One Fell Swoop

by David Linzee

  “But it’s a done deal.”

  “The papers aren’t signed yet. The money hasn’t changed hands.”

  “Next!” Herb called out.

  It was Imani’s turn. He smiled pleasantly at Peter and turned with appetite to the spread of ribs, beans, and potato salad.

  Chapter Nineteen

  All the traveling she had to do had not served to make Renata a good flier. For one thing, there was the discomfort—her femur was a bit too long for the space available between seats—and for another, there was her certitude that the plane was going to crash. So, at no point in this long journey had she managed to get any sleep. She did finally drop into a stupor, from which she was jolted awake by the impact of the wheels on the runway, and the realization that this was St. Louis. Peter would be waiting in the terminal, only a few hundred yards away.

  Glad to be on her feet and off the plane, she strode down a long corridor, trailing her carry-on behind her. The whirring of its wheels on the floor was audible. Lambert-St. Louis, the fourth airport she had passed through on this journey, was by far the quietest. That was something that always struck her about St. Louis: its emptiness. Where was everybody? For a Londoner, it was almost eerie. There didn’t seem to be enough people here to keep a city going.

  She debated popping into one of the loos she was passing and putting on some makeup, for Peter’s sake. By now her face must look a fright—worn, lined, pallid. But she was too eager to see him to stop. So she strode on, pace quickening all the time, half-running by the time she passed the TSA barrier, and there he was, with his tousled red-brown hair, hazel eyes behind gold-framed specs, and broad smile. She abandoned her suitcase to run the last few steps and throw herself into his arms.

  After a few minutes of billing and cooing, he retrieved her carry-on. But instead of heading for the parking lot, he let go of its handle and faced her squarely. “Now. I’ve waited long enough. Tell me what happened in London that you’ve been holding back.”

  “Oh, Peter. It’s so embarrassing. I was stupid and careless, and you’re going to be very cross with me.” She told him about the chase by the canal. He was not angry. He took her in his arms and hugged her tight. For a long time neither of them moved or spoke. This was well worth flying the Atlantic for, Renata thought.

  At last she patted his shoulder and stepped back. “Right. Must get going. And meantime you can bring me up to date on your end.”

  But Peter was white-faced and glassy-eyed. He said, “I’m … having a hard time focusing. In fact, I really don’t care about Don and his problems. He almost got you killed.”

  “His boss gave the order. Don has no idea what’s really going on.”

  “I don’t forgive him that,” said Peter stonily.

  “Let’s find a place to sit down and have a coffee.” She grasped the handle of her suitcase with one hand, Peter’s hand with the other. It took a hard tug to get him moving. They went into a Starbuck’s where they were the only customers and ordered large, strong coffees. Then they sat down on straight chairs with a table between them.

  Renata said, “It was a horrible business. The worst part was that man in the canal getting shot. He’d outlived his usefulness. There was a danger he’d talk. So his mate just executed him. Horrible.”

  “I’m finding it hard to feel sorry for this son of a bitch who was trying to kill you.”

  The blood was coming back into Peter’s face. In fact, he was looking rather scary. She reached across the table for his hand. “Something good can come of this. We’re going to see my brother. Right now. I’ll look him in the eye and he’ll tell me what he’s holding back. It’s worked before, remember?”

  “Then he was in jail. He knew he needed you. Now he thinks he’s on top of the world. Doing the big deal that’ll make him rich.”

  “I’m going to tell him, you have no idea what kind of man you’re working for. He tried to have me killed. That’s bound to shock some sense into him. He’ll level with us. And then we can talk sensibly with him about how to get out of this mess before it’s too late.”

  “Renata, I’m afraid it’s already too late.”

  “What?”

  “Don is in too deep. He can’t be as blameless as you’re hoping he is.”

  “What’s happened? Tell me.”

  “The sale has been made. All of Don’s buildings. All of Parkdale. To Adams University. And Don knew it was going to happen.” He filled her in on the details.

  Renata thoughtfully sipped coffee gone cold. She said, “Well, one thing is becoming clear.”

  “Is it? That’s good. Tell me.”

  “Put two and two together. The Indian billionaire has to keep his identity secret because he committed some crime to find out that Adams was going to buy Parkdale. He must have bribed or blackmailed somebody close to the chancellor.”

  “That makes sense. Except for one thing. The billionaire is in London. Don is here. If bribing or blackmailing was done, Don’s the one who did it.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because Don wouldn’t do anything like that. I know he’s silly and shallow—”

  “Don’t forget selfish, while we’re on the S’s.”

  “But he’s never hurt anyone. Except himself.”

  “Naturally you find it hard to accept that your brother—”

  “Yes, I do. I’ve known him from birth, and he’s not a criminal. He’s being used. Remember what he said. That he’s doing good. Saving the neighborhood.”

  “He’s happy then. So let him be. Let’s go home and to bed and stay there for a few days.”

  “Peter, he’s on the spot. The moneyman’s hidden behind his shell corporations and so forth. Don’s here taking the heat, because everybody thinks he had inside knowledge.”

  “And their suspicions are justified.”

  “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

  “Dear, I’m afraid you’re going to find out things you don’t want to know.”

  “Well, I’m not afraid. Let’s go find Don.”

  Chapter Twenty

  They drove straight to Don’s condo tower in the Central West End. Peter assumed that now the deal was done, he wasn’t going to pretend that he lived in Parkdale any longer. But the doorman told them that Mr. Radleigh was not in and had not been in all day.

  They got back in the car—another rent-by-the-hour Prius—and drove over the highway to Parkdale. It was late, but there were many cars driving around, some of them patrol cars, from both the St. Louis Police and Adams U security. Lights were on in most windows. Little knots of people were sitting on the front steps of the buildings, talking. The neighborhood had an unsettled feeling. Peter remembered what Imani had said.

  He parked in front of Don’s building. They got out and walked around it. No lights were showing in his apartment. They went up the fire escape, rang the back doorbell, and knocked on the door. Renata called out his name. No response.

  Back in the car, they compared telephone numbers. Peter had no number for Don that she did not have, and she’d tried them all frequently without response. It occurred to Peter that Don’s fellow landlords might know where he was.

  He drove to Joel Rubinstein’s building, the tall one at the busy intersection where the landlords kept watch for drug dealers. The light was on in their top-floor aerie. He explained to Renata as they climbed the stairs.

  Joel opened the door to his knock. “Oh. Hi, Peter.”

  “Hi. This is Renata Radleigh.”

  Joel looked at her. His eyes widened. Peter had never had a drop-dead gorgeous girlfriend before, and he still wasn’t used to the way other men reacted to her and the way it made him feel, the one-two punch of atavistic emotions—possessive pride and irrational jealousy. Even after a transatlantic flight, Renata was a traffic-stopper. Her own belief that whatever beauty she’d possessed had long ago faded made her even more attractive. Aside from her recital gowns, her clothes were old and plain, and she had no t
heatrical mannerisms whatever. But you could tell from the way she held herself and the light in her eyes that she was no ordinary person. She smiled and put out her hand.

  With difficulty, Joel pulled himself together and shook it. “Come join the celebration.”

  “Of the sale?” Peter asked.

  “Of not having to spend our nights watching drug dealers anymore. They’re the university’s problem now.”

  There were open pizza cartons and Styrofoam chests with the necks of beer bottles poking out of the ice, but the men around the table, most of them Joel’s age, had their heads down and were talking quietly. It didn’t look like much of a celebration.

  They brightened when Renata was introduced. They crowded round to take her hand and asked questions to hear her accent. Peter ran the gamut of caveman emotions again.

  Eventually Joel was able to pry her loose and take them into the kitchen for a talk. Peter explained, “Renata’s come to see her brother. But we can’t find him.”

  “Probably lying low,” Joel replied. “He’s tired of being asked questions he doesn’t want to answer.”

  “Is that all?” Renata asked. “Peter told me about the assault at the party.”

  “Don’t worry about Mohammed. The cops have let him go, but he’s not looking for a rematch with Don.”

  “There are others, though, who have hard feelings?” she asked.

  “Some. Those of us here, however, have no cause for resentment. We’re going to be rich.”

  “So why’s everybody so down at the mouth?” Peter asked.

  “Yesterday I was responsible for one hundred and fifty-seven toilets. Now it’s just the two at home. It’s all happening too fast. Maybe you haven’t heard the latest?”

  Peter shook his head.

  “We’re all going over to the Adams campus tomorrow morning. To close the deal. Which is totally screwy.”

  “It would normally take weeks, wouldn’t it?” Peter said. “They’d inspect every building, negotiate a price for each one.”

  “I hear the word has come down from the chancellor himself,” Joel said. “Get it done.”

  “So you’re going to be overpaid. That’s not so bad.”

  Joel, looking no happier, did not reply.

  Renata said, “Don will have to be there, then. At the meeting on campus tomorrow.”

  “That’s true,” Joel said. “You’ll be able to find him there for sure. Come at noon. I’m sure lunch will be up to Adams standards.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The warm sun on her face awakened Renata. The window by Peter’s bed was open, and she lay listening to that wonderful American creature, a mockingbird, running through his repertoire of impersonations of lesser birds, adding ornamentation with a brio few bel canto singers could match. It crossed her mind that she had traveled a long way south. It was like summer here.

  After leaving the landlords, they had gone to Peter’s apartment. Worn out by a day that had begun in London, she had flopped onto the bed fully dressed and promptly lost consciousness. In the middle of the night she awoke refreshed and randy. She and Peter tore each other’s clothes off in the dark. Sated, they went back to sleep. Peter got up early, leaving her in bed.

  A key clicked in the lock and the door, only six feet from the end of the bed, opened. He came in with coffees in paper cups and a bag that she knew would contain oranges and bananas. He didn’t ordinarily keep fresh fruit in his kitchen, and she couldn’t begin a day without it. She got up to kiss him.

  “What are you staring at?”

  “You’re more luxuriant.”

  She looked down. “Oh yes, once I put away my bathing costume, I let it grow out. I hope you like it?”

  “More than ever.”

  She retrieved her nightgown from her suitcase and put it on. In the kitchen, she found Peter talking on his phone. He lowered it and said, “It’s my boss, Assistant Deputy Vice-Chancellor Roger Merck. He wants to talk to you.”

  “Me?”

  “Joel told him you were here.” He held the phone out to her. “Relax, he’s a nice guy.”

  She took the phone and said hello.

  “Ms. Radleigh, sorry to bother you so early. But we have a little problem here that maybe you can help with. Have you heard from your brother?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “Hmph,” said Roger.

  “He’s supposed to be at a meeting on campus, Joel said.”

  “Well, that’s the thing. I’m at the meeting, and he’s late.”

  “Oh.”

  “His lawyer and accountant are here, so we’re proceeding with business, but—”

  “They don’t know where he is?”

  “No. There’s an event scheduled for two o’clock, signing ceremony and photo op, and it’s kind of a big deal. The chancellor will be here. It’s important for Don to attend.”

  Renata said she would pass on the message and rang off. As she handed the phone back to Peter, she explained, finishing, “This is odd. Where else could he possibly be when the deal is being finalized?”

  “I wish I knew.”

  “Let’s try his apartments again.”

  “I already did. Swung by while I was buying breakfast. But there is another possibility of where he might have spent last night. I should have thought of it before.”

  “The gardening girlfriend. Of course.”

  In Parkdale the great spruce-up had begun. Crews were at work painting the front doors of the apartment buildings green and gray, which Peter told her were the Adams U colors. Surveyors were at work, peering through little telescopes on tripods and setting stakes in the grass. Men in hardhats and yellow vests were painting stripes and codes on the pavement to indicate where the underground utilities lay.

  Peter pulled the car over in front of a three-story brick building. A stocky, fair-haired woman was trimming the yews planted along the front of it. “That’s Hannah,” he said.

  Hearing the car door slam, she looked up at Renata. As they approached, she continued to stare at her.

  “You’re Don’s sister,” she said. “He showed me your picture. You were playing somebody called Musetta. You had a blond wig and your tits were practically falling out of your dress.”

  People didn’t ordinarily refer to Renata’s tits on first meeting her, but she badly needed the help of Don’s girlfriend, so she smiled and said, “That sounds like Musetta, all right. I’m pleased to meet you, Hannah.”

  “And you’re Peter. I remember meeting you. What do you want?”

  “We’re looking for Don.”

  “Can’t help you.” She made a final snip and turned toward the door of the building.

  “May we come in?” Renata asked. “We want very much to talk to you.”

  “If you think it’s worth the climb.”

  They followed Hannah’s broad, jeans-clad rump up to the second floor. She had a pair of clippers and a phone holstered on her belt, and keys carabineered to a belt loop. She let them into her apartment and closed the door. It had a deadbolt lock and the key was in the lock. She turned it, as if to make sure no one else could get in, and sat on a well-worn couch. Her attitude suggested that an invitation to sit would not be forthcoming, so they took the initiative and sat on rickety chairs opposite her.

  “We’re sorry to bother you, but it’s most awkward,” Renata said, still striving for the pleasant note. “I’ve come all the way from London to see Don, and now we can’t find him.”

  “He didn’t mention to me that you were coming.”

  “I didn’t actually tell him.”

  “It’s not surprising that he isn’t instantly available, then.”

  She was leaning back, legs crossed, eyelids lowered, an expression of indifference on her wide, freckled face. Whatever Don had told her, it had not disposed her in favor of his sister. She kept quiet and let Peter try his luck.

  “When did you last see him?”

  “Last night. I had a party for the local c
ommunity gardeners. He dropped by.”

  “He didn’t stay the night?”

  “No.”

  “Did he say where he was going?”

  “I don’t require any excuse or explanation from him for not staying the night. The gardeners were still here. We had a lot to talk about. Chancellor Reeve told me himself he’s enthusiastic about making garden beds available to his students. He said I could have as many vacant lots as I want. I was more interested in that than in where Don spent the night.”

  “It’s just that he didn’t go home.”

  “He has a place in Lindell Terrace, too.”

  “Oh,” said Peter. “You know about that?”

  She rolled her eyes. “You must think I’m really dumb. Or he’s really sneaky. Nights are noisy here. Honking, shouting, occasional shots. He sleeps better in the Central West End.”

  “Well, he wasn’t there either.”

  “You trying to wind me up? Get me worried he spent the night with another woman? It won’t work. We don’t have an exclusive relationship anyway.”

  “I don’t understand,” Renata said. “You mean, you have other boyfriends, or he has other girlfriends?”

  “The first question is none of your business, the second I don’t know the answer to. But I wouldn’t be surprised. Men are men. You think this guy’s been celibate while you’ve been away?” She flicked a hand at Peter.

  His eyes opened wide and he said, “I … um ….”

  Renata put out a hand, palm up. “Don’t say a word.” She glared at Hannah. “Why are you being so nasty?”

  “I’m getting annoyed by your questions, okay? What gives you the right? I know what happened last spring. Don was falsely accused. You cleared him. Great, but now you think he can’t run his own life. So you’re going to do it.”

  Renata did not know how to respond. She looked at Peter for help.

  “Hannah, Renata’s worried about her brother. Can you blame her? There was a lot of hostility toward him at the party yesterday afternoon. You must have felt it.”

  “People were envious. That’s what happens when one person is smart and lucky and makes a lot of money. Everybody thinks he cheated somehow.”