“Hey,” he said—not to me, but to alert the others to my presence.
The other two men turned their heads. One of them said, “You made a wrong turn, pal. This is a private game. If you’re looking for the john, it’s down the stairs and out in back.”
He had short ginger hair and a mean, pasty face that shone sickly under the light. Freckles dotted his cheeks and nose, and his mouth was a cruel slash of pink. The only part of him that wasn’t ugly were his eyes, which were the color of dewy grass. He held a cigarette between two fingers and his raspy voice brought to mind a snake slithering through dry straw.
“I’m here to see Nathan Frankel,” I said, looking straight at the third man. Of the three, he was the only one who matched the description given me by Zalman Alphon. He was staring back at me funny, his eyes wide and unblinking.
The ginger-haired man, suddenly on edge, let his cigarette drop to the floor and slowly pushed his chair back from the table. “He’s got something, Dov. Something in his pocket.”
The brute squinted at me. His shoulders tensed and he slid his hands off the table. I could no longer see them, but they weren’t keeping still. They were inching toward something. A gun of his own?
“What’ve you got there?” said the ginger-haired man. “Take your hand out slowly and show us.”
I was ten feet away from the table. Frankel was the closest, the other two farther away and spread out on either side. If more than one of them had a gun, I would have to shoot fast, without aiming, and hope that my instincts proved superior to theirs.
I pressed the Luger into the front of the pocket so its outline was unmistakable. I pointed the muzzle at Dov. “Don’t you move a muscle or you’ll get a fist-sized hole in your chest.” He froze, his nostrils flaring. His eyes jumped to the ginger-haired man, asking for instructions. Obviously, he was the one calling the shots.
“I don’t want trouble,” I said, hoping to defuse the situation.
“You already got it,” the ginger-haired man said. “More than you can handle. Smartest thing you can do is take out your gun and toss it over here.”
I made myself smile, acting all calm and self-assured. “I’ll hang on to it, thank you. And you stay still. My finger’s on the trigger. Make me nervous and it just might twitch.”
He shrugged. “You’re making a mistake. A big mistake.” He sounded almost sorry for me, but the way his eyes were shooting poisoned arrows at my head belied his tone. I had run into his kind before. Like a wild animal, he was fiercely territorial. I had encroached on his turf, so I had to pay.
Licking his lips, he shifted a little in his chair. His hands hung loosely at his sides, close to his jacket pockets. Did one of them contain a gun? Or maybe it was stuck in his belt, at his hip. Keeping my eyes on the three of them wasn’t easy. If one of them moved fast when my attention was focused on another, he would get me.
The ginger-haired man said, “You know this guy, Nathan?”
Frankel didn’t answer, didn’t even look like he’d heard the question. He sat motionless, an odd expression on his face, like he’d seen something that couldn’t possibly be real.
The ginger-haired man frowned. He raised his voice. “Nathan? Nathan, do you—”
“Yes,” Frankel said in a faraway voice. “Yes, I know him.”
What was he talking about? I had never met him before. I hadn’t even heard his name until I was hired to find him. But he sounded both sure and sincere. And awed. But why would that be?
“What the hell does he want?” the ginger-haired man said.
“I don’t know,” Frankel said. He kept his eyes on my face, his expression still one of disbelief. He was the only person in that room who didn’t look nervous or scared. Not one bit.
“Why are you here?” he asked me.
“Tova Wasserman sent me. She wants her money back.”
Just like that, Frankel snapped out of his daze, his expression of wonder vanishing, to be replaced by one of abject fear. Only I saw it, as he had his back to his associates, and I would have missed it had I blinked at the wrong time, since it was gone just as fast as it appeared.
Then he threw back his head and laughed. He made it sound natural, and if I hadn’t seen that flash of fear, I would have believed he was truly amused. But no, he was still terrified. But of what? Me? Then why the fake laugh?
He turned to his comrades, a broad grin on his face. “A word of advice: don’t ever take money from a girl you jilted. You might get a visit from this guy.” He jabbed a thumb in my direction.
Dov, the square-faced brute, grinned back. The ginger-haired guy did not show even a hint of a smile. He was watching Nathan Frankel intently, his expression inscrutable.
Frankel raised his hands palms out. “Everyone relax, all right? This is my mess.” He turned to me. “You sure know how to make an entrance, I’ll give you that. If ever I want to frighten someone to death, I’ll be sure to give you a call. Now why don’t you and I head downstairs to settle this matter in private?”
Why was he putting on such a show? It wasn’t for my benefit, since I knew the truth. It was for his friends. He did not want them to know about Tova Wasserman.
But why? It was obvious these two were no virgins when it came to crime. Why would Frankel wish to hide how he’d tried to cheat Mrs. Wasserman? Maybe he wanted to spare himself the ridicule his buddies were likely to heap on him were they to discover he had failed to hoodwink an old widow.
“Well?” Frankel said. He sounded nonchalant, carefree, but his eyes were sending me a different message. They were pleading with me.
I did a quick mental calculation. I could force the issue right where I stood, but every second I stayed in that room was a second in which I was outnumbered three to one. Besides, I was curious. I wanted to know why Frankel had lied to his friends. I wanted to know why he thought he knew me.
“Fine,” I said. “Let’s go.”
He clapped his hands once. “Great. Dov, Gregor, you guys wait for me. I’ll be back shortly. And don’t touch my money. I know how much there is.” He paused, and in a more serious tone said to Gregor, “It’s a personal matter. Let me handle it my way, okay?”
Gregor took his time before answering. He was mulling something over, and I got the distinct feeling I wouldn’t like knowing what it was. Finally, he gave a tight-lipped smile and nodded his ginger head. “Okay, Nathan. You do what you have to do.”
I went first, walking backwards down the stairs, facing up so Frankel wouldn’t be able to attack me from behind, and also so neither of the other two could peek over the edge of the landing and shoot me in the back.
Down in the bar, I shut the door leading to the staircase and said, “What was all that theater for?”
Instead of answering, Frankel asked, “Are you here just for the money, or are you supposed to do more?”
So he’d guessed what Tova Wasserman would like to see done to him. A perceptive man.
“Just the money. Hand it over and I’ll be out of your life.”
“Not here,” he said. “Follow me. There’s a place close by where we can talk.”
7
He might have been stalling, but I didn’t think so. I followed him out of the bar and onto the dark street. The rain had died. A chilly wind was blowing in from the sea. I knew I was still wet and cold, but I was feeling neither. Curiosity had overwhelmed all other sensations.
He led the way south, cutting through a number of narrow streets little bigger than alleyways, until he came to a stop outside a nondescript door and pushed it open.
We entered a small café, nearly deserted except for a single customer and a potbellied man in an apron, who broke into a smile at the sight of Frankel.