Deadline for Lenny Stern: A Michael Russo Mystery

by Peter Marabell

  I never saw them.

  I hit the tarmac. Hard. Face down. A boot to the ribs. Again. A knee, low in the back. Jerked to my feet by two guys, one on each side, yanking my arms. Shoved forward into a big SUV, spun around. Held up, held back. A blow, straight to the midsection. No air.

  “Listen, asshole.” Elbow to the side of the head. Fist to the ribs.

  It was Dexter, couldn’t see the other two. Dexter swung low, to the ribs, swung high to the head.

  “Stay away from Cavendish. Got it?”

  Another to the ribs. “Not your business. You’re a dead man you fuck with Cavendish.” Two quick hits, the ribs, the face.

  On the tarmac. They were gone.

  44

  Noise … beeping? What? Beeping? Pinging?

  “Mr. Russo?” A women’s voice.

  “That noise, what’s that noise?”

  “Mr. Russo? Over here, Mr. Russo. Look left.”

  I moved my head slowly.

  “Yes, this way. Open your eyes a little.”

  “What’s that noise?”

  “It’s a monitor, Mr. Russo.”

  “Where …”

  “The emergency room, Mr. Russo. You’re safe. The emergency room in Petoskey.”

  My eyes began to focus.

  A white coat, a name scribbled on the left breast pocket. A soft smile, brown hair.

  “You were worked over pretty good,” she said. “You can still take a punch, I’ll give you that.”

  “You … you …”

  “Look familiar, do I, Mr. Russo?”

  I nodded. It hurt.

  “I’m Dr. Rochelle Silverstein. Hospital staff.”

  I didn’t place her.

  “I was on duty the last time you were brought in. The time before that, too. Every couple of years, it seems.”

  “Give him the good news,” another voice said. “And the bad news.”

  “Marty?”

  “Having a rough evening?” Fleener said from the end of the bed.

  “Is your head a little clearer?” the doc said.

  I nodded. It hurt, but not as much.

  “You can hear me okay?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Mr. Russo,” the doc said, “the good news is, no serious damage. You took a beating, mostly the ribs and the lower back. You were kicked in the groin, but they missed. A few shots to the head, but they look worse than they are.”

  “The bad news?” I said, my head not quite as fuzzy.

  “I gave you something for the pain, especially your ribs. When it wears off, you’ll be pretty sore for a while.”

  I looked around.

  “She went downstairs for coffee,” Fleener said.

  “Mr. Russo,” Dr. Silverstein said, “it’s a busy night. I’ll check back later, see how you’re doing.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Almost midnight,” she said.

  “Can I get out of here?”

  “I’ll check back,” she said with a smile, and left the room.

  I reached for the left side of my head. Sore, especially around the ear.

  Fleener moved up closer. “Do you remember what happened?”

  “How’d you get here?”

  “One of the patrol officers recognized your name called.”

  “At the hospital?”

  Fleener nodded. “What happened?”

  “I left the office …”

  AJ came through the door.

  “Michael, hi.”

  “Hi,” I said, trying to sit up.

  AJ put down her coffee.

  “Lift up a little,” she said, pushing the pillows back and up. “Is that better?”

  “Thanks.” It was better, and easier to talk.

  “I was asking our friend,” Fleener said, “if he remembered what happened.”

  I described the evening’s events, starting with a carryout dinner.

  “He asked me to meet him,” AJ said.

  “Good thing you weren’t there,” I said.

  “They wouldn’t have jumped you if I’d been there. And even if they did, I could have done something.”

  “AJ,” I said.

  “I should’ve met you.”

  “Don’t … don’t feel guilty about it.”

  “You went to Gaylord alone? We talked about that, remember? Why didn’t you wait for Henri?”

  “Hold on, both of you,” Fleener said. “Stop. Just … just take it easy. It’s over.”

  The room went quiet, except for the incessant beeping. AJ picked up her coffee and drank some.

  “Did you recognize them?” Fleener said.

  “Dexter,” I said. “Sam Dexter did the hitting.”

  “You’re sure?” Fleener said.

  “I’m sure. The guys who held me, don’t know, not for sure. Good bet they were the others.”

  “Didn’t you tell me there’s four of them?” AJ said.

  “As far as we know,” Fleener said.

  The door opened, we all looked. Henri came in, went around AJ and Fleener to the other side of the bed.

  “Michael, you all right?”

  “I’m okay.”

  “Sure?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  “Cavendish do this?”

  Before I could answer, Henri said, “How many?”

  I told him.

  He sized up the situation quickly. “The hitter Dexter?”

  I nodded.

  “The oldest thinks he’s the toughest,” Henri said. “Think I’ll ask him about that.”

  “No,” Fleener said. “Stay out of it.”

  Henri ignored what he said, and we all knew it.

  “I’ve got a better idea,” Fleener said.

  Not expecting that from an officer of the court, we all looked his way and waited.

  “Are we off the record?” Fleener said to AJ.

  “Can the paper have the story first?” She was an editor these days, the one who got the digital edition of the Post Dispatch up and running, but she never stopped being a reporter.

  “Yes,” Fleener said.

  “Then we’re off the record.”

  Fleener turned toward me. “File a complaint against Sam Dexter.”

  “I could do that,” I said, curious what he had in mind.

  “We’ll arrest Dexter, play him a little. Talk about him and his pals beating you up. Then say we know about the drugs, push him. Make it sound like we have hard info … accuse him of dealing. If we can get him to talk drugs and Sylvia Cavendish …”

  “You’ll bring her in,” I said.

  Fleener nodded. “I don’t care about the drugs.”

  “What about her sons?” AJ said.

  “Our information says Sylvia’s been supplying drugs, they had nothing on her sons. We’ll start with her and see where it leads.”

  “The prosecutor okay this?” Henri said.

  “If Hendricks believes we have a shot at the people who killed Kate Hubbell,” Fleener said, “he’ll go for it.”

  Our conversation stopped when Dr. Silverstein returned to the room.

  “I’ll take care of that complaint, Marty,” I said.

  “How’s your head?” the doc asked. “A little clearer?”

  “Yes. Can I go?”

  “Sorry, Mr. Russo,” she said. “Whatever you had planned for ‘later,’ will have to wait. You can’t drive. Even walking will be unsteady for a few hours. So, no, no plans for anything until morning. Understood?”

  “But I can leave the hospital?”

  She looked at the others crowded around the bed. “If one of you will take him home, he can leave.”

  “I’ll do it,” AJ said.


  “Good,” the doc said. “I have other patients to see, so I’ll be off. Mr. Russo,” she began, then paused. “Mr. Russo, I’d rather not see you in my ER again. Could you work on that, please?”

  “I’ll try,” I said.

  “He’ll do better than that,” AJ said.

  “All right, then,” Dr. Silverstein said, and left the room.

  “I’ll get a warrant for Dexter,” Fleener said. “Will you go to the office in the morning?”

  “He’s going home with me,” AJ said. “He’ll be in your office in the morning if you need him.”

  “Okay. Russo, you take care,” Fleener said, and walked away.

  “Will you follow us to my house?” AJ said to Henri.

  “Better than that, we’ll put him in my car, meet you there.”

  “You’ll come get him in the morning?”

  Henri nodded.

  “I don’t need a babysitter,” I said.

  “You need somebody,” AJ said. Then to Henri, “You had to go to the island?”

  “It’s late, AJ,” Henri said, letting the question slide. “Let’s get the two of you home.”

  Without another word, AJ turned and walked out.

  Henri looked over at me. “I’ll find a nurse, get you out of here. Meet you outside.”

  A nurse I had not met arrived with a wheelchair and put me in it. I was more unstable than I imagined, just getting into the chair. A slow elevator ride later, an awkward climb into Henri’s SUV, and we were off to AJ’s.

  Henri pulled into the driveway at AJ’s house and stopped at the side door. She was waiting for us.

  “To the guestroom,” AJ said, and the two of them clumsily got me into the house and upstairs, dropping me unceremoniously on the bed.

  “What time?” Henri said.

  “I’ll let you know,” AJ said. “Not early.”

  “See you tomorrow,” Henri said, and went downstairs.

  AJ sat on the side of the bed. Tears glistened around the corners of her eyes.

  “This isn’t good, Michael.”

  45

  “Would you like more coffee?” AJ said.

  I sat on a long, slatted teak bench in the shade of the front porch. I vaguely remembered arriving at her house last night.

  “Please,” I said, and watched her add to my mug. She smiled, easily. The edge on her face had disappeared overnight.

  “Is it really almost eleven?”

  “Yep. By the time I dragged you out of the tub and tucked you in bed, it was late.”

  I awkwardly rearranged myself on the bench, sipping coffee.

  “How’re the ribs this morning?” AJ put the carafe on a side table and sat down.

  “That ER doc was right, pretty sore. I think the hot water helped.”“You can do that again this afternoon.”

  “I just might.”

  I noticed her paint-stained running shorts, loosely hanging T-shirt, and bare feet. “Aren’t you late for work?”

  She shrugged. “I talked to Maury. They can lose me for a day. There’s more coffee cake, want another piece?”

  I shook my head. “I need to think about getting to the office. You heard from Henri?”

  “He’ll be along, but you’re not leaving the porch quite yet.”

  “Why is that?” I said. “Just curious.”

  “Marty Fleener’s on his way. Should be here any minute.”

  “Did he say why?”

  “Because you’re here. He told me to see that you stayed put until he got here.”

  I drank some coffee and set the mug down.

  AJ took my hand, leaned over and kissed my cheek. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too. You were upset last night, I think. Hard to remember.”

  “Upset and angry, Michael.”

  “Angry at me?”

  “Of course, at you.”

  We slid from the easy comfort of coffee together into something else. The teak bench felt longer.

  “At you, at me. I don’t like being scared.”

  Her soft smile had faded into … not sure what it was. Anguish? It didn’t feel like being irritated or annoyed. It almost felt like impatience.

  “I don’t know how to deal with it … how … to. . .”

  “Maybe it has to run its course.”

  “You mean get used to it? That’s easier said than done. Sometimes I think … is that Marty’s car?” AJ said, pointing up Bay Street.

  A black sedan moved toward our end of the block, going faster than it should have in a residential area. It stopped at the curb in front of the house, on the wrong side of the street.

  Marty Fleener swung both legs out of the car, put his feet to the ground, and pushed himself up. He came up the front walk, slowly.

  “You got any more of that coffee?” he asked, pointing at AJ’s mug.

  “Just made a fresh pot,” she said. “You look tired.”

  “I am tired. Mind if I sit?”

  “Sit here,” AJ said. “I’ll get your coffee.”

  Fleener took off his suit jacket, put it over the porch railing, and dropped himself on the bench. He loosened his tie and opened his shirt’s top button.

  “Good morning,” I said.

  “Morning.”

  AJ returned, handed Fleener a mug, and sat next to him.

  “Thanks,” he said, and drank some.

  “You look like you haven’t slept,” AJ said.

  “That’s because I haven’t slept.”

  “Would you like some coffee cake? Made this morning.”

  “No, thanks. I don’t want to encourage my stomach to expect food on a regular schedule.”

  “You haven’t slept all night, and you’re doing sarcasm?” I said.

  Fleener took a breath and drank more coffee.

  “We picked up Sam Dexter around four o’clock this morning.”

  “You found a judge to give you a warrant in the middle of the night?”

  “Called in a favor.”

  “How about Hendricks? He know about this?”

  Fleener almost laughed. “First one I called. Got him out of bed.”

  “My ID at the hospital was enough then?”

  Fleener nodded. “Hendricks said, and I quote, ‘If Russo’s messing with me, I will fuck with him for the rest of his life.’”

  “What about Dexter?”

  Fleener turned to me. “You sure you aren’t screwing around with your ID?”

  “Man stands three feet away, gives me shot after shot while his buddies hold me down — yeah. I don’t get it wrong. Now what about Dexter? When do you sit him in the room?”

  “Done.”

  “Seriously?” I said.

  Fleener nodded.

  “He have a lawyer?”

  “Court-appointed.”

  “In the middle of the night?” AJ said.

  “Called in another favor,” Fleener said. “Mind if I have some more coffee?”

  AJ refilled Fleener’s mug. “Thanks.” He drank some and said, “We scared the liver out of the guy, had him believing we thought he was the next worst thing to a Mexican drug kingpin.”

  “He say anything about Sylvia Cavendish?”

  “Gave her up,” Fleener said. “She’s been supplying drugs to Dexter and his roommate, Jarvis, Ben Jarvis. They made a few bucks selling stuff to their Carp Lake pals.”

  “Did you talk about Kate Hubbell?”

  “Not a word, nothing about Stern or you either. Nothing.” Fleener smiled. “We’re going to save all that. The threats, Stern’s book, all of it, especially Kate Hubbell.”

  “Saving it for?” AJ said.

  “Are we still off the record,” Fleener said to AJ, “like before?”

  She nodded.
“Off the record, like before, and I get the story.”

  Fleener smiled. “Sylvia Cavendish. We’re saving it all for her.”

  “You’ll talk to Hendricks?”

  “Done. He liked it.”

  “Are you going to arrest her?” AJ said.

  Fleener shook his head. “Don made some calls, talked to a few people, called in a favor.”

  “There certainly are a lot of favors being used up on this,” AJ said.

  “Murder will do that,” Fleener said. “A killing’s bad for everyone. City Council, County Commission, they call special meetings, issue statements. Very predictable. Can’t risk our northern Michigan image, summer tourists will stay away. Whatever, just solve it fast.”

  “Back to Sylvia?” I said.

  “She’ll be here tomorrow.”

  “She just going to drop by for a chat?” I said, intending the sarcasm.

  Fleener ignored me. “Hendricks set it up. Otsego Sheriff will talk to her. Let her come in voluntarily in the morning. Probably have a lawyer or two with her.”

  “She thinks this is about drugs?”

  “I have no idea what the lady thinks,” Fleener said. “Hendricks only talked drugs. I know that.”

  “You doing the interview?”

  “I am.”

  Fleener’s reputation as an interviewer, the man with the right questions and the right strategy, was a legend built over the years. No one was better. Cops, even prosecutors, did their best to watch him and learn.

  “You want to be there?” he said.

  “You bet I do.”

  Fleener gave me details.

  “I assume Hendricks will be there.”

  “Oh, count on it.”

  Fleener glanced at his watch. “All right,” he said, and stood up. “Thanks for the coffee, AJ.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He went down the front steps, walked to his car, and drove away.

  “Did you ever wonder why they call it an interview?” AJ said.

  “Not when Fleener’s in the room.”

  46

  After a decent night’s sleep in my own bed, I hauled my stiff body up early to get in a light run. I needed to clear my head of the events of the last couple of days. No Lenny Stern, no Cavendish family, no tension with AJ.

  The run turned out to be less helpful than I expected. One hundred feet, maybe. That’s as far as I got. I thought my ribs had exploded. So, I walked. Not as energizing, but I was outside in the summer air. Better than nothing at all.