Deadline for Lenny Stern: A Michael Russo Mystery

by Peter Marabell

  “Kate? Her, too?”

  The wind had just been punched out of the man’s sails. He crossed his legs, smoothed the crease in his elegantly tailored slacks, and shook his head slowly.

  “I … I hadn’t thought about that.”

  I guessed the reality that he was in the middle of a dangerous drama had finally caught up with him. It didn’t settle in easily.

  Bigelow looked up, first at Tina Lawson, then Lenny Stern.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “It never occurred to me that you might … that your lives … because of a book contract.”

  Tina smiled without enthusiasm. “Me either, Charles.”

  “Something like this isn’t predictable,” I said.

  “But what are we going to do about it?” Bigelow said.

  “You’re already doing it, Mr. Bigelow,” I said. “You hired us.”

  I’d just given him more credit than he deserved, but no point jumping on the man when he was trying to get his feet back on the ground.

  “Lenny,” Bigelow said, “did you know this would happen?”

  Lenny sat forward and put his elbows on the table. “I didn’t know, not for sure anyway. I’ve been a crime reporter for a long time.” He shrugged. “If it makes you feel any better, it never occurred to me my book would put anyone’s life in danger.”

  “It doesn’t make me feel any better,” Bigelow said, shaking his head. “Does all this, the emails, the punks who roughed you up, does this scare you?”

  Lenny thought for a minute. “Yes and no,” he said. “All my years on the streets, with the cops, got me used to a certain level of violence. But I can’t just ignore what’s happening. Somebody has it in for me — for real.”

  Bigelow looked over at me. “Am I in danger, Mr. Russo?”

  “Hard to tell,” I said, “but your name’s not out there like Lenny’s. And Tina’s name shows up in the publicity for the tour.”

  “Let me ask you something,” Bigelow said. “Am I in more danger here or in Chicago?” He put his hand up, traffic cop-like, before anyone could answer.

  “I didn’t mean that like it sounds. If I’m here with Lenny and Tina on the tour …” he glanced at Henri and me, “I assume you’ll have to guard me, too. Is that true, Mr. Russo?”

  That was the sharpest thing this guy’s said about the whole case. He’s thinking, at least.

  I nodded slowly.

  “I also assume that we’ll all be in danger when we’re in Chicago. Is that correct?”

  “Lot of Mafiosi in the Windy City.”

  “But if I’m not here, on the tour, I mean, is your job easier?”

  “Simpler, maybe,” I said. “One less person to cover. How much time did you plan to spend on tour?”

  “The first night at the Carnegie,” Bigelow said. “I want to be here for that. We hadn’t discussed the rest of the tour. I don’t have to go, but I’ll host the events in Chicago. Chicago should be okay.”

  “Why okay?” I said.

  “Well, Gloucester has security services on call. They’re scheduled to be at the Chicago finale anyway. They could protect us.”

  Bigelow paused. He was still thinking.

  “So to be clear, Mr. Russo, if I’m not here, your job is less complicated.”

  I nodded. Maybe there was more to this guy than I’d given him credit for.

  “Then it’s done. I’ll attend the Carnegie event and go home.”

  “I’ll keep you up to speed, Charles,” Tina said. “Texts, photos, whatever you need.”

  “You’ll alert your security people?” I said.

  “It’ll be the first thing I do,” he said, “as soon as I leave here.”

  “I’ll need contact information for the security service,” I said.

  “I’ve got it,” Tina said.

  “It’s settled then,” said Bigelow as he stood up. “Well, I have work to do before I leave.”

  “What time’s your plane?” Tina asked.

  “Two-twenty.”

  “You flying out of Traverse City?” I said.

  “Yes.”

  “Short turnaround for the Carnegie event,” I said.

  “Such is publishing.”

  “How are you getting to the airport?”

  “Rented a car,” Bigelow said. He glanced around the room. “Do you see a problem?”

  “Any stops on the way?”

  “No. My bag’s in Maury’s office. We plan to have lunch before I leave for the airport.”

  “Text Tina when you board the plane.”

  “I will.”

  Bigelow backed up two steps, as if unsure of what to do next. He wasn’t behaving at all like the arrogant man I’d met in Maury Weston’s office.

  “Good-bye, then,” Bigelow said, and left the conference room.

  “I almost feel sorry for the guy,” Henri said.

  “I don’t think he understood … really got what’s going on,” I said.

  “Charles lives the business,” Tina said. “It’s his whole world, publishing, his life. It’s all about marketing books. You just cracked his world a hard one, Michael.”

  “Did he read the threats, the emails?”

  “I gave him the file,” Tina said, “same one you have. Maybe he didn’t read it.”

  “Or maybe the threats were only important for selling books,” Henri said.

  “Not anymore,” Tina said.

  “All right,” I said, “let’s wrap this up.”

  “About time,” Lenny said, and stood up. “I’m on deadline.”

  “I’ll be out front when you’re done tonight,” Henri said. “What time?”“How about I call you?”

  “Not a chance. What time?”

  “Five-thirty, quarter to six,” Lenny said. “Since you insist.”

  “I’ll be waiting,” Henri said, smiling.

  We ended the meeting and exited the newspaper offices into the summer sun. We crossed the street to Lenny’s SUV. The surface of the truck was hot to the touch.

  “I’m surprised by all this hot weather,” Henri said.

  “I thought it didn’t bother you.”

  “It doesn’t, not after Iraq and Afghanistan. I’m just surprised, that’s all. A heat wave in northern Michigan?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Where you headed?”

  “Picking up Margo in a while.”

  Margo Harris, a smart, beautiful and savvy professor of English at Bannister College, just north of town. She and Henri had been “an item,” as Sandy called them, for a couple of years.

  “You two have any plans?”

  “We’ll grab a sandwich somewhere,” he said, “probably Cormack’s Deli. After Lenny’s done at work. Why? You have something in mind?”

  “Not really, but I can’t get the Carnegie out of my mind. Something AJ said.”

  “And that was?”

  “She asked how would we know if a gunman, or woman, was already in the audience, you know, before we arrived with Lenny.”

  “You got an idea about that?”

  “No. We’re not even sure what the threat will look like.”

  “Hold on a minute,” Henri said before opening the SUV’s door, starting the motor and switching on the air. We climbed in and closed the doors. The outside temperature on the screen read 94 degrees.

  “How about this? One of us keeps Lenny company, the other arrives at the Carnegie ahead of time.”

  I thought for a minute.

  “We have to alert the library staff what we’re up to,” I said.

  “They need to know,” Henri said. “Besides, we need their cooperation.” “Maybe they can keep the doors locked until we get there,” I said.

  “Or one of us can show up when they open the library?”

 
“That’s a place to start,” I said. “I’ll call over there, see what they have to say.”

  “Want me to drop you at the office,” Henri said, “or do you want to walk?”

  I laughed. “Always rather walk, but today, I’ll accept your offer. To the office.”

  9

  I’d spent some time at my desk catching up on calls, answering emails and occasionally staring out the window.

  Sandy stuck her head in the door.

  “Remember Pam Wiecek?”

  “Sure, why?”

  “She answered the phone at the library. Line one, boss.”

  I picked up the office phone. “Pam, hello.”

  “Mr. Russo,” Wiecek said. “This is a nice surprise. It’s been a while.”

  “At least a couple of years,” I said, and explained why I’d called.

  “You’d best talk to our director about Mr. Stern’s event,” she said. “Her name’s Andrea McHale. Want me to check her schedule?”

  “Please.”

  “Hold on, Mr. Russo, I have it right here … she’ll be in tomorrow morning. About ten. Want me to leave her a note that you’ll stop by?”

  I told Wiecek to do that, thanked her and said good-bye.

  By the time I shuffled some more papers it was almost five. The July sun wasn’t going away anytime soon. But I needed to get out of there.

  “I know what you’re thinking, boss,” Sandy said from the doorway.

  “You do?”

  “You want to go run. I can tell, I’ve seen that look before. It’s ninety-three, ninety-four, boss; run tomorrow morning before work.”

  I turned my chair toward the window. “Good breeze off the water. Cool things off a bit.”

  “Then take a walk down by the bay. Feel the breeze off the water,” she said, and laughed. “Just don’t do anything stupid.”

  “Yes, mother.”

  I left the office and made my way through the parking lot, crossed U.S. 31, and went into the small park at the water’s edge. I found a spot under a large elm tree and sat down in the shade.

  Not as much of a breeze as I’d hoped for. Still, I stretched my legs out, leaned back against the tree and watched a group of teens trying to manhandle two kayaks off a trailer.

  I wasn’t aware how long I’d watched people playing in the summer heat when my phone buzzed.

  “Hey, Henri, what’s up?”

  “Lenny ditched me. The son-of-a-bitch cut out on me. He’s got a half hour head start.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Out front of the newspaper.”

  “You checked inside?”

  “Yeah, he’s gone.”

  “Anybody there know where he went?”

  “Woman at the desk said he waved good-bye on the way out. That’s all.”

  I told Henri where I was. “Come pick me up. I’ll make a couple of calls.”

  I tapped Lenny’s line, but it went to voicemail after two rings. His inbox was either full or he was dodging calls. I tapped AJ’s phone.

  “Wow,” she said. “Another call. I really feel important.”

  I told her about Lenny.

  Silence.

  “AJ?”

  “Do you think something happened, or did he skip out on Henri?”

  “Don’t know,” I said, “but I bet he just took off.”

  “But we have to know.”

  “Yeah. The Side Door still his favorite hangout?”

  “As far as I know. There’s another place some of the crew talks about. Mitchell Street Pub, maybe. I’ll find out.”

  I saw Henri’s SUV pull into a parking space.

  “Henri’s here,” I said. “Let me know.”

  I tapped Lenny’s number again. Voicemail.

  “You try his phone?” Henri said.

  “Uh-huh.” I shook my head.

  “He’s fucking with us,” Henri said. “Seeing how far he can push before we push back.”

  “That your instincts talking, or your head?”

  Henri ignored my question. “Assuming I’m right, where would he go?”“AJ says the Side Door’s his favorite hangout.”

  “Would he be that obvious? His favorite bar?”

  “If he’s messing with us, he wouldn’t care,” I said.

  “What are we waiting here for? Let’s go.”

  Henri pulled out of the lot and went to Bay Street. He avoided the chaos of the shopping district as best he could, taking side streets lined with bungalows, Cape Cods and the occasional McMansion.

  Henri cut it close for the stoplight at the plaza on 31 and swung into the parking lot for the Side Door Saloon.

  We walked through the front door and not-so-gently pushed our way through the waiting area, which was clogging with tourists as the early dinner hour closed in.

  The main room of the Side Door was a large rectangle with a few dividers to break up the space for tables. The walls were filled with memorabilia and sports bar-sized TVs. A long bar wrapped around one side of the room near the kitchen.

  Lenny Stern sat on a stool at the far end of the bar. He had a beer in front of him.

  “I’ll go to Lenny,” I said, “cover us from the other side.”

  Henri unzipped the nylon windbreaker that hid his shoulder holster and walked casually across the room, smiling, as if he were about to meet friends. I went around the bar and took the empty stool next to Lenny.

  He glanced at me. “Hiya, Russo. What took you so long?” he said, and drank some beer.

  “You think this is funny?”

  He nodded. “A little bit. You want a beer?”

  Henri sat at a two-top about twenty feet away. He already had a beer in hand. When I looked over, he shrugged. He hadn’t spotted any trouble yet.

  “Come on, Russo,” Lenny said, “have a beer. It’s on me. Zack, hey, Zack,” Lenny shouted at the bartender over the din of the crowd. “A draft for my friend, here.”

  “You have to take this seriously, Lenny. Remember the threats?”

  He waved me off. “I do take it seriously, but I’ve been threatened before. Remember me saying that?”

  “Yeah, I remember,” I said, “but this is now, Lenny. It’s our job to keep you alive.”

  “Our job? Right. Where is my shadow?”

  “Small table on the wall,” I said, and Lenny glanced in Henri’s direction.

  “I know what your job is, Russo, but I know half the people in this room.”

  “It’s the other half I’m worried about.”

  Bartender Zack put a tall glass with foam on top in front of me. He was in his mid-thirties, with olive skin, a shaved head and the friendly grin of everyone’s most trusted listener.

  “Zack,” Lenny said, “you know the people here tonight?”

  The bartender looked down the bar.

  “Folks at the bar, all regulars,” he said with a wave of the hand. “The after-work crowd.” He looked out at the room. “Tables are mostly summer people. They don’t like jamming elbows with strangers.”

  I took a drink as Zack went down the bar.

  “We need to get a few things clear, Lenny. About how this is supposed to go.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I hear you, Russo. But I need some flexibility to move around, to do my job.”

  “Are you working right now?” I said. “Are you doing your job in here?”

  “How about one more?” Lenny said. “Get Henri over here, we’ll figure out how to keep me alive over another beer. How’s that sound?”

  “Finish your beer, Lenny. It’s time to go.”

  I waved discreetly at Henri, who drained the last of his beer and walked over.

  “Hiya, Henri,” Lenny said.

  Henri moved closer to Lenny, giving him little room to move. He put hi
s hands on his hips.

  “That was a bullshit move, Lenny.”

  “Where was I gonna go you wouldn’t track me down?” Lenny said.“Yeah, I’d track you down,” Henri said. “Dead or alive is the question.”

  I took the beer from Lenny’s hand, put the bottle on the bar.

  “You’re finished,” I said. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Lenny started to protest, but Henri grabbed him by the arm and led him to the door before he could say a word. He moved Lenny through the hungry people crowded around the entrance. I dropped a couple of twenties on the bar and followed them.

  “Where’s your car?” I said once we were outdoors.

  “Other side of the handicap spots.”

  “Walk,” Henri said, “in front of us.”

  Lenny did as he was told, not that he had much room to argue. He stopped at a maroon Honda Accord. I stayed with Lenny, but Henri moved away from us toward the front of the car. He leaned back against the fender, getting a good view of the parking lot.

  “In a minute,” I said, “we’re taking you home. I’ll ride with you.” I looked over at Henri. “Anything?”

  He came around the car and walked up to us. “Not sure. Over there, the beater Chevy, faded red. See it?”

  I glanced casually in the direction of the Chevy.

  “Two heads in the car,” Henri said. “Spot them?”

  “Barely,” I said. “What are you thinking?”

  “Just being careful.”

  “All right, Lenny,” I said, “let’s go.”

  Before he moved a step, I heard the noxious sound of a motor in need of a new muffler roaring to life. We looked up.

  The Chevy came out of its parking spot in a big hurry. It moved fast our way, slamming on its brakes in a flurry of smoke and screeching tires a few inches from where we stood.

  I pushed Lenny behind me. Henri dropped behind the Accord and drew his gun.

  The driver pushed his arm out the side window and gave us his middle finger.

  “You’re dead, you piece of shit,” he yelled as he hit the gas and went for the street.

  10

  Henri came around the front of Lenny’s Accord, holstered his gun and walked a few steps away to get a better look. He scanned the parking lot, moving between a few parked cars, just to be sure there was no ambush vehicle waiting to catch us off guard.