Nimble Be Jack: A Jack Nolan Novel (The Cap's Place Series Book 2)

by Robert Tarrant

  I turned and stepped toward Bracchi, but my path was immediately blocked by the lead linebacker. Stopping in my tracks and leaning to one side to peer around the mountain in front of me I said, “Welcome Mr. Bracchi. Glad you stopped in.” Yeah, right!

  Bracchi tapped the linebacker on the arm with the back of his hand, moving him out of the way as if he was a feather. He stopped in front of me, but was looking past me taking in the entire bar. Finally, he spoke, “Ah, Jack. Nice joint you’ve got here. Let’s sit down, get a drink, and talk.”

  I gestured toward the corner booth, “Have a seat. What would you like to drink? I’ll get it started.”

  Bracchi looked toward the two linebackers sitting in the booth between the corner and the door and they both nodded. He started toward the corner booth and said over his shoulder, “Single malt. Bowmore if you have it.”

  One of the linebackers, who had just arrived with Bracchi, took a stool at the end of the bar and the second exited out the front door. I guessed that he was going to stay with the car, but that was only a guess based on the gangster movies I’d seen. I leaned over the bar and told Marge to find the best single malt scotch we had and send over a double and a Landshark for me.

  I slid into the booth and joined Bracchi who was very deliberately taking in the entire scene at Cap’s. What scene there was. His eyes seemed to be moving from table to table registering the details of everything in sight. I had the feeling that he could close his eyes and recite the most minute detail of the entire room and everyone in it. Maybe being hyper-observant is how someone in his line of work gets to his age.

  Not knowing if protocol allowed me to speak first, but anxious to learn what prompted his visit, I jumped in with, “Really didn’t expect to see you again so soon. When I meet people they always say they’re going to stop in sometime, but most never do.”

  Bracchi turned toward me with what could only be described as a condescending expression. He patted me on the shoulder, “Ah, young people. Always in a hurry. My friend you must learn to take your time. Everything in its time. First, we have a drink and talk a bit. People who do business should get to know each other. How can you place your trust in a man if you don’t know him?”

  I felt myself being pulled toward the precipice of the proverbial cliff. What business are we doing? Where does this lead? Nowhere I want to go. I can bet that. My head was spinning as a pert little blond arrived with our drinks. I know she works here but with the sudden snowstorm of issues in my mind I couldn’t recall her name to save my life. As she set the drinks on the table in front of us I managed, “Thanks Hon. If we need anything else we’ll flag you down.”

  With a bit of a pout she purred, “Sure, Jack. Whatever you say.”

  Bracchi swirled his glass in a circular motion and took a whiff of the scotch before tasting it. He didn’t turn up his nose, but he didn’t smile either. “Scotch whiskey. Do you know scotch whiskies Jack?

  “Can’t really say that I do. What we stock is what my uncle stocked when he ran the place.”

  “Scotch whiskey is like so much else in life. Once you have experienced fine scotch nothing else quite measures up. I’m partial to Bowmore. It’s from the Islay Region. Little heavy. Little smoky.” With a small chuckle and a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “A man’s scotch.” The chuckle and phony smile disappearing as suddenly as they had appeared, “Maybe next time I visit, you will have Bowmore for me.”

  “Sure. Sure. I’ll see what I can do.” From the expression on his face I was certain that Bracchi didn’t appreciate people telling him that they’d only attempt to do what he asked of them. Something more definite was expected.

  “So, tell me Jack. How is business? You making money with this place? You know I own some joints up north. I can probably give you some tips.”

  This seemed like the time for me to take a good long drink of my Landshark. I don’t want to discuss my business with Bracchi because I want it to stay my business. The last thing I need is for him to decide he wants a piece of Cap’s. This type of guy has a way of getting what he wants. Still I don’t want to tick him off. “To be honest we just about break even most months. Certainly not getting rich. If the economy ever improves enough I’ll probably just sell.” That was really stupid Jack, maybe that’s exactly what he wants. Maybe he wants to own Cap’s, not be partners with you. “Of course the economy will need to get a lot better for the place to show enough black ink for anyone to be at all interested.”

  “My friend, there are many ways to make money with a business and they are not all seen in the books. I’m confident that I could help you with many ideas that would yield you significant profits. Have you ever considered live entertainment?”

  I paused as if considering his suggestion, “No, not really. Don’t think live entertainment really fits our clientele.” Whatever the hell that meant. Then I added, “Besides, people have always told me what a pain it is to work with bands. Too many headaches to be worth it.” I was really scrambling to deflect his interest.

  A dark smile crossed Bracchi’s face, “No. No. Not bands. Girls. Dancers. Strippers.”

  I shot back as if it was a known fact, “I could never get a license for strippers. Not in Hollywood.”

  Bracchi chuckled, “Of course we can get a license. I have connections down here. We can get a license my friend.”

  My fears were realized with one simple word . . . we! There it was, out in the open. Bracchi wanted a piece of Cap’s. Guys like Bracchi were accustomed to getting what they wanted, through whatever means necessary. How could an inadvertent meeting at a barber shop bring this kind of trouble?

  The next thirty minutes consisted of Bracchi asking questions about Cap’s, and me doing my best to respond vaguely. Our exchanges were getting more and more terse. Finally, he looked around and said, “Yes, I think I will join you in this business.”

  With the sternest look I could muster I looked him directly in the eyes and said, “No, you will not be joining my business. I have absolutely no interest in you joining my business.”

  His return glare was the coldest I have ever seen in my life. His guttural response was, “Really? We’ll see about that.”

  Before he could continue, one of the linebackers abruptly coughed loudly as if he had a chicken bone in his throat. Bracchi looked toward him and followed his gaze to the end of the bar near the back door. There stood PJ and Tim talking to Marge. They were talking to Marge but frequently glancing over toward us.

  Without taking his eyes off PJ and Tim, Bracchi growled, “Those cops just happen to stop in?”

  I wasn’t the least bit surprised that Bracchi had spotted them as cops. PJ could certainly pass for something else but there was no denying that Tim personified cop. “Yeah, they started coming in when they investigated the death of one of our waitresses. Been fairly regular since then.”

  Bracchi’s cold eyes bore into me, “Oh, I see. It’s not like someone called them while you and I were chatting? I would be very disappointed if that’s what happened.”

  I felt my throat tighten and struggled to keep my voice from cracking, “No. I’m sure nothing like that. They stop in every few days for lunch and sometimes for a drink after work. Actually, several cops stop in for a beer from time to time. Goes back to the days when my uncle, a retired cop, owned the place.” I was exaggerating, but hoped it would make Cap’s seem less attractive to Bracchi.

  Bracchi nodded as if he accepted my explanation, but his eyes remained ice cold, “I hope it’s just a coincidence. Hate to get our new business relationship off to a bad start.”

  Obviously, saying no to this guy has no impact.

  Bracchi continued, “It’s time for me to get going anyway. I don’t really care to meet any cops today. We will talk again another day. By that time you will have reconsidered my offer.”

  I didn’t recall an offer, just a demand, but before I could utter a response, Bracchi’s back disappeared out the front door with the three line
backers in tow. I was staring at the closed door when I heard, “Good afternoon Jack. Interesting company you’re keeping these days. Since when does Tony Bracchi frequent Cap’s?”

  “Hi PJ. His presence surprised you and me both. Do you know Bracchi or was it just a good guess?”

  “A little of both. I know his name from the ongoing list of northeastern mobsters who vacation down here. Our organized crime guys have a package on him. Tim and I try to stay abreast of our visiting celebrities. Real fine upstanding friend you have there.”

  “Sure as hell no friend of mine. Met him once at the barber shop.”

  PJ slid into the booth across the table from me, “What brings him into Cap’s? Looked like you were engaged in deep conversation.”

  I leaned forward, “I think he has decided he wants a piece of Cap’s. Suggesting that WE turn it into a strip bar. Thank God you and Tim came in. You guys scared him away. At least for the moment.”

  PJ shook her head back and forth, “Doubt we scared him away. More likely he just didn’t want to chance us becoming interested in him. He works hard at flying under the radar when he’s down here. We don’t think he has any business interests down here. Guess Cap’s would be his first.”

  I couldn’t help but chuckle, “Wow! Guess I should feel honored. Hope the honor doesn’t get me killed.”

  PJ reached across the table and patted the back of my hand the same way she had a few days ago when we were discussing the cab driver murder. Her pat had the same impact, igniting every nerve fiber in my body. Her beautiful green eyes looked directly into mine, “Jack, that’s not going to happen. It’s not like we’re powerless. We can make life around here difficult for Mr. Bracchi if we so choose. When it comes to keeping his grubby mitts out of Cap’s, out of Hollywood, we will certainly do everything in our power to make life in South Florida miserable for him. Don’t worry. Just let us know if you hear from him again. He may see cops around here enough to decide it’s not worth the chance.”

  “Sounds good to me. How about you put up a note at the cop shop that cops drink for free at Cap’s this month.”

  PJ chuckled, “That would keep him away. Wouldn’t be any place to park for a mile around.”

  Tim ambled up to the table, “Partner, so much for our quitting early on Friday. Some jerk just tipped over a stop-n-rob on 17th. The lieutenant just called, we’re it.”

  As PJ was rising, she quipped, “Strange time of day for a robbery.”

  Tim shrugged his shoulders, “Yeah, from initial witness reports, sounds like he was higher than a kite.”

  As they were walking away, PJ turned and said, “Keep us posted if you hear from your new friend again Jack.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  It was a beautiful sunny South Florida Monday morning. Business over the weekend reflected the building summer tourist season. Summer brings more Floridians to the beach while winter is predominately snowbirds. Marge and I spent most of the morning going over upcoming supply orders and the myriad of other details related to running a small business these days. Marge told me about a couple of new waitresses she was hiring. I have learned to stay out of personnel issues affording me the added benefit that I don’t have any responsibility if people don’t work out. In truth, Marge’s instincts are just much better than mine when it comes to hiring.

  I was starting to leave the office when Marge said she wanted to talk a little more about one of the new waitresses. I was surprised because I thought we’d already discussed them. I stopped in the doorway and asked, “Okay. What is it I need to know?”

  Marge fidgeted in the desk chair before looking up at me, “Jack, I need to talk to you about Elizabeth Mitchell.”

  Still a bit confused I replied, “Sure, but I already said you could hire both of the waitresses you mentioned. Anyway, when have I said no to someone you wanted to hire?”

  Fidgeting in her seat again Marge was obviously uncomfortable. Whatever she was going to talk to me about was really stressing her. This was certainly uncharacteristic for Marge. I’d never known her to have the slightest hesitation in telling me exactly what she thought about anything. Finally, she took a deep breath and said, “Jack, Elizabeth is very vulnerable at this time in her life. I think it’s important that we remember that. You and I both need to remember that. We need to treat her accordingly.”

  Now I was really confused, “Okay, but exactly what are you talking about?”

  Marge looked directly up at me, “She’s been in a bad marriage and she’s trying to get away from it. She tried to leave her husband a couple of times before but he’s always found her and forced her to come home.”

  I interrupted, “What do you mean forced her to come home? Physically forced her?”

  Marge cocked her head to one side, “I think it was a combination of psychological and physical force. I don’t know all of the details but it sounds like this guy is one of those totally domineering husbands. How much is psychological and how much is physical I don’t know.”

  “Are there kids involved?”

  “No. Thank God for that.”

  I reflected for a minute on what Marge had told me and asked, “So what is it we need to be doing to help her?”

  Marge looked down at the desk and fidgeted again in her chair, “Well, Jack I just think it’s important that we’re sensitive to her fragile emotional state.”

  “Oh, I see, cut her some slack if she screws up a little. Are you going to tell Sissy and Moe? They’re much more likely to have that type of interaction with her than I am.”

  Marge took a deep breath and blurted out, “Jack, I’m not talking about that. I think she can stand up for herself on the job just fine. I’m talking about you not hitting on her. She’s very vulnerable right now and any additional emotional entanglement would just make matters worse.”

  I’m not certain, but I think my mouth was hanging open. Finally, I found my voice, “Marge, what makes you think I would, as you call it, hit on her. I don’t date our employees. You know that.”

  “What about Sissy? I suppose she doesn’t count.” The light flashing in Marge’s eyes was not the precursor to a smile.

  “Of course Sissy counts, but you know that’s different. Sissy’s different. We went through some things together when I was protecting her from the guy that killed Allison. One thing just led to another. It’s probably more Stockholm Syndrome than anything else. We both understand that. We’re just friends now.”

  Marge pursed her lips, “Oh really, that’s why she was coming down the outside stairs from your apartment the other morning when I came in.”

  Now I was really perplexed, I couldn’t determine exactly what this conversation was about. Was it about this new waitress Elizabeth or was it about Sissy. I really thought Marge and Sissy had fallen into a nice rhythm working together. Maybe I was being naive. Unlike my usual approach of avoiding difficult issues of a personal nature, I hit the topic head on, “Do you have a problem with Sissy?”

  Marge exclaimed, “God no. I love Sissy. She’s amazing. Totally focused on college, but helping me around here every spare minute she has. I wish I could clone her.”

  Marge is in her mid-fifties and sometimes I think she sees herself as a mother to most of us around Cap’s, “So her only fault is her relationship with me?”

  “I’m sure she has other faults, but that’s her biggest.”

  My mouth was hanging open again and Marge chuckled, “Jack, I’m just kidding you. I’ve never been a big proponent of workplace romances because they come with so many potential pitfalls, but it’s no business of mine if you and Sissy have a relationship. You’re certainly both adults. But, you said yourself that you two are just friends now, so that means you could become interested in someone else who works here and I just think you need to steer clear of Elizabeth.”

  Trying my best to look insulted, “With the single exception of Sissy, I’ve never even dated anyone who worked here. Come to think of it, not even any customers. Cut me a
little slack. I’m not the philanderer that some people seem to think I am.”

  Marge’s eyes softened and she stood looking at me across the desk, “Jack, I don’t think you’re a lothario. I think you’re a man who has been deeply hurt by a woman and you’re doing your best to make certain you don’t find yourself in that situation again. That’s why your relationships are casual and arm’s length. In fact, if I had to guess, I’d bet that you fill some type of a void in the lives of most of the women you have your encounters with. It’s your nature to help others, whether you know it or not. That’s why I wanted to alert you to my concerns about Elizabeth. Once you meet her, you will quickly realize how emotionally needy she is and I think you’ll be naturally attracted to her. Your good intentions could easily lead to something more complicated than you anticipate, or Elizabeth needs at the moment.”

  I wasn’t in the mood to spend time recalling the night I walked in on my wife, Katherine, in bed with someone else. I’ve already wasted enough hours of my life reliving that scene. Reflecting on Marge’s words I did see her point though. It would certainly be easy for me to think I needed to provide a safe harbor for this latest damsel in distress and find myself in a much more complicated situation than either of us needed. As usual, Marge was right.

  Realizing how difficult this conversation had been for Marge, I smiled and said, “Thanks Marge. Thanks for not thinking I’m some kind of lothario. And thanks for the heads up. I’ll be smart and maintain an appropriate relationship with this Elizabeth. Besides, I’ve never even seen her, maybe I wouldn’t even find her attractive.”

  Marge shook her head, “Unfortunately, that won’t be the case.”

  Marge handed me the bank envelope and I headed for my car. As I came out the back door, I realized it was 11:00 a.m. Monday and I hadn’t been outside since Friday. That’s the problem with living above your work. You’re too available when problems arise. This weekend the problem was that Moe, our resident jack-of-all-trades, had asked for a few days off so he could spend time with a niece of his who was in town to look at a college. I’m a poor replacement for Moe as he actually knows what he’s doing when it comes to taking care of Cap’s. Oh, I can sweep floors, take out trash, and restock beer coolers just fine. It’s the more challenging responsibilities like unplugging drains and wrestling barrels of beer that remind me how important Moe is around here. To say nothing of his occasional role as bouncer. Moe is a black man with piercing brown eyes and a perpetually shaved head, 6 foot 4 inches, 240 pounds of solid muscle. Usually, his striding across the room toward the scene of any potential problem is enough to quell the storm.