by S F Bose
“True enough. But Jimmy said there’s nothing to link Mr. B or the gamblers to the system. All of the player information is kept outside of the online system and is encoded. Only Mr. B and Jimmy can access the player information.”
“So what happens if you lose when you gamble there?” I asked.
Eddie shook his head. “If your account falls to five hundred dollars, you start getting alerts to add more money to your account. They want each account to be at a minimum of two thousand dollars.” He paused and then said, “Justin got alerts. I never did.”
“Can you walk us through what happens exactly, if you keep losing?” I asked.
Eddie blew out a breath. “Sure. If you lose to the point where you get an account alert, you just add money online. Credit card, bank transfer, giving Mr. B money directly, whatever. You just have to bring your account back up to two thousand dollars. If you can’t top off your account, you can’t play. If a month goes by and you haven’t placed a bet, they take you out of the system.”
“Is that what happened to Justin?” asked Sam. “They pulled his account?”
“No,” said Eddie. “Justin reached the point where he couldn’t top off his account back up to two thousand dollars. He had some money coming in each month, but it wasn’t enough. So Justin spoke to Mr. B about it. Mr. B offered him what he called an extension.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“It’s a loan at higher rates. Mr. B loaned Justin fifteen hundred dollars the first time. With the five hundred, he had in his account that brought Justin to two grand. After a while, Justin was down to five hundred again. Mr. B was making money on the vig and the interest and repayment on the fifteen hundred. Justin had to pay back a certain amount each month. Then Mr. B gave Justin another extension. Rinse, repeat.”
“Vig?” I asked.
Eddie sighed and looked at Sam. Then he looked back at me. “Think of the vig or vigorish as a commission you have to pay the house on any bet you place.”
“I get it. Mr. B kept giving Justin extensions, Justin kept losing, and the principal and interest kept racking up,” I said.
Eddie nodded and looked sad. “Sometimes Justin would have a winning streak and would pay back more to Mr. B than his scheduled amount. But then he’d start losing again. He was underwater by almost thirty grand the last time we talked about it.”
“Why would Mr. B let it get that high?” I asked.
Eddie frowned. “I’m not sure. I know Mr. B liked Justin a lot. They talked about antiques and Mr. B knew Justin’s parents had a shop in Mystic Grove. Maybe he thought Justin would lift some of the antiques and either sell them or hand them over to Mr. B. I’m just guessing. All I know is Mr. B is a smart guy. He had some reason for letting Justin get in so deep.”
“Did Justin ever ask you for money?” I asked.
“I told him I could let him have a couple grand, but he waved me off.”
“So Justin owed thirty grand. What happened next?” Sam asked.
“Mr. B eventually cut him off and Justin got an ultimatum. Jimmy Dietz delivered it, which was hard for both of them, because they were friends.”
“Do you know the exact ultimatum?” I asked.
“No,” Eddie replied. “But it was probably along the lines of payment in full by a certain date.”
“Did he pay up?” asked Sam.
“This is where it got weird. Justin had been sweating bullets about paying back Mr. B. Then, suddenly, he was calm again. He also started placing smaller bets with Mr. B again.”
“So he paid up?” I asked.
“I guess he did,” Eddie said. “Mr. B wouldn’t let him bet if he hadn’t.”
“Why exactly did you think it was weird?” I asked.
“Justin would have had to rob a bank to come up with thirty grand. When he started betting again, I asked him what happened with the money he owed Mr. B. Justin just said everything was going to be okay.”
“Going to be okay?” I asked.
“That’s what he said,” Eddie replied.
“When did all of this go down?” Sam asked.
“Oh man I don’t know. I have a bad sense of time.” Eddie closed his eyes for a few seconds. Then they popped open. “I’m going to say he started having the problems with Mr. B last summer. Then Justin was happy again in late October to early November, before Thanksgiving. That was when he started betting again.”
“Just a few more questions, Eddie. How was Justin coming up with the money for your poker games?” I asked.
Eddie laughed. “Our poker games? We are strictly small potatoes. We each walk in with fifty bucks once a month and that’s all we can bet.”
“Jimmy Dietz was at your games?” I asked.
“Sure. Every month.”
“How did he and Justin get along?” Sam asked.
“Fine. They were friends.” Then Eddie’s eyes narrowed. “Look, I would bet money that Jimmy and Mr. B had nothing to do with Justin’s death. Justin and Jimmy were friends and Mr. B really liked Justin. Besides, he must have paid off his debt. So they’d have no reason to kill him.”
I said quickly. “Eddie, we just have to ask all these questions so we can get a picture of Justin’s life. We’re not accusing Jimmy or Mr. B of anything.”
Eddie stared at me. Then he sighed. “That makes sense, I guess. I have to tell you Justin was a great guy and the last person you’d ever expect to be murdered.”
“Why didn’t some of the people Mr. B reject clue the police in anonymously? Same with the losing gamblers,” Sam said.
Eddie laughed. “It’s not kindergarten over there. If you cross Mr. B in any way, you’d be putting yourself and your family at risk. One way or the other, Mr. B would find out who betrayed him. It’s likely Mr. B has some friendly cops that he pays off. Also, most of those gamblers hate the cops and wouldn’t be caught dead helping them.”
Sam twirled his pen, stared at Eddie, and finally nodded. “I see your point. Mr. B.”
“Eddie can you give me Einstein’s number?” I asked.
“Yeah sure,” he said, pulling out his cellphone. “But he had a knee replacement almost two weeks ago. He’s in rehab in Madison for a few more weeks.”
“So last Monday he was in rehab?” I asked.
“Yeah. I have that number too if you want it.” I nodded and Eddie read off two telephone numbers. No way Einstein killed Justin, but maybe he’d have some additional information.
“Eddie, we’re going to talk to Jimmy and maybe Mr. B. But they’ll never know we talked to you,” Sam said. “It would be smart not to share our visit with anyone else you know at Paulie’s Pub,” Sam said.
Eddie held up his hands. “I’m way ahead of you. I’m not saying a word.”
“The other thing is that Martha Church told us that you and Jimmy were Justin’s friends. She probably told the police the same thing. So you may get a visit from the Mystic Grove police. It’s just routine.” Sam said.
“Yeah, no problem. I can handle the cops. They won’t hear a word about Paulie’s Pub or Mr. B from me,” Eddie replied. “I just can’t believe Justin’s gone.”
We all stood and I gave him our business card with our cellphone numbers added.
“Eddie, Justin’s service is tomorrow at 10:00 a.m. at Winberrie Funeral Home. I know Justin’s parents would love to see you,” I said.
“Damn straight I’ll be there. It’s the least I can do for Justin,” Eddie said. He clenched his jaw and flexed one hand.
I grabbed my cup and phone from Eddie’s desk. Eddie preceded us to the door. Flip trotted behind us. I turned off the recorder application and pocketed my phone. We shook hands and I patted Flip. I wondered if our killer was at Paulie’s Pub and Pool Hall.
Chapter 34
It was almost noon, when we left Eddie’s house. I checked my cellphone for restaurants in the area. Sam lobbied for a drive through and we decided on a place called Pardo’s. I read off the menu to him as we drove, so we both kn
ew what we wanted when we pulled up to the intercom.
“Bacon Cheeseburger with everything, fries, strawberry shake,” I said and Sam repeated it into the intercom. Sam ordered a fish sandwich, fries, deep fried cheese curds, and water. I was surprised. That’s a pretty normal lunch order for Sam. I handed him some money for my order. Sam drove forward to the Pick-Up window and gave the clerk the money. After he got our change, we waited for our food.
“You like cheese curds?” I asked.
“I wanted to try them. I’m branching out.” Sam looked at me and grinned.
“Good for you!”
When the food arrived, Sam parked in the side lot and kept the engine running so we’d have heat. We divided up the food and dug in. He placed the cheese curds and dipping sauce on the center console.
“Help yourself,” he said.
“Thanks.” I dipped a fried cheese curd nugget into the honey mustard dipping sauce. The curd was deep-fried, crispy on the outside, and gooey and cheesy on the inside. The honey mustard sauce was perfect.
“Mmm,” I said, closing my eyes. “Delicious!” Sam tried one without any sauce and chewed slowly. After he swallowed, he made a face.
“You don’t like it?”
“So so,” he said. “What is it, exactly?” I watched him pick out another cheese curd and look at it more closely before popping it into his mouth.
“It’s a little slice of heaven. Cheese curds are small pieces of young cheddar cheese before they’re processed into big blocks of cheese and aged.”
Sam looked at me and I nodded reassuringly. “Honest. It’s natural, baby cheddar cheese. These are breaded and fried, which is one way to eat them. But I’ll get you some fresh cheese curds sometime. They’re chewy and cheddary, but different from the deep fried version. Fresh cheese curds squeak against your teeth when you eat them. It’s a more natural taste.”
He gave me a dubious look but nodded. We ate in silence.
When we were toward the end of our sandwiches, Sam asked, “So what do you think?”
I sipped my shake. “I believed him. Eddie painted a vivid picture. It made me wonder if the killer could be connected to Jimmy Dietz and Mr. B.”
Sam nodded. “Eddie’s story did open up some possibilities.”
I thought about our meeting with Eddie. “So now we know for sure Justin liked sports betting. He and Eddie jumped into the online gambling with both feet. Unfortunately, Justin was a lousy gambler. Eventually, he was underwater by thirty thousand dollars. Justin must have been a nervous wreck.”
Sam jumped in, “Last summer into early autumn.”
“Right. Then Jimmy Dietz gave him an ultimatum to pay up. After a while, magically, Justin is in a good mood again and is placing small bets with Mr. B.”
I lifted an eyebrow at Sam. His jaw shifted as he thought. “Late October to early November.”
“And that corresponds to Justin’s happier mood at work, carrying the Bible around, and talking his parents out of selling the Emporium. Somehow, he paid off his debt and was on good terms with Mr. B. again.”
“So Justin got his hands on some serious money. How?” asked Sam.
I sucked on my strawberry shake and looked out the windshield. “Justin told Mark Sweet he was working on some other deal.”
“Yeah, he wanted steak and not chicken feed,” Sam said and smiled.
“What if that deal came through for him? What if he finally won a big one? He got a chunk of cash and paid back Mr. B,” I said. “Bingo, he’s happy again.”
After a minute, Sam said, “That’s plausible. Or maybe Justin cut Mr. B in on his other deal. He might have committed to giving Mr. B a percentage of whatever profits he expected to make, as long as it was more than his thirty thousand dollar debt.”
I thought about that scenario. “Yeah, that works better. Remember, Justin told Eddie ‘Everything was going to be okay.’ Future tense. Justin hadn’t paid the debt yet but Mr. B let him place bets. Also, if Justin had made any money on a deal, I think he would have given some to Peter and Martha.”
Sam nodded in agreement and drank more water. “There’s a problem, though,” he said. “In that scenario, Mr. B can’t be the killer. He needed Justin alive to complete the other deal and get his money.”
“Crap,” I muttered. “You’re right.” I sucked down more of my strawberry shake. Then I saw the answer so clearly, I had tingles, and turned to face Sam.
“Sam, maybe Justin’s other deal fell through or it didn’t produce enough money to cover his debt. The deal fell through, Mr. B lost it, and he killed Justin.”
There was silence as Sam thought about that scenario. Then he said, “That would explain the beating and then the shooting. There was a lot of anger there. I wonder if Mr. B has a beard.”
“Beard?” I asked. “Oh right, Angela Apstead.” I had forgotten her description of a bearded man leaving the Emporium. I was starting to get a headache. I ran through the possibilities in my mind.
“Well, maybe Mr. B was the man she saw.”
Sam nodded. “We still have a lot of gaps. Let’s go see what we can find out from Jimmy Dietz and fill in some more blanks.”
“Sounds good,” I replied.
Chapter 35
Paulie’s Pub was located on the isthmus between Lake Mendota and Lake Monona, not far from the state capitol. We found a parking spot with a meter and walked over to Main Street. Sam pulled his Irish cap low on his forehead, hunched his shoulders, and jammed his hands in his coat pockets. While he looked like he was freezing, I thought it felt warm. The temperature was sub-zero, but there wasn’t any wind, which made a big difference. I walked with my hood down and no hat or gloves. When we arrived at Paulie’s and walked in the entrance, I stopped in surprise.
“I thought it would be a smoke-filled dive!” I said.
“Me too,” Sam agreed. “They must have 3,000-square feet here.”
Paulie’s Pub was huge and all about wood. The high ceilings featured exposed wooden beams. Dark oak trim and distressed oak floors added a rustic feel. The most stunning feature was beige, wooden beadboard walls, which looked classy and lightened the space.
I looked around in appreciation. Pretty impressive. I was used to country bars with knotty pine walls, mounted deer heads, peanut shells on the floor, and a jar of pickled eggs on the bar. Paulie’s was amazing in comparison.
The poolroom area sat to our left. Sixteen pool tables filled that area. A brass light bar hung over each table. Each light bar had three green, glass shades focusing light on the table below. The poolroom was empty except for two older guys shared a table.
A wooden, bar top divider separated the poolroom from the rest of the bar. On the bar side, pub tables and high, ladderback chairs ran the length of the divider. Two young women sat at one table eating lunch. A long counter and bar stools sat against the far wall. Ahead of us, a doorway led to a gaming room.
To the right of the gaming room door, a long, wooden bar ran the length of the far wall. The space across from the bar was a dining room filled with square, wooden tables and slat back chairs. College students and some older business types occupied about a third of the tables. There were booths on the wall beyond the tables. Flat screen TVs hung everywhere.
Sam smiled. “Nice sports bar.”
We walked further in. Green Bay Packer signs and memorabilia hung on the walls. That was when I saw a doorway to yet another restaurant beyond the smaller dining room.
I nudged Sam. “It’s a pool hall, gaming room, sports bar, and restaurant wrapped into one big package.”
“Otherwise known as heaven on earth,” Sam replied with a grin.
A smiling, twentyish woman in black pants and a white tee shirt with “Paulie’s Pub and Pool Hall” on it, approached us. She was my height and had curly, brunette hair to her shoulders. Her brown eyes locked onto Sam and she addressed him.
“Hi, I’m Tammy. Can I seat you in the pub area or the restaurant?”
“What�
��s the difference?” I asked.
Tammy dragged her eyes to me and smiled less brightly. “The pub has a smaller menu and it can get a little loud in there. Although midday it’s pretty quiet. The restaurant has a full menu and more privacy.”
Sam dialed up his smile. “Thanks. But we were wondering if Jimmy Dietz was around?”
She looked back at him. “Jimmy? Sure, he’s in the office. Can I tell him your names?” she asked.
“Sam Nolan and Liz Bean. We’re friends of Justin Church.”
“Sam Nolan. That’s a strong name,” she said, tilting her head and studying him. I suppressed a groan.
After a long beat, Sam smiled and repeated, “Jimmy Dietz?”
Tammy startled. “Oh, of course. Sorry. You just remind me of someone. I’ll go get Jimmy.” She turned and hurried through the door to the Gaming Room and turned left.
When I said, “Another heart broken by Sam Nolan,” Sam blushed and turned away.
I walked over to the wall next to the bar and looked at a portrait of a distinguished-looking, gray-haired man in a black suit. I felt Sam walk up next to me.
A metal marker under the portrait read, “Ansell Benedetto.”
“Mr. B,” I whispered and looked at Sam. “No beard.”
He grunted. “We don’t know when this was painted, though.”
We both studied the portrait. Mr. B was in his late sixties, had thick white hair, combed back, thick white eyebrows, brown eyes, and a thick white mustache. He was frowning and had a dour look. My neck prickled.
“He looks like someone out of the Godfather,” Sam whispered in my ear.
A deep voice said, “Mr. Nolan?”
We turned and saw a large, well-dressed man watching us. I noticed Tammy retreating toward the pub area. She licked her lips and looked back at the man nervously.
Alarms went off in my head. This guy was trouble. He was 6’2” tall and weighed around two hundred twenty pounds, most of it muscle. If he flexed his upper body, I was sure the seams of his suit jacket would split. He sported a shaved head, muscled neck, and a neatly trimmed, thick blonde beard and mustache. His jaw was longer than average and added to his aggressive look. As he watched us, his thick blonde eyebrows darted down in a frown over blue eyes and thin lips pressed into a straight, humorless line.