Deadline for Lenny Stern

by Peter Marabell

“Guess so,” Lenny said. “Threats kept coming. They’ve been more specific the closer we get to publication day.”

  “Curious the threats started before publication was announced,” I said.

  “Sure is,” Lenny said.

  “Your publisher’s based in Chicago, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Is that where Bigelow and Lawson work?”

  “And 250 others.”

  “Could be a leak somewhere,” I said.

  Lenny nodded. “Gloucester hires media people, production, printers, transportation. Lot of people involved that don’t work for Gloucester.”

  “You call the cops about the threats?”

  “The sheriff, yeah. Full report. That’s when Maury alerted Bigelow. He landed in town a couple of days later and took over.”

  Lenny looked at his watch. “Look, I have to be in Harbor Springs in a little while.”

  “The city manager interview?” AJ said.

  “Yeah,” he said, and stood to leave.

  “I’ll probably have more questions after I read the file,” I said, “and we need to talk about the book tour.”

  “You going with me?”

  “Only way to keep your ass out of harm’s way,” I said.

  “If you say so.”

  “I do say so, and by the way …”

  “Yeah?”

  “Why’d the other guy quit?”

  “Bigelow’s bodyguard?”

  I nodded.

  “I wouldn’t do what he told me.”

  3

  “Do we really sound like a married couple?” AJ said.

  “Lenny seems to think so.”

  “Do other people think so?”

  I shrugged.

  “Hold on a second.” AJ got up and shut the office door.

  “If you want to know the truth,” I said, “I really don’t think about it.”

  “We don’t talk about us all that often,” AJ said. “We did that all the time in the early days.”

  “We were adjusting to each other back then. We don’t really have many issues to talk about these days.”

  “Or argue about.”

  “That’s a good thing,” I said.

  “Most of the time.”

  “Most of the time?”

  “Sometimes it’s good to argue things out, Michael. We do it when we need to.”

  “Yeah, I know,” I said, “but Lenny was talking about something else, I think.”

  “Because we sounded married,” AJ said.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Who was the last one to bring up getting married?”

  “I was,” I said.

  “You were? You remember that?”

  “When Frank almost died.”

  Frank Marshall was a retired Chicago investigator. He was also friend, a mentor, the closet thing I had to an older brother. Five years ago, he was gunned down one rainy October night on the streets of Petoskey.

  AJ nodded slowly. “That was a rough time. You spent a lot of it with Frank and Ellen.”

  Ellen Paxton was Frank Marshall’s wife and confidante.

  “I saw marriage differently after that,” I said, “watching them under all the stress.”

  “Do Frank and Ellen sound like a married couple?” AJ said.

  “Never thought about it, so …”

  A knock on the office door.

  “Come on in,” AJ said.

  Tina Lawson came through the door and closed it behind her.

  “Hope you don’t mind,” she said. “Lenny told me you were here.”

  AJ pointed at a chair and Tina sat down.

  “I’ll just be a minute,” she said. “I don’t want to interrupt.”

  “You’re not,” AJ said.

  “I’m worried,” Tina said, “scared actually.”

  “About the book tour, Ms. Lawson?” I said.

  “Call me Tina,” she said. “Look, you may know how to protect people, but I’ve been on plenty of book tours. There aren’t many places to hide.”

  “It’s not about hiding,” I said, “it’s knowing where to look, what to look for.”

  “Can you keep Lenny from getting hurt?”

  AJ’s desk phone buzzed. “Excuse me,” she said. Then, after a moment’s discussion, “Maury wants to see me. Take your time. Finish up.”

  After AJ left, I said, “There are no guarantees, Tina, if that’s what you mean.”

  “I’m not sure what I mean,” Tina said. “I’m just scared.”

  “I can reduce the odds of him being hurt. I can make it tougher on the people who try to hurt him.”

  “So you’re telling me you can’t prevent him being killed if someone’s willing to die to do it.”

  Tina was right, of course, but it seemed like a lousy time to confirm her worst fears.

  “It’s much harder to do,” I said. “Not impossible, but harder.”

  “Or if someone throws a bomb.”

  “That’s not likely to happen.”

  “Why not? I don’t understand.”

  “Bombs do a lot of damage,” I said. “Public outrage would demand arrests, there’d be pressure on the cops, the prosecutors. Even the mob doesn’t want that much attention. They’d use one or two experienced shooters.”

  “Professional killers?”

  I nodded.

  “Will you have any help?”

  “Yes.”

  Tina waited for an explanation.

  “When you’re in the private eye biz,” I said, hopefully with a straight face, “you know plenty of skilled people, experienced in this kind of thing.”

  That meant Henri LaCroix, of course. And I might bring someone else in if things got really dicey.

  “Skilled, like … like … with guns?”

  “Yes,” I said, “but trying to kill Lenny isn’t the only thing to worry about.”

  Tina paused, staring at me, waiting for more.

  “They might kidnap him, ransom him for the documents, something like that.”

  “Shit,” Tina said, “never thought of that. Really?”

  Might be better to head off this line of questions, too.

  I leaned back with my hands behind my head, trying to look relaxed enough to ease her anxiety.

  “Tell me about the book tour.”

  “Well,” she said, her face losing some of the tension as we shifted to a familiar topic.

  “Lenny Stern’s tour is pretty simple, and it’s short. Four events in three locations, wrapping up in Chicago on the official release date of the book.”

  “The file Maury gave me included a tour schedule. Is that the current one?”

  Tina nodded.

  “Good. So where do we start?”

  “Here,” Tina said, “in Petoskey.”

  I smiled. “As fond as I am of Petoskey, it doesn’t seem like a very big market to get the tour rolling.”

  “It isn’t, but Lenny insisted. He wants to kick it off in his hometown. Where he lives and works.”

  “You’d prefer elsewhere?”

  “Of course. Gloucester’s marketing division always wants to start in a medium-sized city or larger. More bang for the buck that way.”

  “But not this time?”

  “Gloucester wanted to sign Lenny. He insisted, they agreed.”

  “Got it. I want to ask you, before I forget: you’re Lenny’s agent, but you work for Gloucester Publishing. I thought agents represented their clients to prospective publishers. What am I missing?”

  Tina smiled. “Nothing, you didn’t miss a thing. Lenny doesn’t have a traditional agent. I’m more like a publicist or marketing specialist. My job is to work with Lenny, to get the word out.”

  �
��Is that why your name appeared in the Post Dispatch story about the tour stopping in town?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, so we start in small town Petoskey. Is Detroit on the list?”

  “It was originally, but Lenny said no. Northern Michigan only.”

  “And the Chicago wrap-up.”

  “Yes,” Tina said.

  “Didn’t you say three locations but four events?”

  “Lenny opens just down the street, at the old Carnegie Library with an evening talk about his days as a crime reporter, the backstory on the Mafia killings. That kind of thing. Right after the talk he’ll sign copies at a table in the main room. That’s two events for us.”

  “The talk open to the public?”

  Tina shook her head. “Invitation only,” she said. “From a list of VIPs, the rest of the tickets will go to supporters of the library.”

  “How about the book signing?”

  “Open to the public. People will come and go for two hours. I suppose the signing will be tougher to patrol.”

  “Anyplace the public can wander in and out is harder to cover. The Carnegie talk is mostly limited access.”

  “So it’s safer?”

  “It should be,” I said, “but you never know.”

  Tina nodded slowly, still digesting the danger that was building around her.

  “The next day, he’ll be at B. Humbug’s Bookstore in Harbor Springs for a signing. Two days later, a luncheon at the Iroquois Hotel on Mackinac Island.”

  “The tour portion is over?”

  Tina nodded. “Then it’s on to Chicago.”

  “This all by car?”

  “Yes.”

  “Even Chicago?”

  Tina smiled. “Gloucester’s not likely to pop for plane fare for three hundred miles.”

  “You usually do the driving?”

  She nodded. “It’s part of the job.”

  That’s a lot of miles on the open road to worry about, a lot of opportunity for the killers to come at us. But Henri and I have dealt with that before.

  “It’ll be day trips up here,” Tina said. “Although we might stay over on Mackinac. Chicago’s three nights.”

  “Why three?”

  “Gloucester’s throwing a couple of VIP receptions. High-profile author, high-profile …”

  “Hopefully high-profile book,” I said, and smiled.

  “You’re learning,” Tina said, laughing.

  “Who makes the hotel reservations?”

  “Gloucester has a travel staff who does that.”

  “Where are you staying?” I said.

  “The Perry,” Tina said, “I love the history of the place. Did you know it was slated to be a hospital a hundred years ago? Very cool. Anyway, they booked me at the Perry, I’m delighted to say.”

  “How many on the staff?”

  “Two.”

  “Know them?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “Nobody new. They’ve been around for a while. You think one of them … ?”

  I shrugged. “I ask questions. Don’t know the people, don’t know the business. So I ask.”

  “So everybody’s a suspect?”

  I smiled. “Not everybody,” I said, “but someone’s threatening Lenny.”

  “And you want to know who.”

  “I want to stop them.”

  4

  “Sounds simple enough,” Henri said, “our job is to keep one cantankerous reporter from getting wacked.”

  We sat in the outer office, by the windows overlooking Lake Street. The July heat was in its eighth day. Sandy was at her desk, nibbling on a molasses cookie.

  “Whenever you say something’s simple,” she said, “I get nervous.”

  Henri laughed. “Muscle memory, Sandy. Don’t jump to conclusions.”

  “That’s easy to do, hanging around the two of you.”

  “Did you tell Lenny’s agent …” Henri said, hesitating.

  “Tina Lawson.”

  “Right. Did you tell Tina Lawson we’d take over the tour?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “She okay with that?”

  “She understands we have to do some things our way to protect Lenny. But we have to work with the schedule set by Gloucester Publishing.”

  “I assume we also stick with Lenny when he’s not on tour.”

  “Until this is over, yeah.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “That’s not a very reassuring way to start, gentlemen,” Sandy said.

  “Said he’d let us know when he got back to the office.”

  “The real danger starts when the tour starts,” I said. “The people doing the threatening don’t know if the tour’s been canceled or not. Because of the threats.”

  “Unless there really is a leak at Gloucester Publishing,” Sandy said. “Should we trust anybody associated with Gloucester?”

  I shrugged. “I think Lawson’s okay. She seems like a sharp professional trying to do her job. Besides, Lenny likes her.”

  “Bigelow?” Sandy said.

  I shook my head. “He’s probably okay. Seems too preoccupied with himself to sell out to the mob.”

  “That’s not enough to rule him out,” Henri said.

  “No, it’s not,” I said.

  “We going to set Lenny straight on how this will go,” Henri said, “on and off tour?”

  I nodded.

  “I suppose the esteemed Mr. Bigelow will want to weigh in.”

  “I’ll fill Bigelow in after we set it up with Lenny. Keeping his author out of harm’s way is our job, not his.”

  “Book must be a helluva read,” Henri said.

  “Hey,” Sandy said, reaching under her desk.

  “Voila.” She held the book in the air. “Hot off the press. Our own copy of Corruption on Trial.” The large block letters of the title were superimposed over an even larger judge’s gavel.

  “Where’d we get that?” Henri said.

  “Kid from Weston’s office dropped it off,” Sandy said. “Already read the introduction.”

  “So what do you think?” I said.

  Sandy carefully placed Lenny’s book on the desk in front of her, as if it were a rare first edition in the original paper jacket. She stared at it for a moment.

  Henri and I sat quietly, waiting.

  “I’ll know better after I read it,” Sandy said, glancing at each of us. “Right now, hard to tell.”

  “What does that mean?” Henri said.

  “Look, Lenny describes … you know, gives us the background, how he covered the mob killing in the first place, how he came to write the book.”

  “We know some of that,” I said.

  Sandy nodded. “But it was the documents,” she said, “they’re what did it. They filled out the story he’s wanted to tell for a long time.”

  Sandy pointed at the book. “Once he had the evidence, he knew he’d finally write the book.”

  “Do you want to read it first?” I asked her.

  “You bet.”

  “Might be something we need to know …”

  “How about this,” she said. “I’ll email you two highlights, a summary, something. You’ll have that.”

  Before we could quiz Sandy further, we heard footsteps. A moment later, Lenny Stern came through the door. He stopped when he caught all three of us staring at him.

  “What?” he said. “What’d I do?”

  Sandy held his book in the air. “Look, Lenny. My own copy.”

  Lenny smiled. “You got it,” he said. “That’s Maury’s, but he can get another one. You guys need a copy right now.”

  “Will you autograph it for me?” Sandy said.

  “I would be
delighted,” Lenny said, with a very theatrical bow at the waist. “I’ve only read the introduction,” she said. “I have a quick question.”

  Lenny hung his coat on the hall tree and took the chair next to Henri.

  “What’s the question?”

  Sandy leaned forward on her desk. “Finding the evidence of corruption sealed the deal …”

  Lenny nodded. “To write the book.”

  “Yeah, I got that,” Sandy said, “but why stick with it so long? You reported on the original crime, wrote the stories for the Tribune years ago, but never let it go. Why not?”

  “You hang around cops and criminals as long as I have, you can smell a cover-up. Even if nobody spells it out, the cops, prosecutors. They all know.”

  Lenny paused a moment. “Proving it … that was another story.”

  “But when you could prove it,” Sandy prompted.

  “I started the book,” he said.

  “Anyone else know you’d started the book?” I said.

  Lenny sat back. “Well, at first no one. How could they? I have all my original notes. The rest is in the paper’s cloud file.”

  “Would anyone at the paper be interested?”

  “That I was digging in the digital files?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Lenny shook his head. “Reporters, editors, we’re always checking stuff. Nobody’d paid any attention.”

  “Would anyone care that you started a book on a famous crime?”

  Lenny smiled. “Every reporter is writing a bestseller, Russo. Like English professors are always writing …” Lenny paused, making quote marks in the air with his fingers. “You know. The ‘great American novel.’”

  “You tell anyone you were working on the case?”

  “Nobody to tell,” Lenny said. “I was the only one who had the evidence. It wasn’t any kind of big deal that I was sketching out a book.”

  I stood and looked out the window. There were shoppers moving here and there in the humid air. Most visitors were at the beach trying to stay cool. I was happy for air conditioning.

  “It had to be a big deal to somebody, Lenny,” I said. “Somebody who knew about the book.”

  “Lenny,” Sandy spoke up. “After you started the project, what’s the first thing you did? Like, where’d you go, who did you talk to?”

  “Well.” Lenny thought for a moment. “I might have said something to someone at work, you know, over coffee or a beer.”