Gold Coast Blues

by Marc Krulewitch

  “You didn’t sound as nasally onstage,” I said. “A special microphone?”

  “Get rid of Landau and let’s do business,” Jeremy said to Spike.

  Spike looked at me. “Well, Landau?”

  “There’s no business-doing until Blackstone tells us how to find Doug.”

  “Oh, goddamn it!” Jeremy said. “Blackstone just wants to buy the wine! He doesn’t know where Doug is!”

  “He’s investing in your trust and buying the wine?” I said. “That’s one profitable magic shop.”

  “So what price did you get us?” Spike said.

  Jeremy squirmed in his seat. “I told you on the phone.”

  “I forgot.”

  Blackstone chimed in. “Twenty-five hundred. Per bottle.”

  I waited for Spike’s reaction. He looked horrified. “So ten cases of twelve equals three hundred grand,” Spike said then looked at me. “He’s practically giving it away!”

  “You’re getting screwed,” I said.

  “That’s a fair price!” Jeremy said.

  “The wine is worth eight times that,” I said.

  “What it’s worth and what people will pay are two different things,” Jeremy said. “I’m the expert! I know what people will pay for wine.”

  In the doorway, Margot stood emotionless before her conspirators. We all noticed her at the same time. I said, “I hope you don’t mind I invited Margot.”

  Spike flashed me a What-the-fuck? look.

  “Margot, meet Mr. Blackstone,” I said. “He wants to buy your wine! Isn’t that wonderful?” Jeremy rushed to Margot and started whispering in her ear. “Oh, was there something your boyfriend neglected to tell you, Margot? Like he’s trying to sell your stolen wine?”

  Margot stepped away from Jeremy. When Jeremy tried to close the gap, she shoved him hard in the chest then angrily whispered something back.

  Blackstone rose from the couch. “It seems the details have not been taken care of,” he said.

  “I think it would be better if you stayed,” I said. Time to act tough.

  Blackstone’s eyes widened and then he smiled just a bit. “And I should assume you will prevent me from leaving?”

  I pretended to think about it. “I suppose. Although the idea of fighting an old man disturbs me.”

  “Leave him alone, Landau,” Jeremy said.

  “Yeah, let him go if he wants,” Spike said.

  “Really, Spike? Suddenly you’re a lovable gangster?”

  Spike’s face reddened. “Fuck you! You want to make the guy a prisoner?”

  “Spike’s right, Jules,” Margot said. “Is this why you begged me to come here? To watch you beat up an elderly man?”

  I shut the door then stood defiantly, hands on hips, holstered gun clearly visible, and said, “Nobody moves, nobody gets hurt.” Nobody laughed. “Sit down, old man.”

  “You’re just a punk,” Blackstone said.

  I walked to Blackstone, then shoved him hard in the chest. He fell backward onto the couch. Despite his contorted expressions of pain, I thought he landed rather nimbly for an old man. Jeremy got in my face, started shouting. A quick thrust to his gut with the heel of my hand sent him to his knees. Margot stood, staring in horror. She shouted, “What kind of man are you?”

  “Oh, relax,” I said. “I didn’t hit him that hard.”

  “Landau,” Spike said, “you need to chill out.”

  “Okay, everyone,” I said. “I’m sorry to have been such a prick, but two grave injustices have been perpetrated upon my friend Margot, and it’s time this maltreatment comes to an end.”

  “What are you doing?” Margot said.

  “Landau,” Spike said, “this wasn’t part of the game plan.”

  Jeremy got to his feet, then stumbled to the chair behind his desk. Blackstone seemed calm, even resigned.

  “The people responsible for Margot’s predicament are present in this room,” I said. “Yet here she stands, stoically accepting her fate. Margot, Jeremy wants to sell your wine for twenty-five hundred bucks a bottle. What do you think of that?”

  “Jeremy’s an idiot,” Margot said.

  “Is that because the wine is worth more like twenty thousand a bottle?”

  Spike looked at Margot. Margot nodded. Spike said, “What about it, Jeremy?”

  “Nobody would pay that kind of money!”

  “I don’t think Blackstone believes that,” I said. “What about it, Blacky?”

  Staring at the floor, Blackstone said, “Good wine is an asset. A solid investment.”

  “But why would Jeremy settle for one-eighth of the wine’s value?” I said.

  “I should call the cops and have you thrown out of here,” Jeremy said.

  “Jeremy needs a pile of cash so he can attract investors for his wine equity trust. You’re probably thinking, He has ten cases of Mouton Rothschild! What does he need cash for? Well, cash is the truest of liquid assets. Cash has no authentication requirement like great works of art or rare wine. Jeremy’s problem is that he’s a wine expert. And because he’s a wine expert, he has reason to believe the wine could be fake.”

  “That’s a lie!” Jeremy shouted. “To work as long and hard as I have to become a master sommelier, only to risk my reputation by selling counterfeit wine? I’d die first!”

  “What do you think, Margot?” I said. “I mean, it’s your wine, after all.”

  “My father was a highly regarded wine connoisseur,” Margot said. “He was also one of the most respected cardiac surgeons in the country. His integrity was impeccable.”

  “It’s not possible Dr. van Bourgondien was conned somewhere along the way?” I said.

  “What are you getting at, Landau?” Jeremy said.

  “A magazine called Wine Kibitzer. Each year they devote an issue to the latest wine scams and rehash the most significant scams of the previous years.” From the breast pocket of my jacket I took out a page I had ripped out of the copy Paul from Der Weingott had given me. “Here’s an article about Dr. Thomas van Bourgondien, who three years ago filed a lawsuit in federal court claiming he was sold ten cases of counterfeit wine—Chateau Mouton Rothschild 1945.”

  “It was never proven,” Margot said.

  “He dropped the lawsuit,” I said.

  “Dad’s health was deteriorating. He didn’t want to spend the money so late in life.”

  “Are you finished, Landau?” Jeremy said. “Spike, let’s talk privately.”

  “The possibility of selling phony wine made Jeremy nervous. That’s why you settled for the reduced price. Asking twenty grand a bottle would’ve brought too much attention and scrutiny. But three hundred thousand for ten cases—that doesn’t raise an eyebrow in your world. And the price was low enough so Blackstone could resell it for, say, five grand a bottle, and make a tidy profit.”

  Jeremy stood, walked to the couch, then extended his arm to Blackstone. “C’mon, I’ll walk you out.”

  “Let them leave, Jules,” Margot said.

  “He doesn’t need your help, Jeremy,” I said. “This strapping young buck could knock a skinny boy like me aside with no problem. But that would give away his secrets, right, Blacky?”

  “Christ almighty!” Margot said. “What are you talking about? What secrets?”

  “Whaddya say, Blackstone? You want to do it or should I? Tell those secrets, that is.”

  Blackstone’s face clouded over. He stared first at me then took turns locking eyes with the others. “Go ahead,” he said scathingly. “I don’t want to ruin your fun.”

  “Jeremy, take off Blacky’s beret and then take a pinch of that latex bald cap.”

  Jeremy gawked at me a moment then put his hand on Blackstone’s shoulder. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

  Blackstone swatted Jeremy’s hand away. I rushed over, knocked off Blackstone’s beret, took a pinch of his scalp between thumb and forefinger, then stretched the latex an inch or two. An elbow to the stomach dropped me to the floor.


  “Hello, Doug,” I gasped. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

  Chapter 46

  Spike glowed with joy. Margot appeared either detached or astonished. Jeremy did a walking-dead imitation back to his desk, then sat like a dejected little boy.

  Doug took out his fake teeth. “Okay,” he said. “Get over it already.”

  “Here’s some acetone to remove the adhesive,” I said and tossed a small plastic bottle at Doug’s feet. “C’mon, get rid of that cap and beard, let’s have a look at you.”

  “Damn it!” Spike said. “I really thought you were dead.”

  “Working at the magic shop was a nice touch,” I said. “I have a feeling you’ve had this Blackstone character around for quite a while.”

  Without a word, Doug picked up the bottle, removed a few Q-tips from his pocket, then calmly applied the liquid to the edges of the latex before carefully peeling off the cap, liberating his white-streaked gray hair.

  “What did you do with Tanya?” I said.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Doug said.

  “Landau knows,” Margot said.

  “Knows what?” Spike said.

  “Margot killed Tanya,” I said. Spike’s and Jeremy’s initial expressions were incredulous, almost smiling as if waiting for the punch line. Spike stepped toward Margot. I didn’t like his posture. “Keep your distance,” I said, grabbing his arm then shoving him back. “What did you do with the body, Doug?”

  “Go fuck yourself,” Doug said.

  “Boring!” I shouted then removed a pistol tucked into the small of my back, the pistol I found in the dresser drawer of Doug’s room at the Masonic lodge, the pistol I now pointed at Doug.

  “Put it down,” Spike said, producing a gun of his own and pointing it at me.

  I laughed. “Really? You’re gonna shoot me?”

  “Put it down. We can beat the info out of him if we have to.”

  “Ach! You’re such a buzz-kill.” I put the gun in my jacket pocket and at the same time removed a tiny plastic tube that I tossed near Doug’s feet. As Spike put his gun away I slipped my hand back into my pocket, gripped the pistol, then aimed it at Doug through the jacket material and pulled the trigger. A sharp crack sent everyone into momentary cardiac arrest. The exploding squib smeared a gooey red mess on the carpet in front of Doug, splattering droplets over his shoes.

  “No way!” Spike said. “You faked her out!”

  I said to Margot, “You still think you killed Tanya?”

  Margot’s gaze bounced between Doug and the crimson mess on the floor while she reconfigured the facts of last December. Her facial expression remained mostly benign, although the twitching, narrowing, and blinking of her eyes betrayed some kind of ongoing calculation. Finally, she bristled, “You son of a bitch!” bolted at Doug, shouting “Bastard!,” then threw herself upon him, wrapping her arms around his skull and turning side to side as if attempting to twist his head off. Doug struggled to repel the attack until Margot grabbed his beard with one hand and an eyebrow with the other, eliciting a ghastly scream as the latex base of the fake hair tore at Doug’s skin. He dropped to the floor and tried to roll her off. Somehow, Margot ended up lying on his chest while still maintaining her hold on his whiskers. But the move had been advantageous for Doug since he now had the leverage to twist her fingers backward, forcing Margot to relinquish her grip, and allowing Doug to shove her away. The two lay panting on the floor. Could this marriage be saved?

  “Time for angry sex?” Spike said.

  “Fuck off,” Doug said, pushing himself up then falling back onto the couch. “Crazy bitch.”

  I walked to Margot, helped her up, guided her to the other end of the couch, then sat between them.

  “All better?” I said. “Got it out of your systems?”

  “Tell me, Doug,” Margot said. “Those tears. After faking her death. How did you get yourself to cry like that?”

  I took out a thirty-millimeter plastic bottle of clear liquid and handed it to Margot. “Some type of mentholated liquid. Actors use it to make their eyes water.” Doug had nothing to add. I said, “Margot has no fear now since she knows she didn’t kill Tanya. So why don’t you tell us where she is?”

  “I don’t know where she is,” Doug said.

  “What the fuck, Doug?” Spike said. “I’ll tell you where Margot’s wine is if you tell us where Tanya is.”

  “I said I don’t know!” Doug said loudly. “She moved out a week ago—to room with someone from the bar, and don’t ask me who it is because I have no fucking idea.”

  “How sad!” Margot said. “Did she break your withered little heart?”

  I gave Margot a you’re not helping! look and said, “What exactly was your relationship with Tanya?”

  Doug sat up, the embodiment of helpless resignation. “It was nothing real,” he said.

  Margot leaned forward, looked around me at Doug. “Not real?” she said. “Pretending I killed her so you could squeeze money out of me was not real? Threatening to ruin my life was not real?”

  “Her feelings! She didn’t have real feelings for me—not like that.”

  “Not like what?” I said.

  “I cared about her—”

  “You’re obsessed with her,” Margot said.

  “Hey!” Doug shouted, taking his turn to look around me at Margot. “You were screwin’ Jeremy before I ever met Tanya, remember?” We all glanced at Jeremy, who had no discernible reaction. Doug then said quietly, “I was out of my head. She wasn’t afraid to use sex to get what she wanted. And she could be incredibly cruel.”

  “Oh, god!” Margot groaned. “Are we supposed to feel sorry for you?”

  “Did you know somebody from New Jersey was looking for Tanya?” I said.

  “She seemed nervous, like someone was after her. She kept saying she wanted to disappear. Disappear from what? I would say. What are you afraid of? She would never answer. When that little shit Spike stole the wine, Tanya hatched this crazy idea of getting Margot to shoot her. If Margot thought Tanya was dead, she would say so if questioned, which would help Tanya disappear. I thought she was kidding. Then I thought she was nuts. But she kept pushing me to try it.”

  “I guess I should be flattered,” Margot said. “You didn’t think I was stupid enough.”

  “I didn’t think you were crazy enough. It was Tanya who saw—”

  Margot jumped up and looked at Doug with a loathing I could only describe as feral. “You told her things about me—”

  “But she went along with your little game, right?” I said. “After you wrapped her in blankets and carried her out of Margot’s apartment, then what? What was the plan?”

  The four of us watched Doug fold his arms and let his chin fall to his chest. It occurred to me Doug wanted to be a part of this investigation, that he needed some kind of closure. Otherwise, why wouldn’t he just walk out? Maybe he was relieved now that the charade was over.

  Doug lifted his chin and said, “I was going to call her when I got the money from the wine. The money would let her get away and start over somewhere else.”

  I smiled, looked around expecting the others to reciprocate their joy in how simple things had suddenly become. But all I got was blank stares. “So call her!”

  Doug didn’t like my tone. “Don’t give me orders, Landau.”

  “Does anyone care where the wine is?” Spike said.

  “Give Margot her wine back,” Jeremy said.

  “I stole the wine from Doug,” Spike said. “What about it, Doug? You want your wine back?”

  “Give it back to Margot,” Doug said.

  “And give her back the five grand you took after knocking me out,” I said.

  “What? That wasn’t me—I didn’t hit you.”

  “I got cracked on the head because you’re a lying, selfish little prick! You can all talk amongst yourselves about who gets to sell bogus wine. But Doug needs to set up a meeting—”

>   “We still don’t know if it’s fake!” Margot said.

  “Your dad filed a lawsuit,” Jeremy said. “He must’ve had a reason. Some idiot paid half a million for wine owned by Thomas Jefferson. He’s suing too.”

  “So who cares?” Spike said. “As long as there’s a dumbass who thinks it’s real, then it’s real. It’s all fermented grapes.”

  “Listen to me, Doug,” I said. “Tanya’s boyfriend Eddie is looking for her. He hangs with a lot of nasty people from New Jersey who want her found. And there are others looking for her. Lots of potential motivations involved here, Doug—”

  “You’re being paid to find her,” Doug said. “Why should I think you give a damn about her life? She’s safe where she is. Leave her alone until I can get the money together.”

  “You’re sure she’s safe?” I said. “But you don’t even know where she is. What makes you think she’s safe? And how long do you think she’ll remain safe? And where is the goddamn wine, Spike?”

  Spike smiled. “Margot has it,” he said.

  “What are you talking about?” Margot said.

  “It’s in your attic. I knew how much it creeped you out up there. So I moved it when you were hanging out at that French place across the street.”

  “I told you to change the locks, Margot,” I said. “And it’s probably too warm in that old attic. Heat’s terrible for wine, even I know that.”

  “Who’s drinking the wine?” Spike said. “It’s too valuable to drink.”

  Spike’s comment seemed to torpedo the discussion. Doug appeared dazed. I wanted to smack the side of his head. Instead, I dropped a business card on his lap and said, “You’re a fool if you think she’s safe. Those who want to find Tanya will find her. And here’s a little secret. She has connections to organized crime. So the FBI wants to find her too. You helped fake her death to blackmail Margot. I have a feeling the FBI might want to talk to you and everyone in this room, and I can facilitate that. That’s why you’re going to call Tanya and set up a meeting. That’s why after I walk out of here, everyone in this room is going to encourage you to do as I ask. Whether you sell the wine or use it for enemas, I don’t give a damn.”