Warshawski 09 - Hard Time (12 page)

Murray was fidgeting with his glass. Something about the picture was making him ill at ease, whether Alex’s condescension or my snappishness or the assignment as a whole I had no way of knowing.

“He owns a business?” I asked. “What kind?”

“Gimmicky clothes,” Murray said. “Uniforms for kids’ teams, specialty T–shirts, that sort of thing. He started out doing the soccer uniforms at St. Remigio’s and moved on. He employs a lot of people right there in the neighborhood. On their old street he’s the second–biggest hero, right behind Lacey.”

“So what do you want me to do? Burn down his factory so that he has so much to worry about he leaves Lacey alone?” To my annoyance, Alex–Sandy seemed to be considering this smart–ass suggestion. “Lacey’s going back to Hollywood, he’s staying here, it’s not a problem.”

“It’s image, Vic,” Alex snapped. “Lacey’s going to be in town for eight weeks—they’re shooting
Virgin Six
here this summer. We can’t have him harassing her, and we can’t put him down hard. Why don’t you look into his affairs, see if he’s cut some corners someplace, see if we can’t offer him a little quid pro quo: leave Lacey alone and we won’t report you. If you turned up something, Global would be very grateful, and they have the resources to express their gratitude.”

I leaned back in my chair and studied them. Murray had stopped playing with his glass in favor of mutilating his napkin. Gray balls of wet paper were falling on his jeans. Alex was staring at me with an arrogant impatience that I found exasperating.

“I’m not manufacturing evidence of a crime or misdemeanor, even if it means so much to Global they give me the residuals for
Virgin Six.
“

“Of course not, Vic.” Alex bristled. “I’m not asking for that—but for you to fish. What’s your usual fee?”

“A hundred an hour plus nonoverhead expenses.”

She laughed. “I’d forgotten how honest you always were. Most people double or triple a number when a studio lawyer comes to visit.”

Meaning a hundred was so low it had to be the truth.

“We’ll double your fee if you’ll make this a priority. And throw in a high five–figure bonus if you come up with something we can use. Here are Frenada’s addresses and phone numbers.”

“Not so fast, Sandy.” Like Aisha’s father this morning, I let the proferred paper fall between us. “I need to think it over, and I’d have to talk to Ms. Dowell to see if she has the same take on the story you do.”

Alex–Sandy pursed her lips. “We’d rather Lacey wasn’t involved.”

My jaw dropped. “If she’s not involved, then what on God’s green earth is all this fuss about?”

Murray coughed, a deferential sign so out of his normal character that my irritability increased. “Vic, let me put it bluntly. You can talk to Lacey, of course, and get her read on Frenada. What we’re trying to avoid, or what Global is trying to avoid, is any hint that they’re beating up on Lacey’s old friends.

“No one wants you to manufacture anything. And no one who knows you would imagine that you ever would. As I made clear to Alex when we were talking about this last night. But if you do find something that the studio can use as a bargaining chip with Frenada, then we’d—they’d—prefer Lacey didn’t know it was because of Global that things got resolved. And we don’t want it in the papers.”

“Seems to me Teddy Trant can decide that,” I said, not trying to keep sarcasm out of my voice.

“Teddy only controls one paper and one television station, and anyway, the business side doesn’t dictate to the editorial,” Alex–Sandy said.

“Yeah, and the pope has no affect on the parish churches around here. I’ll think about it and let you know. Of course, if I agree to work on it, Global signs the contract. Not you. And not Murray as your front man.” I barely kept “your stooge” from popping out.

“Come on, Vic, you know me. And Murray’s a witness.”

“We’re going to flap our little Phoenix neckties and shout the Chicago fight song to prove our loyalty to each other? We went to law school on the South Side of Chicago, not to Eton. Maybe the South Side has stuck to me more than the law, but one of the things Professor Carmichael pounded into our heads was the importance of written contracts for business agreements.”

Her wide mouth flattened into a hard line, but at last she said, “Think it over. I’ll call you tomorrow morning.”

“I’m not making a decision that fast. I have some urgent projects in hand that I have to finish before I can consider yours. Which is why I’m working on a Sunday. By the way, Murray, what made you drop by here today? You can’t possibly have expected to find me in.”

Alex answered for him. “Oh, we stopped at your apartment first, but the old man said you were here. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“I can’t wait to hear his description of you. As Murray can tell you, it’s likely to be colorful and unstinting.”

Why did I have to show hackle every time my fur was ruffled? No sooner had I asked myself that pointed question than I called to Murray, who was following Alex–Sandy through the door, “Was it Justin’s or Filigree where you cooked this up?”

He turned and cocked a sandy eyebrow at me. “You wouldn’t be showing some jealousy there, would you, Warshawski?”

15 Family Picnic

I stared at the computer for a while, but I couldn’t summon any enthusiasm for the Georgia trucking problem. Murray’s last remark rankled. Which meant there might be a grain of truth to it. Not that I was jealous of women he dated, danced, slept with. But we’d worked together for so long we had the shared jokes and shortcuts of old comrades. It did hurt to see him more in tune with someone like Alex Fisher–Fishbein than me. I had character, after all. All she had was power, money, and glamour.

Murray was an investigative reporter. He had the same sources I did—sometimes even better ones—for uncovering dope on entrepreneurs around town. Maybe he was offering Frenada to me as a chance to make some real money. Or because he felt guilty for selling himself to Global. Maybe I should be grateful, but all I felt was queasy.

Alex’s reason for coming to me instead of the studio’s usual security detail made a kind of sense, but not enough. When I’d talked to Frenada briefly at the Golden Glow, he’d seemed personable, quiet, not a masher. Still, one is forever reading about serial killers who seemed quiet and normal to their neighbors. And it’s true, I myself had watched Frenada accost Lacey in the middle of the Golden Glow. If he was really a stalker, then Alex was being pretty cavalier about danger to Lacey. If he wasn’t, then Global had some agenda that was going to get me in a pack of trouble if I took on their dirty work.

Frenada had said at the party that maybe I could help him—that something odd was happening in his office. My own upheaval around Nicola Aguinaldo had driven my conversation with him far from my mind. Now I wondered if Global was already doing something to discredit him. If he’d stumbled on their plan, and Global realized it, Alex might be trying to bring me in as fresh bait on the line.

I logged on to LifeStory and requested a check on Frenada, not so much because I’d decided to take the job as to look for some context around the guy. To understand his character, I’d do better to talk to the people who knew him, but I couldn’t afford to spend time with his employees or his priest or whoever in Humboldt Park if I wasn’t going to take the job.

As I tried to make up a list of tasks for Mary Louise and me to split on the Georgia inquiry, I couldn’t help thinking of Alex’s remark, that if I did the work she wanted, Global had the resources to express their gratitude. A bonus in the high five figures. I wondered how high. Fifty thousand would not only get me a new car but let me build a cushion, maybe hire someone full–time instead of relying on Mary Louise’s erratic hours. Or what if it were seventy or eighty thousand? Murray was driving a powder–blue Mercedes these days; I could pick up that red Jaguar XJ–12 I’d seen in the ads on Wednesday.

“And that’s how they catch their fish,” I admonished myself out loud. “If you can be bought for the price of a used car, V. I., then you’re not worth owning.”

I worked hard for another couple of hours, stopping only once, to go out for a sandwich and to let Peppy relieve herself. After that I didn’t look up until Tessa came in around three–thirty.

“Mary Louise hasn’t been in for a while,” she commented, perching on the couch arm.

“You keeping an eye on the premises?”

She grinned. “No, doofus. You aren’t the only detective around here: when Mary Louise comes in she always tidies up the papers. I’m taking off. Want to go for a coffee?”

I looked at the clock. I told her I’d have to take a rain check so I could get back to pick up Mr. Contreras. I started my system backup program and began hunting through the heap on my desk for the report Max had faxed over from Beth Israel: I wanted to discuss it with Mary Louise. I’d forgotten stuffing the papers into the folder labeled
Alumni Fund
but came on it by the sophisticated method of going through all the folders I’d stacked up lately.

I pulled out the report the paramedics had filed with the hospital. It described where they’d found Aguinaldo, what steps they’d taken to stabilize her, and the time they’d delivered her to Beth Israel (3:14
A.M.
), but not the names of the officers who’d talked to Mary Louise and me in Edgewater. I wondered if I needed to know badly enough to pay for Mary Louise to talk to the ambulance crew and see if they remembered the guys. But I didn’t know how else to start finding out whether Baladine or Poilevy had been pulling the strings that made the cops come after me.

“I’m going to take a shower. And neatly put away all my tools,” Tessa added pointedly as I dropped the folder back on the heap of papers: if Mary Louise were working on it she’d have typed up a label on the spot and stuck it in the drawer with other pending cases.

“Yeah, you always were teacher’s pet. It ain’t going anywhere, but I am.” I shut down my system for the day and stuffed a second copy of the backup program in my briefcase. It was the second thing my old hacker friend had taught me—always keep a copy of your programs off the premises. You never think your office is the one that will be burgled or burned to the ground.

Tessa, her hair heavy from her shower, was locking her studio when I came into the hall. She had changed into a gold sundress of some kind of soft expensive cotton. I wondered if a ten–thousand–dollar wardrobe could make me look as good as her or Abigail Trant. The two came from similar worlds—fancy private schools, fathers successful entrepreneurs. Probably the only difference was their mothers—Tessa’s had broken through the white male barricades into a major law career.

“Not to be a feline, but I always thought Murray liked softer women than that bionic specimen he brought in today,” Tessa remarked as she set the alarm code. “He was kind of preening when he introduced us, so I take it they weren’t making a business call?”

“Not the Bionic Woman—a Space Beret.” When she looked puzzled, I said, “I can tell there aren’t any small boys in your life. That’s Global Studio’s movie–cartoon–comic–book and megabillion–dollar action figure. The woman is one of their lawyers. When we were in school together she was Sandy Fishbein and led sit–ins. Now that she’s Alexandra Fisher and sits on boards, I get confused about how to think about her or what to call her. She’s seduced Murray, and now they’re trying for a ménage à trois with me.”

“I never trust a woman who gets all her muscles at the health club and only uses them as an accessory to her wardrobe,” Tessa announced, flexing her own arms, sinewy from years of hammering on stone and metal.

I laughed and waved at her as she climbed into her pickup—one of those fancy modern ones with leather seats, air–conditioning, and perfect suspension. Seen next to it, the Skylark looked more decrepit than ever. I felt another unwelcome twist of jealousy. I wouldn’t have traded either of my parents for the wealthiest tycoons in the West, but every now and then I wished my legacy had included more than the five–room bungalow whose sale after my father’s death barely covered his medical bills.

The thought of Abigail Trant made me wonder if she’d played a role in sending Alex and Murray to me. Something about my operation had roused her full interest. Maybe she’d gone to Teddy. Playing with his tie as they dressed to receive their important guests:
Teddy, you know that woman that BB is so riled about? I think she’s worth helping. Let’s send her some work.
So maybe I should think about the offer more carefully. At least find out if Frenada really was harassing Lacey Dowell.

When I got to the apartment I ran upstairs to call Mary Louise’s house. Emily answered, saying Mary Louise had already left for our picnic.

“That’s okay. It’s your expertise I want right now. Do you know where Lacey Dowell is staying while they’re shooting
Virgin Six
?”

“You’re not trying to prove she committed some kind of crime, are you?” Emily demanded.

“No. Someone was saying an old friend of hers was harassing her. I want to talk to her doorman and see if it’s true.”

She thought it over and decided it was an innocuous enough reason to reveal her heroine’s whereabouts: a suite at the Trianon, a luxury hotel on the tip of the Gold Coast that overlooks the cardinal’s residence on one side and Lake Michigan on the other. A nice change from the corner of North and California, where Lacey had grown up.

“Thanks, honey. You’re not coming out with us this afternoon? Mr. Contreras is going to provide the food.”

She mumbled something about having to see her father. “He’s got a new girlfriend. He wants us to be friends before I leave for France.”

“You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to,” I reminded her.

“Yeah. I guess. Anyway, I’m flying on Wednesday, so I might as well tell him good–bye.”

I don’t suppose you ever outgrow the hope that your parent, however vile and violating he may have been, will magically turn into someone who cares about you. I turned sadly to join Mr. Contreras and the dogs in my car.

In the event, I had a pleasant outing. We joined Mary Louise and the boys in a forest preserve on the northwest side. Over a meal Mr. Contreras had created with boys in mind—fried chicken, potato chips, chocolate cupcakes, and marshmallows—Mary Louise and I went through the list of jobs that had come in this week. I had a half dozen background checks that were her main contribution to my work and a few other odds and ends, but I really wanted to talk to her about Alex–Sandy’s offer and my meeting with Baladine.

“You don’t need me to tell you not to touch that Global assignment,” she said. “I hope your pal Murray isn’t signing on for some real sleaze with them: that job sounds pretty bogus. As far as I can tell, your only reason for taking it on is to see what Murray is up to—and that’s not enough reward for maybe getting hung out to dry by one of the biggest laundries in America.”

I sat back on my heels, blushing—I didn’t know I was that transparent. “It’s not only that. What if Abigail Trant stuck an oar in to try to keep Baladine from swallowing me up?”

Mary Louise snorted. “What if she did? Are you supposed to fall over and slobber on her manicured toenails? Come on, Vic. This isn’t a job, it’s a setup. You know that as well as me.”

She was right. Probably right. I didn’t need the aggravation of being spun around by an outfit as slick as Global.

“But the Aguinaldo business is different,” I said. “That’s having a direct effect on me, what with that creep Lemour, and the State’s Attorney panting for me to take a fall. Will you check with the paramedics to see if they can remember the officers who came to the scene that night?”

“I can do it, but it’s a question of money, Vic. You pay me, remember, so even if it’s pro bono for you, it’s not for me. I think it’s an unnecessary detail right now, given your budget. You have plenty else going on. You told me the evidence from Cheviot Labs on your car got the SA to back off. Let it go for now. I’ll make those Georgia phone calls for you in the morning, but you know as well as I that there’s a trip south of the Mason–Dixon line in your future: I can’t leave town with those two monsters on my hand.” She gestured toward Nate and Joshua, playing Frisbee with the dogs.

She bit her lip, the way people do when they’re deciding to say something you don’t want to hear, then burst out, “Vic, there’s a kernel of truth in what Baladine said to you. About you going after strays all the time—only I call them wild–goose chases. You gnash your teeth over how you’re always hard up for money, but you’ve got the contacts and the skills to build a big agency. It’s just there’s something in you that doesn’t want to go corporate. Every time it’s about to happen you get involved in a story like Aguinaldo’s, and
phht,
there goes your chance to grow your business.”

“Grow my business?” I faked a punch at her. “You sound like a business–school manual.”

She started shadowboxing me, and pretty soon we were chasing each other around the park, the dogs in hot pursuit and the two boys screaming with excitement from seeing grown–ups act like children. When we flopped back on the grass, gasping for breath, the conversation moved in a new direction.

Nonetheless, her wisecrack felt as though it were coming close to some truth that I wasn’t willing to face in myself. I wondered about it as I was driving home with Mr. Contreras and the dogs. Maybe Alex Fisher was right, that my blue–collar roots defined me. Would it make me feel guilty to enjoy a material success that my parents hadn’t achieved? In fact, that might have saved my mother’s life? She had died of cancer, a uterine cancer that metastasized because she hadn’t sought treatment when her symptoms first appeared.

Mr. Contreras’s conversation made it possible to defer any more serious self–examination. “Those two boys are awful cute, and the little one might make an athlete. They see anything of their old man?”

“Meaning that growing up with only a foster mother may make him a sissy?” I asked, but when he started coughing with embarrassment I let him off the hook and told him that Fabian was not exactly the athletic type. “He’s got a new girlfriend, some student half his age. Maybe she’s idealistic enough to think she wants to take on his first wife’s children, but I don’t know that they’d be better off.”