Gold Coast Blues (19 page)

I stared at the ceiling, thinking of how to change the subject. Mercifully, Amy said, “Those guys that robbed you of Margot’s money. How are you going to find out who they are?”

“She’s going to tell me.”

“Oh? She agreed to this?”

“Not yet.”

I didn’t want to talk anymore. Amy sensed my sentiment. She removed herself from under my legs and stood. “I should go,” she said.

I sat up. “Thank you for your concern,” I said and lay back down. The sound of Amy closing the door inspired a string of thoughts having something to do with her committed interest in the case and her illusory interest in me. Neither made sense.

Chapter 29

Around two-thirty
A.M.
I left the couch, added ice to the cold packs, then collapsed on my bed, where I remained until Punim’s hunger patrol woke me four hours later. After feeding her and getting more ice, I returned to bed and stayed there until almost eleven o’clock, at which time I became conscious of the odor coming off my skin and clothes. I remembered Kalijero’s comment about the stink of drug money rubbing off on those who profited. Counterfeit wine money smelled pretty bad too. Amy had been either very polite or very brave to endure such an insult on her olfactory senses.

I phoned in a lunch order then jumped into the shower. Standing under a stream of hot water, I thought about the beatings I had taken over the years. I’d become a candidate for premature brain wasting disease but took comfort in legally owning a handgun. I could always shoot myself when I started going off the rails. Around noon, three loud knocks told me Tasty Harmony had left a Bigboy Burger outside the door. I ate then headed to Webster Avenue.

—

Forty degrees, low hanging clouds, and a stiff breeze eclipsed any symbolic harbinger of summer represented by the approaching opening day at Wrigley Field. I stopped at Pâtisserie Grenouille. Brenda Gallagher and Jennie Adler were busy cleaning up.

“Looks like your morning rush is outlasting the morning,” I said.

Brenda smiled weakly then walked over. She looked tired. “Yeah, it seems that way—what in god’s name happened to your face?”

“I’m fine. It always looks worse than it is.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“The morning rush is getting longer. That’s a good thing, right?”

Brenda sighed. “Oh, sure. It’s just that I have less time to prepare tonight’s items.”

“Maybe you need more help.”

“You know anyone looking for a job?” She sounded half-serious.

“I bet Margot’s got extra time.”

“Margot?”

“That was a joke,” I said and Brenda forced an anemic laugh. “Did you ever know a kid who worked for Margot named Spike?”

Brenda was about to respond but stopped. “You’re really not going to tell me how you got those cuts and bruises?”

“Answer my question and I’ll answer yours. Did you know Spike?”

“Yeah. He ran around for her. She’d order a bag of croissants and Spike would come by to pick them up.”

“When’s the last time you saw him?”

Brenda thought about it. “It’s been a while.”

“More than five days?”

“Oh, definitely. Probably a couple of months.”

“From your sour look, I’m going to guess you don’t like him.”

“He’s just a punk acting real cocky, like he’s a big shot or something. And he can be really vulgar with sexual innuendos. And that oily hair—he gives me the creeps.”

“Margot said he was a college kid.”

Brenda laughed then briefly put her hand on mine. “Right. A Mafia major. Why do you care about Spike?”

“Here’s an abbreviated explanation: Margot’s wine was stolen. After receiving an offer to buy back a bottle, she asked Jennie to call me on Margot’s behalf. Would I accompany Spike in delivering an envelope of cash in exchange for the bottle? Easy payday. Margot drove Jennie to my office. Jennie brought me the envelope. I met Spike, then got mugged and relieved of the ransom money. It was a setup.”

“Margot wanted you to get mugged and lose her money?”

“No, Spike double-crossed her. By the way, who’s that old man I always see sitting by himself?” I pointed at the table against the far wall where the old man sat reading a newspaper.

“His name is Blackstone, or at least that’s what he goes by. He started coming in a few months ago. He’s a nice old guy. Now he comes in almost every day and buys a couple of croissants.” Brenda looked at her watch. “Damn. I need a quick smoke and then to get back.”

I followed her outside. She didn’t bother with a coat. Goosebumps covered her arms as she lit up. I bid her farewell and she thanked me for stopping by. Just as I stepped into the street she yelled, “You may want to ask Jeremy, the guy across the street who bought out Doug’s place. I think Spike runs around for him too.”

—

This time Margot used the intercom. “It’s Jules Landau.” A long ten seconds passed before she buzzed me through. This time her door was shut. I knocked. She took her time answering.

“You sure you want to let me in?”

“Don’t be ridic—oh, my god! What happened to your face?”

“I fell and I don’t want to talk about it.”

Margot backed away from the door, closed it behind me, then walked to the chaise longue to lie down and stare out the window. I took my place on the love seat and waited. After a minute, I said, “So describe your situation when you first noticed symptoms.”

She flashed me an icy look. “You’re suggesting I need a shrink?”

“Well, let’s examine your behavior. Your interaction with me has been a continuous charade. I believe you may have issues with telling the truth.”

Margot lifted her legs off the chaise to sit facing me. “My wine was stolen. I thought I could pay them off and that would be that.”

“That gangster errand boy of yours double-crossed you.”

“He didn’t steal the—”

“You’re in denial over that kid! Oh, that’s right, he called you ‘in a panic’ after I got ambushed.”

“Meaning what?”

“He’s playing you, Margot! I told you he said, ‘Fuck you, Margot,’ right before I got knocked out. That kid’s got ‘future felon’ written all over him. Even if he didn’t know it was a twenty-grand bottle of wine, he knew about the envelope full of cash. Maybe you didn’t completely trust him—which is why you had me tag along.”

“Don’t tell me what I thought!” A nerve had been touched. “God, you men are all alike, always putting thoughts in my head. You think you know me that well, Jules? You don’t know anything—and I want you off the case.”

I laughed loudly. “What case? I’ve been hired to look for Tanya Maggio, remember? It’s just that your damn wine keeps getting in the way.”

Redheads had built-in emotion barometers measured in degrees of flushed skin. Margot said quietly, “Do you think Tanya’s disappearance is connected to my stolen wine?”

I tried to sound ironic. “That could be possible.”

“And exactly how do you think Spike was involved in stealing my wine?”

“I’m not one hundred percent sure. Which is why I need to talk to him. And what about Jeremy?”

“What about him?”

“Don’t play stupid! You don’t think he might be in on the scam?”

“No! Jeremy’s helping me! He—he’s keeping Spike close—to help me.”

“Oh, yeah? When’s the last time you spoke to him?”

She put her legs back up on the chaise and lay down. “We’re regularly in touch.”

“Maybe you know someone else who could find him?”

“Why would I?”

“Because four days ago when I asked what Spike knew about the meeting to swap the wine you said, ‘Only that
we
asked him to exchange one package for another.’ Who made up the
we
?”

“A friend—someone I asked advice from. And I don’t like the way you’re cross-examining me as if I’m some kind of suspect.”

The best defense was a good offense. Margot was a natural. “Why can’t you just admit that friend’s name was Jeremy?”

“My god, you’re a pain in the ass!” She stood up, walked to the kitchen, took a bottle of wine from the cabinet, and poured a glass. “Yes, I know you barged in on Jeremy and so shrewdly confirmed we are friends. So what? There’s some great conspiracy going on, is that what you’re after?”

She paced the floor in front of the large sash windows that looked over the alley. I turned around in the love seat, leaned on the backrest, watching her.

“Margot, let me remind you of something. I just want to find Tanya. Everything else is none of my business. But I get the feeling you’re involved way over your head. If your stolen wine is connected to Tanya’s disappearance—”

“Why do you think that? You’ve never said why you think that!”

“Did your husband know the value of your wine inheritance?”

“No! I don’t know.”

“You knew he had started stocking the pub with wine and he had Brenda as a wine mentor, right?”

She hesitated. “Wrong. I had no interest in the bar. I paid no attention to it. So I had no reason to think Brenda was teaching him about wine.”

“Oh, I see. You were so sure Doug knew nothing about the wine’s value that you didn’t change the security profile at the storage facility after Doug left.”

Margot didn’t answer.

“I’ll bet you a case of Lafite that the security cameras will show Spike or Doug taking your wine. Doug is dead but Tanya and the wine are still missing.”

“Tanya is also dead, I told you that.”

“Of course she is, although you won’t tell me why you’re so sure.”

Margot returned to the chaise, put the glass of wine on the end table, and lay back down, dropping an arm across her forehead. “So what do you want from me?”

“I want a private chat with Spike.”

Deep sigh. “Give me a few hours.”

Chapter 30

A copy of
Wine Kibitzer
sat on the coffee table in my apartment. I leaned back in the recliner and opened it for the first time. The magazine was divided into two sections. One dealt with consumption fraud, the other with collector fraud. An hour later, I called Paul from Der Weingott and asked him about wine equity trusts.

“They buy wine and wine futures,” Paul said. “Then it’s managed like any other Wall Street type of asset.”

I thanked Paul then tried to recall the nuances of the previous hour. Margot toggled between resignation and anger. What did the anger represent? Things not going as planned? Maybe Tanya double-crossed Doug who was subsequently double-crossed by Spike? A case of wine probably weighed forty pounds. Tanya would’ve needed help moving ten cases around. My cellphone rang. It was Margot.

“Meet Spike at Auvergnat—Jeremy’s wine bar—at two o’clock.”

“I said a private meeting.”

“Jules, he’s just a kid. I don’t think he should be alone.”

“Goddamn it, Margot! What are you afraid of?”

“I don’t know what—”

“Tell Spike to meet me at your apartment. Then you disappear for a couple of hours.”

“No. I won’t lie to that boy—”

“You want to know where I really got these big, nasty, black bruises? From getting the crap beat out of me—and all because of
wine
. Just a coincidence?”

Margot started whimpering. “I’m sorry. I—I can’t…”

“How many people would even consider helping you, knowing you were full of shit? You want my help—for something. It’s not just getting your precious wine. There’s more you won’t tell me. Only a reckless fool would hang around to see how it turns out. And you’re damn lucky I’m one of those fools.”

I listened to her sob awhile longer then said, “Two o’clock at Auvergnat Vin Bar. But I’ll tell you right now I’m not taking any crap from your pal Jeremy or that junior hoodlum. I’m usually a nice guy, but not always.” I hung up then went out to buy a pack of zip ties.

—

Two waitresses setting up tables paid no attention to me standing among the paintings of sweeping Rhône sunsets and Loire Valley vineyards. Bruce and his pupil, Ted, were washing an endless supply of glasses. When he finally noticed me, Bruce picked up the phone. Seconds later, Jeremy appeared from behind the bar heading toward the dining room. Spike followed, sleepy-eyed, hands in pockets, chomping gum. Neither asked about my battered face.

I approached Jeremy. “Where are you going?”

“You want to talk, don’t you?”

“In the office.”

“No, I think we’ll stay out here.”

I pulled open my jacket to brandish my holstered pistol. I’d never done that before.

“Turn around and go back to the office,” I said.

“I’m supposed to believe you’d shoot me right here?” Jeremy said bravely.

“No. I’m not going to shoot you. But I will pistol-whip you across the face and it will hurt and bleed a lot. Is it worth it?”

“I don’t think you would do that,” Jeremy said. Spike yawned.

I pulled the gun out and raised my arm. Jeremy stepped back, knocking into Spike. The bartender yelled, “Should I call the police?”

“If I’m arrested I’ll tell them everything you and Spike are up to. And I’ll make sure Detective Jimmy Kalijero follows up on all my leads.” I held out my phone. “Give the PD a call. Ask for Detective Kalijero.” Dropping Kalijero’s name had little downside.

Jeremy waved off the bartender, then said to Spike, “Just go to my office.” Spike rolled his eyes then began trudging to the back like a stubborn little boy. The three of us walked through the kitchen, then into the little corridor that led to Jeremy’s office. Jeremy unlocked the door, waited for us to enter, then closed the door behind him.

Spike sat at Jeremy’s desk. I sat on the black vinyl couch and said, “I’d like to talk to Spike alone.”

“Absolutely not. This is my office. Spike works for me.”

“Just beat it,” Spike said. “I don’t need a scared little bitch hanging around.”

Spike’s slap hurt. I thought Jeremy might cry.

I asked Jeremy, “Why do you think Margot wants you to babysit Spike?”

“She doesn’t trust you.”

“She doesn’t trust me or what Spike might say?”

Jeremy searched for an answer. “He’s a kid.”

“But he’s a
tough
kid. Right, Spike?”

Spike gave me his rough-guy sneer-squint. Something about chomping gum gave people self-confidence.