It was Saltz who came out to get me.
“We’ve reached a consensus,” said Saltz when I was seated back at the table.
“We’re gonna accept the offer,” said Costello.
“Terrific,” I said, reaching for the file with the releases.
“But not just yet,” said Costello.
“We want you to try one more time to find Stocker,” said Saltz.
“There’s a private investigator I use,” said Lefkowitz. “The diamond business is full of swindlers and you get taken now and then no matter how careful you are. This guy always comes through for me.”
“We’re going to give this guy three weeks to find that accountant son of a bitch,” said Costello.
“We’ll cover his cost,” said Saltz. “We think the offer will still be good in three weeks.”
“And if it’s not, they can go to hell,” said Costello. “We don’t like being pressured.”
“If he comes up empty,” said Saltz, “we’ll take the hundred and twenty grand. But if he finds him, we’ll nail those bastards to a cross.”
“Frankly, Victor,” said Costello. “We’re all in agreement. Ten thousand dollars plus or minus is not going to change our lives. But these guys took us for a ride and now if we can make them pay big time, it’s worth the risk. This goes way beyond money.”
“It’s the principle of the thing,” said Saltz. “And we know you’ll want us to stick to our principles.”
“Do you have a piece of paper for me?” said Lefkowitz. I reached into the file and took out one of the unsigned releases. He turned it over and scribbled on the back. “This is the name of my guy. I’ll call him tonight and set up a meeting for you tomorrow. Tomorrow’s Friday, so sometime early is better. About ten? Fine. He’ll be here at ten.”
He slid the release back to me. I read the name out loud. “Morris Kapustin? What kind of private eye has a name like Morris Kapustin?”
“He’s tougher than he sounds,” said Lefkowitz. “Morris is something special.”
“Give him the three weeks,” said Costello. “If he craps out then take the money, quick. We don’t need another meeting.”
“Is that all right?” asked Saltz.
“I don’t have much choice, do I?” I said.
“That a boy,” said Saltz.
“I’m an easy guy to get along with,” said Costello. “But I hate being taken and those bastards took me.”
“You and Morris will get them,” said Lefkowitz.
“That’s right,” said Costello. “Pound a stake through their fucking hearts.”
16
I WAS WALKING SALTZ through our small reception area, feeling almost desperate about having to wait for my cut of the settlement, when I saw Veronica sitting on the Naugahyde couch by the door. She was wearing her short black dress with dark stockings and black high heels. Her legs were crossed in a way that was hard not to notice. When Saltz saw her he stopped walking and stared.
“Veronica,” I said. “This is a surprise.”
“Your receptionist told me I could wait here. Is she always so unpleasant?”
“Unpleasantness is Rita’s special talent,” I said. “Give me a minute.”
I dragged Saltz out of the office. He didn’t seem to want to talk about the case anymore. “Is she a friend of yours?”
“A client of sorts. She has a landlord problem.”
“If she needs a doctor,” said Saltz, “give her my name.”
“She’s a little young for a cardiologist,” I said.
“I’m versatile,” said Saltz. He leaned backwards to peer through the windowed door. From where we were standing we could only see her long stockinged legs. “Besides,” he said, tapping me on the chest, “that girl’s a walking heart attack.”
“So, Veronica,” I said when I came back into the office. “Another critter turn up dead on your doorstep?”
She was fiddling around in her little black purse. “I was just in your part of town and I thought we could have a drink together.”
“I have too much work.”
“When can you get free?” she asked.
“December.”
She placed her feet beneath her and stood up gracefully. “I’m supposed to meet Jimmy for dinner tonight at eight. Let’s have a drink beforehand.”
“I can’t,” I said. “I have too much work. There’s the trial and…”
She placed her hand on my arm. “I have two hours free. It’s so sad when I am forced to drink alone.”
“Then don’t drink. Go to a bookstore. Catch a movie.”
“But it’s happy hour, Victor.”
“I really can’t.”
“Of course you can. Didn’t you have fun last night?”
“Yes,” I said, and I did.
Despite the overt threat of that limousine parked on Church Street, I had let Veronica take me to the Society Hill Bar and Grill, where we drank cocktails and listened to the bearded piano player and talked about nothing and laughed and talked some more and were both ever so clever. There was something about Veronica, a certain carelessness maybe, that brought forth a depraved charm I didn’t know existed within me, and I liked it. I had always seen myself as a social cluck, dull witted, slow, my conversation frozen with indecision during blind dates or cocktail parties. But sitting at the bar with Veronica, being raked with the gazes of the other men there, all wondering what a jerk like me was doing with someone like her, feeding off her sweet perverseness, my self-confidence blossomed. I was something more than I had ever been. I told stories and she laughed. I kept up my end of a sparkling conversation. I was Henry James, I was James Bond, I was a raconteur.
“Do you have another engagement this evening?” she asked. “A date?” Her pretty lips twisted into a smirk as she stood before me.
“No,” I said. “That’s not it.”
“Well then,” she said. “Let’s go. Carolina’s is just up the street.”
I hesitated for a moment. I was weakening and she could see it. She moved a step closer and lifted her face up to mine and then the phone rang.
I pulled away, turned my back on her, and answered it. “Derringer and Carl.”
“What are you doing asking questions about a corpse?” said the familiar, high barking voice on the phone. “You’re forgetting your role.”
“Screw you,” I said to Chuckie Lamb, suddenly defensive about my visit to Slocum and examination of the murder evidence, all contrary to my client’s firm instructions. “I’m just doing my job.”
“Your job is not to sneak into the DA’s office and plot. Your job is to sit quietly and shut up. That’s what they’re paying you to do.”
“I know what my job is,” I said. “What I don’t know is why you are so pissed off that I’m doing it. Although I have my suspicions.”
“Oh, you’re a brain all right, Vic,” he said. “You keep looking and you might find something you don’t want to find, something that could get you hurt.”
“So that’s the way it is,” I said. “What this call is all about.” I tried to sound hard but I could feel the flutter of fear rise along my spine. I had never been threatened before, not like that, not by someone like Chuckie Lamb, who I had no doubt could turn murderous if he wanted to, who maybe already had.
“I just think you should know exactly what you’re getting into, Vic.”
“You’re doing me a public service, is that it?”
“Now you got it.”
“Give me one reason I should listen to you and be afraid.”
“I’ll give you a quarter of a million reasons, you small-time loser.”
I turned around suddenly. Veronica was standing by the far wall, looking at a print of some flowers, but it wasn’t a very interesting print. Vimhoff had bought it for fifteen bucks, framed, and I doubted if it grabbed all of Veronica’s attention. Did she know who I was talking to? I didn’t want her to know, didn’t want her to have anything to do with my role in this case. I lowered my voice. I knew there was a $250,000 discrepancy between the funds claimed to be given to Concannon by Ruffing and the funds apparently received by CUP, though until that moment I hadn’t focused on it. But Chuckie had made a slip, had inadvertently let me know that it was important.