Gold Coast Blues (28 page)

“Really? I guess you’re probably not supposed to know that.”

The man frowned. “Everyone knows. It’s the door at the end of the hall when you go back out. It’s where the Venerable Sovereign lived in the old days, like a priest’s rectory.”

The ease with which this fortuitous gift arrived almost made me suspicious. I asked my new acquaintance what sort of magic he practiced and he gave me an enthusiastic, detailed description of his birthday party performance. I pretended to be interested until I looked at my watch and excused myself.

Chapter 44

I milled around awhile, observing the scene near Blackstone’s apartment. The only real threat of discovery seemed to come from the occasional guest crossing the hall after exiting the auditorium. I put my hand on the knob and rattled the door, surprised it was just a hollow wood veneer with no dead bolt. It appeared almost comical surrounded by the granite and brick wall.

The space between the jamb and door gave my credit card easy access to the latch assembly. Typical of cheap locks, the bolt was slanted inward, allowing me to easily force it back. Once inside, I relocked the door, turned on the light, and immediately understood why security was of little concern. Despite the belief Blackstone lived in the studio, there was little evidence to suggest it was anybody’s actual home. The mattress on the twin bed was bare, the fridge contained only a pizza box, and there was nothing in the way of cooking utensils to be found. A phone-booth-sized closet devoid of clothes had a curtain for a door. The only signs of human activity were basic toiletries in the bathroom. There was, however, a rather large dresser.

I opened the top drawer and saw what looked like a pile of tiny firecrackers, several boxes of condoms, a bottle of black powder, a roll of electrical tape, and strands of copper wire connected to tiny pipes. I opened the second drawer and caught a whiff of nail polish remover. Scattered about were a few small plastic bottles of clear liquid, several quart-sized bottles of red liquid, and what appeared to be a .38 revolver. I picked up the pistol. It felt lighter than expected and looked like it had been painted black. The hammer wouldn’t move. When I pushed the cylinder release, nothing happened. It was a very safe gun.

—

An exuberant voice assaulted me as I stepped out of the building. “Did you see that? Wasn’t that some crazy initiation shit?”

It took a moment for Spike’s appearance to break through the chaos clogging my neural pathways. The shiner I gave him that morning was at its peak of ripeness.

“What do you really know about Blackstone’s relationship with Doug?” I said.

“Did you see all those old fucks dressed up like—”

“How much do you know?” I shouted.

“Whaddya getting all pissed off for? I just wanted you to see him dressed up, playing wizard. It’s good to know the kind of guy you’re dealing with. Now let’s go to the meeting.”

“So there is a meeting?”

“Yeah, dude, nine o’clock at Jeremy’s office. It’s eight-fifteen now.”

“Hang on. How much does Jeremy know about Blackstone?”

Spike lit up. “Only that he wants to buy some expensive wine!” His sudden giddiness bordered on bizarre. He stared at me, anticipating a reaction to match his delirious glee.

“Okay,” I said. “But I’ve gotta make a call first.”

Spike ran to his car then, for some reason, waited for me to pull the Honda behind him. I left a message at Margot’s apartment, then followed Spike into the left lane on busy Wabash. I called Amy.

“I’m on my way to the Auvergnat Vin Bar,” I said. “An old man wants to buy Margot’s wine.”

“Buy it from whom?”

“Jeremy, the owner of the bar.”

“Listen, there are things you need to know.”

“Hang on.” I pulled onto a side street. “I should know you’re a Fed, right?”

Amy forced a laugh. “Why would you say that?” That she could have been so genuinely caught off guard surprised me.

Spike’s number vibrated on my phone. “When you came over the night before I went to Irvington. That was just to cover your FBI ass, to make sure I would’ve gone to Irvington
without
your suggestion. You didn’t care about my safety—”

“I
did
care—”

“Calm down, I get it! I was already warned by a cop friend that the Feds were all over Cooper and that whatever happened to some puny private investigator was irrelevant.”

“You’re not irrelevant—”

“And all that psychic stuff? Just bullshit?”

“I’ll explain later. Who’s this old man?”

“He has some kind of relationship to Doug,” I said.

“Fine. Go to the meeting. I’ll explain more later.”

Chapter 45

Once in Auvergnat’s parking lot I called Margot again and left another message. Spike waited for me next to his car.

“Where the hell did you go?” Spike said.

“Bathroom.”

Spike didn’t appreciate my response and turned to his Mr. Mobster-Tough-Guy attitude—which pissed me off. “You got somethin’ you wanna tell me?” Spike said.

I threw it back at him. “Listen,
sonny boy
. I don’t gotta tell you nuttin’ about nobody.”

I walked into the Auvergnat Vin Bar without checking to see if Spike followed. Business was brisk. A few couples waited on benches for a table to open. I waved at Bruce the bartender as I breezed past, and didn’t bother knocking before I entered Jeremy’s office. Blackstone sat on the end of the couch, leaning forward with both hands on the handle of his cane. Jeremy had been sitting behind the desk but stood when I appeared.

“What are you doing here?” Jeremy said. The old man looked at me but didn’t move.

“I’m sorry. Isn’t this where the Sacred Order of Fermentology meets?”

Spike walked in and sat at the opposite end of the couch. “Hi, Merlin,” he said.

“What is Landau doing here?” Jeremy said.

“Landau is still looking for Tanya,” I said.

“This is a private meeting that has nothing to do with a missing woman,” Jeremy said.

“I have a theory,” I said, leaning against the wall, “that the missing
wine
is related to the missing
Doug,
which is related to the missing
woman
.”

Jeremy looked at Blackstone then at Spike. “What’s he talking about?”

Spike got up from the couch and walked to the front of the desk. “Here’s the deal,” he said. “Merlin here tells us how to find Doug, then maybe we sell him some wine.” Blackstone stared at the floor.

“How would Blackstone know anything about Doug?” Jeremy said.

“You slimy rat-bastard,” Spike said, sounding effectively unhinged. “First, you try to sell the wine behind my back? Now you insult my intelligence?”

I thought Jeremy might faint. “I found an investor in Mr. Blackstone,” he said, his voice wavering. “For my wine trust. I swear that’s all. I don’t know anything about Doug.”

I said, “You mean not since you and Spike ripped off the wine Doug wanted to steal from Margot, and that you’re now trying to sell behind Spike’s back.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Jeremy said to Blackstone. “Everything is legitimate.”

“What do you say, Merlin?” Spike said. “You know where Dougie is?” It seemed Blackstone moved just enough to glance at Spike, but I wasn’t sure. “Don’t feel like talking, huh?”

“He doesn’t know Doug!” Jeremy said.

“Doug Daley was a customer at the magic shop,” I said. “Tanya used to accompany him.”

“That doesn’t mean he
knew
him,” Jeremy said.

“Well, Merlin?” Spike said. “Did you
know
Doug?”

Blackstone straightened himself up on the couch and said through his nose, “He was a customer.”

“You didn’t sound as nasally onstage,” I said. “A special microphone?”

“Get rid of Landau and let’s do business,” Jeremy said to Spike.

Spike looked at me. “Well, Landau?”

“There’s no business-doing until Blackstone tells us how to find Doug.”

“Oh, goddamn it!” Jeremy said. “Blackstone just wants to buy the wine! He doesn’t know where Doug is!”

“He’s investing in your trust
and
buying the wine?” I said. “That’s one profitable magic shop.”

“So what price did you get us?” Spike said.

Jeremy squirmed in his seat. “I told you on the phone.”

“I forgot.”

Blackstone chimed in. “Twenty-five hundred. Per bottle.”

I waited for Spike’s reaction. He looked horrified. “So ten cases of twelve equals three hundred grand,” Spike said then looked at me. “He’s practically giving it away!”

“You’re getting screwed,” I said.

“That’s a fair price!” Jeremy said.

“The wine is worth eight times that,” I said.

“What it’s worth and what people will pay are two different things,” Jeremy said. “I’m the expert! I know what people will pay for wine.”

In the doorway, Margot stood emotionless before her conspirators. We all noticed her at the same time. I said, “I hope you don’t mind I invited Margot.”

Spike flashed me a
What-the-fuck?
look.

“Margot, meet Mr. Blackstone,” I said. “He wants to buy your wine! Isn’t that wonderful?” Jeremy rushed to Margot and started whispering in her ear. “Oh, was there something your boyfriend neglected to tell you, Margot? Like he’s trying to sell your stolen wine?”

Margot stepped away from Jeremy. When Jeremy tried to close the gap, she shoved him hard in the chest then angrily whispered something back.

Blackstone rose from the couch. “It seems the details have not been taken care of,” he said.

“I think it would be better if you stayed,” I said. Time to act tough.

Blackstone’s eyes widened and then he smiled just a bit. “And I should assume you will prevent me from leaving?”

I pretended to think about it. “I suppose. Although the idea of fighting an old man disturbs me.”

“Leave him alone, Landau,” Jeremy said.

“Yeah, let him go if he wants,” Spike said.

“Really, Spike? Suddenly you’re a lovable gangster?”

Spike’s face reddened. “Fuck you! You want to make the guy a prisoner?”

“Spike’s right, Jules,” Margot said. “Is this why you begged me to come here? To watch you beat up an elderly man?”

I shut the door then stood defiantly, hands on hips, holstered gun clearly visible, and said, “Nobody moves, nobody gets hurt.” Nobody laughed. “Sit down, old man.”

“You’re just a punk,” Blackstone said.

I walked to Blackstone, then shoved him hard in the chest. He fell backward onto the couch. Despite his contorted expressions of pain, I thought he landed rather nimbly for an old man. Jeremy got in my face, started shouting. A quick thrust to his gut with the heel of my hand sent him to his knees. Margot stood, staring in horror. She shouted, “What kind of man are you?”

“Oh, relax,” I said. “I didn’t hit him that hard.”

“Landau,” Spike said, “you need to chill out.”

“Okay, everyone,” I said. “I’m sorry to have been such a prick, but two grave injustices have been perpetrated upon my friend Margot, and it’s time this maltreatment comes to an end.”

“What are you doing?” Margot said.

“Landau,” Spike said, “this wasn’t part of the game plan.”

Jeremy got to his feet, then stumbled to the chair behind his desk. Blackstone seemed calm, even resigned.

“The people responsible for Margot’s predicament are present in this room,” I said. “Yet here she stands, stoically accepting her fate. Margot, Jeremy wants to sell your wine for twenty-five hundred bucks a bottle. What do you think of that?”

“Jeremy’s an idiot,” Margot said.

“Is that because the wine is worth more like
twenty thousand
a bottle?”

Spike looked at Margot. Margot nodded. Spike said, “What about it, Jeremy?”

“Nobody would pay that kind of money!”

“I don’t think Blackstone believes that,” I said. “What about it, Blacky?”

Staring at the floor, Blackstone said, “Good wine is an asset. A solid investment.”

“But why would Jeremy settle for one-eighth of the wine’s value?” I said.

“I should call the cops and have you thrown out of here,” Jeremy said.

“Jeremy needs a pile of cash so he can attract investors for his wine equity trust. You’re probably thinking,
He has ten cases of Mouton Rothschild!
What does he need cash for?
Well, cash is the truest of liquid assets. Cash has no authentication requirement like great works of art or rare wine. Jeremy’s problem is that he’s a wine
expert.
And because he’s a wine
expert,
he has reason to believe the wine could be fake.”

“That’s a lie!” Jeremy shouted. “To work as long and hard as I have to become a master sommelier, only to risk my reputation by selling counterfeit wine? I’d die first!”

“What do you think, Margot?” I said. “I mean, it’s
your
wine, after all.”

“My father was a highly regarded wine connoisseur,” Margot said. “He was also one of the most respected cardiac surgeons in the country. His integrity was impeccable.”

“It’s not possible Dr. van Bourgondien was conned somewhere along the way?” I said.

“What are you getting at, Landau?” Jeremy said.

“A magazine called
Wine Kibitzer
. Each year they devote an issue to the latest wine scams and rehash the most significant scams of the previous years.” From the breast pocket of my jacket I took out a page I had ripped out of the copy Paul from Der Weingott had given me. “Here’s an article about Dr. Thomas van Bourgondien, who three years ago filed a lawsuit in federal court claiming he was sold ten cases of counterfeit wine—Chateau Mouton Rothschild 1945.”

“It was never proven,” Margot said.

“He dropped the lawsuit,” I said.

“Dad’s health was deteriorating. He didn’t want to spend the money so late in life.”

“Are you finished, Landau?” Jeremy said. “Spike, let’s talk privately.”

“The possibility of selling phony wine made Jeremy nervous. That’s why you settled for the reduced price. Asking twenty grand a bottle would’ve brought too much attention and scrutiny. But three hundred thousand for ten cases—that doesn’t raise an eyebrow in your world. And the price was low enough so Blackstone could resell it for, say, five grand a bottle, and make a tidy profit.”