlight on those activities. But I also knew the world was governed with far less reason than anyone suspected.
And if the stars were aligned against me? Fine by me. I had my Excalibur: Theresa Ann Howell. My intellect faded as my instincts gathered arms like a Hun preparing for battle. I would use her to free Jenny and cast a protective shield over Kathleen. A two for one.
I headed out for breakfast. After all, an army marches on its stomach.
CHAPTER 29
I took a counter seat at Sea Breeze, a pine-walled breakfast-and-lunch establishment that had been flipping eggs since the 1930s. The air was thick with grilled breakfast and REO Speedwagon.
“The usual, Jake?” Peggy asked.
“I was thinking of doing something different this morning,” I replied as I perused the menu, which I hadn’t glanced at in more than a year. “Maybe fresh fruit and a bagel with light cream cheese. Do you have any yogurt?”
She had one hand on a hip, and the other clutched a coffee pot. She snorted, spun, and stalked off.
Garrett and Morgan had taken off to buy new speaker wires for Impulse. I planned to stake out Dangelo’s hangout in Ybor City while Garrett kept an eye on the Winking Lizard. We wanted to see who came in and out and try to pick up any sign of Jenny. I also wanted to talk to Kelly, the waitress at the Cubana Grille. She seemed well acquainted with Dangelo.
The guy to my right wore a Pier House T-shirt and was reading The Wall Street Journal. He pestered me with questions about the local economy. I asked him if the current banking regulations were strict enough considering that it had taken Wall Street only ten years after the repeal of Glass-Steagall to leverage their own money by thirty to one and bring the developed nations’ financial systems to their knees and nearly plunge the world into an unimaginable dark age. We jostled for a while. He was a talker, and you know how I feel about that breed. He asked what I do for a living. I said I fish and plug the occasional bad guy. He laughed and said, “That’s different. What do you really do?”
“I just told you.”
It worked.
He pulled out a twenty, left it on the bar, and scooted out the door. He also left a strip of bacon on his plate. I ate it. I slid the Journal over and started reading.
“Here you go, Casanova,” Peggy said a few minutes later as she dropped a plate on top of “Money and Investing.” A red bowl of onions followed and blotted out a graph of the ten-year treasury.
“No yogurt this morning?” I asked.
“You ask that girl to marry you yet?” She punched it out the same way she dropped food on the counter.
“How do you—?”
“Whole beach knows. And let me tell you, you won’t do any better than her. Don’t blow this one, you hear me?”
“Yes, ma’am. But I’m still trying to get in touch with—”
“You’re so full of it, I don’t know how you squeeze through the door. You grab her and never let go. And stop scaring away the new patrons. I heard what you said to that guy.”
“I was being truthful—”
“Don’t be.” She pivoted and vanished into the kitchen.
I dumped the sautéed onions over the eggs and crispy hash browns. I showered the plate with pepper. What a gorgeous canvas—it was almost a shame to tear into it. When I was finished, I left Peggy a buck more than usual. She’d be insulted with anything more.
I strolled out the front door, hesitated a beat, and went to an apparel store half a block toward the Gulf. I was supposed to meet Kathleen for lunch downtown. I got that part; I’d just forgotten what her plans were for the morning.
I spent the next two hours helping Morgan help me fix my boat speaker. Garrett already had departed for the Winking Lizard. We were treading water while we waited for Holzman to come through; it’s not my favorite activity, but it’s not sinking. When we finished, I showered outside; donned a clean, button-down, silk shirt and pressed shorts; and hopped into my truck. I found Kathleen inside Mangroves at a corner two-top that overlooked Beach Drive and the side street. I had a little more than an hour before I wanted to camp outside the Cubana Grill; I wanted to be in there in case Kelly got off work after lunch.
“Not outside?” I asked and bent down to kiss her. We exchanged a quick peck. No parted lips and open eyes. Not today.
“I hope you don’t mind. It’s just too hot.”
“I’m good.” She had taken the seat that looked outside, and I sat across from her with my back to the glass. She wore a murderous butter-yellow dress. Her jewelry, which I didn’t recall seeing before, had a Western flair that complemented the dress.
A young man wearing the name “Irving” on his left chest took our food and drink orders simultaneously. I gave him my credit card with our orders. He stomped off. I wanted to be in and out as quickly as possible, but even when I’m not in a hurry, I give the card well before the check comes then review the chit when I sign the receipt. I leave a restaurant when I want to leave. I can’t tolerate waiting and having someone else determine when I stand and walk. Irving departed, and I explained to Kathleen why I had to eat and run. She said that was fine; after her busy morning, she was pressed for time as well.
“How was your morning?” I asked. With a little luck, she’d fill me in on whatever it was she had told me she was doing that I hadn’t paid attention to. We’ve all been there.
“Good. How was yours?” She did that occasionally—deflected questions about herself with a short answer then lobbed a question of her own. It was a ploy I constantly used as well. I figured very few people really gave a damn, so why fake it? The real test is whether they bring the question around again.
I took a sip of water that had been waiting for me. “I went to Sea Breeze for breakfast and enlightened my stool mate that I fish and don’t like bad people. I got a free strip of bacon out of the deal.”
“It would behoove you to be a mute sometime.”
“Behoove?”
“Yes.” She smiled. “You need to work on behooving.”
“That word should be reserved for admonishing a ranch hand. And your morning?” I asked for the second time, because even if I was a poor listener, I gave a damn about Kathleen more than the heavens would ever know.
“It was a good seminar, but it cut short my morning reading session on your dock.”
I had no idea what seminar she was even referring to, so I went with her reading comment, thankful that she’d thrown it out there. “Well, you can return to your experiment tomorrow.” I took another sip of water and let an ice cube sneak into my mouth. It was the square type with a hole in the middle, which I stuck my tongue into.
“I suppose, but it might be more difficult due to what we all decided at the meeting.”
Did she rope me in on purpose? I went in
over my head and said, “That’s good. Everybody show up?”
Kathleen gave me a sympathetic smile. “You’re totally lost, aren’t you?” It came out with an appropriate dose of pity.
“I just wasn’t there last night. What did you do this morning?” That was three times now.
“What’s in the box?” And twice for her. She sucked her left cheek in between her teeth. She really was a little ticked. Good thing I had the box.
I placed it on the table. “For you.” I said.
Another smile. Point for me. “What’s the occasion?” she asked, as she picked it up.
“Felt like it.”
I heard Peggy’s voice telling me not to blow it. Kathleen opened the box, and a copper-tone summer dress spilled out. She gushed that it was beautiful, that she loved the color, that it went with the jewelry she had on, that it was the right size, and how’d I know? All that stuff I barely heard. Then this: “It’s the first thing you’ve bought me.”
I started to protest; after all, certainly I’d bought her a gift before, right?
She leaned over and gave me a kiss. She reclined back in her chair. “You’re a lucky fellow. Your timing couldn’t have been better.”
“So what did you do this morning?” That made four times, and despite my efforts, I was sensing a pattern here. I wasn’t going to take that hill. Not today.
“Oh, no,” she replied with a smile and slight shake of her head that was just enough to jiggle her earrings, “you don’t skirt that easy. Tell me about what you’re doing to find Jenny.”
Irving dropped off our lunches. Kathleen speared a piece of salmon, and I took a Grand Canyon bite out of my cheeseburger. Breakfast seemed like eons ago. I told her we suspected Dangelo to be part of a larger group, but I left it at that. I debated telling her he was organized crime with connections in her old stomping grounds. I sensed she thought of asking more, but she remained silent. Irving asked us if there was anything else he could get for us. “We’re done,” I proclaimed, but he already had spun and headed to his next table. Little twit. Why even ask? Kathleen commented that one didn’t see many young Irvings, which led to a litany of Irving writers. Stone. Wallace. John. She got stuck when she tried to recall the name of Garp’s youngest son.
“You know, don’t you?” she asked.
“Think Sidney,” I said, and my mind flashed to the Laundromat.
“That’s a clue?”
“It’s a variation of ‘Disney.’”
“Disney. Okay, I’ll run with that. Goofy, Donald—”
“Think corporate.”
“Fine. Walt…Walt!”
We clanked our glasses in jubilation. Irving dropped off the bill. The pen he provided had the name of a gastroenterology practice on it. Did the same group that owned the restaurant also own the medical practice? Hopefully there’s a law against such an alliance.
We strode outside, and the heat socked me back to reality with an uppercut of guilt as I recalled Garp’s mother. Jenny. Like the night of the banana cream pie, I had just enjoyed a cheeseburger and an air-conditioned brainteaser lunch with a woman who knew me yet still loved me. An unusual combination for any of us. If only briefly, my biggest concerns in life had been a waiter who hadn’t sucked up to me and a pen that never should be found in a dining establishment.
I was Jenny’s hope? Her wrecking ball?
I begged off walking Kathleen back to her condo, as my truck was in the opposite direction, and I had to hustle. As I cut the corner, I glanced through the window at the table where Kathleen and I had just lunched. It was neatly set for the next patrons. Like we were never there. Garrett called as I opened the driver’s door to my truck.
“Anything?” I asked. I knew he was at the Winking Lizard.
“Not here, but I talked to Holzman.”
“And?”
“Hopefully by tonight. With the time difference, my bet is after midnight our time.”
“Sure it’s the same girl?” I climbed into the truck.
“I texted him the photo. Positive ID.”
“He knows not to touch?”
“He’s not really wacko. That’s—”
“No, that man flies without radar.”
“On certain occasions those are the perfect people to have on your side.”
“Kathleen’s not to know of this.” I turned the key and put the truck in drive.
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
I disconnected and headed to Ybor City.
The rest of the afternoon crawled by with the dull consistency of a metronome. No one entered or departed Dangelo’s building. Kelly was working, but her shift must have run through the afternoon, as she never ventured outside. I ducked into cafés and consumed a gallon of iced tea. I dodged a cloudburst and sauntered into an independent corner bookstore. I wondered whether in the future, buried deep in some doctoral thesis of bygone species, independent bookstores would be listed as Liberum editio negotium, right next to some South American ant. I grabbed a beer at a sports bar with seven flat screen TVs all broadcasting a different event. I found a kettle corn stand and devoured half a bag.
At our luncheon, Dangelo had informed me that he preferred his St. Pete office for its proximity to both points south and north. I hadn’t asked him where that office was; I should have. He may or may not have told me, but that doesn’t excuse my mental lapse. I doubt it was the Winking Lizard; he had too much class for that.
He finally exited at six thirty and headed straight to the Cubana Grille. I took a high stool in a coffee shop window across the street, which I’d scouted out earlier as a perfect vantage point. He claimed the same table he had with us, but this time a white cloth dressed up its surface. The Tweedle team took up its post. I wondered whether the bookstore carried a copy of Lewis Carroll’s Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, which is where the pair originated.
Dangelo had a dinner guest whom I didn’t recognize. The man joined him shortly after Dangelo sat down. His dinner partner was a stocky man in an ill-fitting summer suit. While Dangelo was in short sleeves, his guest kept his jacket on. They dined for a little more than an hour. When they left, I snapped some pictures with my Canon as well as my cell phone. I followed Summer Suit to his idling, generic, black town car with the limousine sticker in the rear widow. A ride to and from the airport. An out-of-town visitor. I realized Binelli hadn’t gotten back to me yet on the plate on the truck Garrett and I had ridden in from the Winking Lizard to meet Dangelo. Without some formal commitment from her, I was always afraid that our last conversation would be our last conversation. I went back to my post and kept an eye on Kelly.
She left at nine twenty-five. A long day. I scampered across the street and followed her to the three-dollar lot. I wondered if she needed to pay that every day or if the restaurant cut a deal for the staff. I closed in on her just as she reached into her purse for what I assumed were her keys.
“Kelly?”
She jumped and turned; I had scared her. “Yes?” She held keys in her right hand.
“My name’s Jake. I wonder if I could have just a couple of minutes with you? I’d like—”
“Are you some off-duty cop?” Her shoulders slumped. She drew the word cop out, and it lasted longer than the first four words combined.
“A cop? No, I just want to—”
“Listen, man”—she pitched her head off to her left—“I haven’t been near that mama’s boy since—”
“Near who?”
“Leonard. You’re not here about my restraining order?”
“No. Nothing to do with that. I just got a couple of questions about someone you serve.”
“Well”—she brightened up a bit and picked up the pace—“who are we talking about?”
“A regular patron of yours, Joseph Dangelo.”
“You mean Mr. Dangelo?”
“Sure, doll. Mr. Dangelo.”
“Don’t get smarty on me.”
“My apo—”
“He
y, I waited on you yesterday. I’m good at that—observing and remembering people I wait on.” Kelly took a step forward, and her head tilted back a few inches. “You didn’t bring your friend, did you?”
“No.”
“Pity.” She shook her head. “I’d die to have that skin tone. Talk about unfair. Well, Jason, you going to buy me that drink or not?”
“It’s Jake.”
“Are you or aren’t you?”
We walked two blocks to a brewery. I’d never asked her if I could buy her a drink.
Kelly, over a glow-stick martini, gave me what I wanted to know about Dangelo, but first I had to sit through the Leonard chronicles. She’d gotten a little too physical with her ex-boyfriend, and he had cried to the police. “I’ve got a temper,” she said in a voice totally at odds with her personality. “And Leonard—he’s so sweet; he really is—but he can’t take a punch for shit. Is that my fault? My therapist says I need to stop taking things so personally.”
She swore she’d never before seen the man in the summer suit with whom Dangelo had dinner.
I asked, “Who do you think was in charge, Dangelo or the suit?”
“The kitchen was one short, and the new prep guy still doesn’t know pastrami from corned beef. Marlene called in sick—there’s a shocker—so I did a double again. You think I got time to notice that stuff?”
“Just asking.”
“I’d say they were equals.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I feel like it.”
“Okay. What causes you to feel like that?”
“Mr. Dangelo held his own. He never needed to raise his voice, you know? Pretty hard to ruffle Mr. D. But Suit Coat? He was intense.”