“She’s a friend of Aurelio’s. An art major. He knows her form the university,” he said after her.
“I love her already.”
“Speaking of art Anthony, when is your next show? I might like to come.”
“How do you know about that?”
“I’m a patron of the arts Anthony. I follow it. And I happen to like your stuff. The pieces I’ve seen up at Triangle Gallery.” I felt weird about this. Here was a guy on the lawless side of the street thinking of buying my paintings. Hinting at it anyway.
“The real reason Gianni, and I’m not gonna bullshit you is that I haven’t been by in a while because you’re on the other side of the street from me.”
“Come on now Anthony. The LAPD has nothing on me, the Feds have nothing on me. Hell even the IRS thinks I’m a straight shooter. Besides Anthony, you’re not a cop anymore. Though you sure act like one. You still thinking of getting back in?”
I nodded between a mouthful of gnocchi.
“Sometimes,” I said. “It’s like indigestion. You feel it, but then after a while it goes away.” I took a sip of the Scotch. I’m pretty sure it was single malt but I couldn’t be certain. The ice was ruining the flavor but it was good. I asked Gianni about it.
“Chivas Regal eighteen year old,” he said.
“Uh huh, thought it might have been single malt.” It wasn’t. “It’s good stuff.”
He put his elbows on the table moving his napkin over to where Tony had sat. He had gold cufflinks on his cuffs with a purple stone in them that matched the shirt. Very elegant. He knitted his hands together in front of him. He had thin, wiry black hair on the back of his hands and the base segment of each finger. I noticed his gold wedding ring had a beveled edge. I kept eating.
“A guy like you Anthony shouldn’t go back. I think you’ll do better chasing around criminals as a private eye. And I think you’ll find your life more rewarding if you continue with your painting. My opinion, and I’m not a critic is that you could make a living doing that. It’s good. It’s pleasing to the eye and it’s got depth, an emotional depth. You know what I’m talking about.”
I nodded but I was thinking of my food. I was nearing the end of a great meal and I was getting nostalgic about it.
“I have one of your earlier pieces Anthony,” he said. I paid attention now. I looked up at him but didn’t say anything.
“Do you know which one?” I shook my head. “It was the same year you brought me back my son. Two thousand and two.”
“I have no idea,” I was thinking back. “I only sold six or seven that year I think. But I don’t remember which they were.”
“I got it for twenty five hundred. Already a guy has appraised it at almost twice that now. ‘Time as a Weeping Widow’.” I nodded. It was a big piece. Three feet by four feet. A caricature of a woman standing holding her head. Clocks were painted at her feet at different times and the colors were all variations of blue. My own blue period after Picasso.
“I love it. It has pride of placement in my living room Anthony. Maybe sometime you’ll come and see it.” I didn’t answer that. It wasn’t really a question.
“What do you mean when you say a guy like me shouldn’t be a cop? I’m curious what you mean by that.”
He looked past me at the entrance. I turned my head to follow. Another couple had entered and were being shown to a seat by the front window by Jimmy. He handed them each a menu.
“A guy like you Anthony. An artist, a philosopher. I don’t think you’ll find fulfillment as a cop. You care too much. You think too much. You can’t do that as a cop. The things you probably see. The things that people do to each other. I bet that would make a guy like you question. And cuffing people and taking them to jail only to see them released again is just not something I think you’ll find just or right. There are too many rules and constraints on cops to suit you Anthony. Besides, who wants to have to take people’s shit all day and not be able to do anything about it most times. Not a healthy way to live. Too stressful. No wonder cops have higher divorce, suicide, heart disease and cancer rates. You know Anthony, I thought about it back in the day when I was coming of age here in the States, back east in New York. Glad I didn’t. As a business man,” he smiled at that. “As a business man I have regular hours, I get to see my family when I want. As an owner of a business,” he smiled again at that, “I get to take time off when I want. You can’t do that as a cop. Sometimes they’ll call you back from holidays for special cases. The shift work will suck the life out of you.”
He was right about a lot of these things. I nodded at him. I took a coin of bread from the wooden board and mopped up the rest of the sauce. The food was outstanding. I had to come back. Gianni was right. I wasn’t a cop anymore so why did I care about his mob affiliations. I looked around the restaurant. I’d wager a week wages that everyone in here didn’t have a clue as to Gianni’s main business interests. They just came in for some good pasta. And cheap too. Hell, it wasn’t like Gianni was mugging little old grannies or even doing drive-bys like some of these punk gangsters. He was discreet. He wasn’t vermin like these drug addicts, and pimps and thugs out there on the street. A cab driver once told me he liked working in Vegas back in the mob days. They kept it clean and fun. It was safe for regular folk he said.
“As a private eye Anthony,” he continued, “you’d get to call your own shots. You could even lean on people harder than you could as a cop. You’d work only when you want to. You only have a small place up there off of Santa Monica Boulevard. You could likely grab some pension when you’re fifty. And you could take the time for your art. Am I making sense?”
I nodded at him. He was. “You are,” I said. “But Gianni, when you belong to a group like that. I don’t know. There’s something to be said for it. I guess maybe that’s the nostalgia I miss.”
“I understand,” he said, “but how many of the blue boys still keep in touch. Probably not that many. And don’t forget Anthony that the Chief all but left you to hang on that last homicide you worked for them.”
I didn’t want to talk about that. Me and Chief Burton hadn’t often seen eye to eye. He was a weaselly, chameleon politician. Not a cop’s cop. I sipped my Scotch and looked at my watch. It was six thirty.
“Enough of the lecture Anthony. But you know me. I like you. I want you to do well. How is your kid and ex-wife?”
“Aibhilin is good. She’ll be thirteen next year. Acting like she’s eighteen. Racquel is not as good. Still grief I’ve gotta work out there. How’s your wife? I forget her name.”
I didn’t know he knew I was divorced. Didn’t matter. There was no threat in it.
“Alessandra is well. She plays tennis now at the LA Tennis Club. Not cheap Anthony but it keeps her happy. If she’s happy then I’m happy. Besides, business has been good lately.” He smiled at me when he said that. I was certain business would only improve for a man in his line of work.
My Scotch was evaporating on itself. Must be hot in here. Gianni read my mind.
“More Scotch Anthony?” he asked. I nodded. Shouldn’t be ingratiating myself too much. But with good food and good drink, hell, good company, why not live a little. He looked up at Alex and she came over quickly. Another Scotch for Mr. Carrick he asked. Please he said. She smiled and said sure Mr. Mancini. She turned to me and caught me looking at her breasts. She smiled at that. I smiled back as if I’d been looking at some marvelous statue. But I figured I looked like the cat got the mouse. But I hadn’t. Not yet anyway. She took my tumbler after I took the last big swig.
“She’s too young for you Anthony,” he said. I shrugged.
“A man’s gotta have dreams,” I said. He laughed at that.
“Yes he does Anthony. Yes he does. Tell me what brings you to see me?”
I looked up at him and steadied my gaze. He had warm eyes. At least they were hiding their ruthlessness from me for the moment. I’d see if I could change that.
“I’m working on this M
ax Ernst case. Some guy up at Universal Studios wants me to beat the cops to the punch. They figure he has some skeletons in the closet that they’d sooner take out than have fall out when prying eyes go looking. If you know what I mean?”
He nodded. “Yeah I know what you mean. I knew Max. Pretty good guy, just had some issues. Some foibles you might say.”
“That would be putting it kindly in my opinion.”
“That’s not for me to judge. In my line of work you get to see a lot of people with lots of difficult problems.”
“You’re not talking about the restaurant business I assume.”
He shrugged, opened his hands up towards the ceiling and then knitted them together again. He was still leaning his forearms on the table. I didn’t. That would have made us too cozy. I didn’t know him that well. Even if he was fond of me. Alex came back with my Scotch. I was getting to the point where I didn’t mind that it wasn’t single malt. Hell, who was I kidding. I could care less on a good day what kind of Scotch it was. I’m just not that much of a snob. As long as it tastes good. Barkeep still wasn’t paying attention to the Scotch. Probably paying attention to other things. Good man.
“So how are things going with this investigation then? I saw it in the paper the other day. Said a lot of good things about him.”
“Were they true?” I asked Gianni.
“Some yes. Some no. You know how it is with people. People don’t usually speak ill of the dead.”
I sipped my Scotch. I was beginning to feel warm and tingly inside. Life was looking good. This investigation was looking good. I nodded at Gianni.
“Tell me about this murder Anthony. You’re not talking too much. You’re listening to me a lot but you’re not talking too much.”
“Yeah you’re right. Did you do it?”
He didn’t flinch.
“No Anthony, I didn’t do it and neither did any of my people. Now talk to me about this. Or if you’ve finished you can be on your way.”
I didn’t like that. I was being dismissed by the Mafia. I didn’t like getting dismissed by anyone.
“Alright Gianni. I’ll get down to business. Max was murdered two nights ago. His wife found him, and the housekeeper found the wife finding him. Now I’m not gonna tell you how he died. You could still be a suspect as far as the cops are concerned. However, in my book you’re not. And that’s not just because you told me you aren’t. I have other reasons too. One of those reasons is Stephen. Stephen Ernst.”
I watched him carefully. I came to think that he didn’t flinch at anything. Maybe not even a smack in the face.
“I had a delightful afternoon of tea and crumpets with Stephen and his blushing bride Jezebel. Anyway, we got to talking about the family and the skeletons. Not all of them. I don’t think he wanted to tell me about all of them with his swollen jaw and all. But he told me about a few. About the ‘understanding’ relationship his parents had. That’s gotta be tough on a kid. No wonder he’s as messed up as the old man was. But at least he’s got love. I’ll give it to him on that one. And you know me Gianni. Being an artist and all. I’m just a sucker for love. Love makes me do strange things. Like come out here and talk to you about a murder that I don’t think you’re involved in. And that’s strange. Because I haven’t seen you in a couple of years or so. So why come and say hi now and talk about a murder that I don’t think you’re involved in.”
“You’ve got a good sense of humor Anthony. I’ve always liked that about you. You tell a good story too. Maybe you should write stories in addition to your painting.”
Gianni was now relaxing back against the booth seat. He had his hands clasped in his lap just below his navel. Maybe he was holding a gun at my belly. I didn’t think so, and I didn’t think on checking. What was the point? Not like I could do anything about it anyway.
“Thanks Gianni. In that case I should back up a bit. I first had a good meeting with Max’s lawyer. Luke Logan from lawyers for the advancement of alliteration or something like that.” He smiled at that and nodded. I loved a captive audience. “Anyway, he told me that Maxy had a bit of a gambling problem. No biggie I thought. The guy’s loaded. But then, as I said, I got to talking to Stephen a bit after I tenderized his youthful angst. And he let the cat out of the bag. The way I guess I introduced myself with a jab and cross he thought I was Tony. And I figured man, how did he know my name. I mean it was close and it could’ve gotten him another smack upside the head. For calling me Tony. I don’t like being called Tony as you know. But I thought maybe he didn’t know that so I’d give him the benefit of the doubt. But then he called me fat. Not with a p-h like the cool kids say and that hurt my feelings. I mean I’m not fat. Am I fat Gianni?” He shook his head. No, he said. “So then after the bruised ego healed a bit I figured maybe he had me mistaken with some other Anthony. Or maybe even a Tony. And so I got to thinking, who has a name like Fat Tony. And I figured it had to be the mob.”
I took a break then. I was getting tired and I didn’t want to lose my audience. I took a sip of Scotch. Shit, who am I kidding. I took a good swig of Scotch. It was still over ice. But with it being so hot outside and pretty toasty inside I didn’t mind it so much anymore. The Scotch was cool on the tongue. A loose tongue now, but warm in my belly. Gianni was looking at me. Alex came by to see if everything was okay. She wanted to take my Scotch away and refill it. So I let her. Gianni asked her for an iced tea. Please he said. Thanks I said. I could’ve sworn that she had unbuttoned one more button from her blouse. And I’m pretty sure she bent over the table more than was necessary to access my tumbler. Maybe she was trying to razzle dazzle me into a confused state. But it wasn’t going to work. I was still going to finish my story. Still, I got to thinking about being a younger man. The kind of younger man I was when I could’ve and would’ve asked for her number. But that’s crazy thinking. I looked over at Fat Tony and Alex disappeared from my mind. He was still eating linguine and torn bits of bread. Seemed his plate never emptied. I figured he must be trying to reach contest weight. He looked up at us every so often. He was good at mopping away dribbles that seemed to keep leaking out of his mouth.
“And then he got to telling me. This is Stephen here, that Fat Tony,” and I looked over at Fat Tony making himself fatter, “was playing hard ball with him. Saying that he needed to pay up Max’s debts. Max owed five hundred thou to Fat Tony’s employer. And I read Gianni into that. Apparently Max liked to bet other people’s money. Made it more exciting or something like that. Am I making sense?”
Alex came by with iced tea for the boss and another generous portion of Scotch for the guest. Over ice again. I looked at it, and then looked at Alex.
“Hey hun. You trying to get an old man drunk so you can take advantage of him later?” I winked at her and she giggled at me placing her hand across her bosom. That wasn’t fair, I wanted to do that, but it gave me a brief excuse to have another look.
“No sir, that’s Geronimo, Gerry, the bartender. I don’t think he’s paying to much attention.”
“That’s a shame,” I said to her. She bit her bottom lip and I had to bite my tongue. She was winning. I was getting distracted, very distracted. Thank you said Gianni. She unbit her lip. I still bit my tongue. I was saved by Gianni. Alex went off to check on other tables. I watched after her. Her legs were smooth and shapely and tanned. Nothing like the taut skin of youth to make a man weep. Racquel was like that once. Long time ago now.
“You’re making sense Anthony, in your sarcastic way.” I lingered on Alex for a moment before looking at Gianni. I’m not a dog. Just a man who admires the differences in a woman’s physique.
“Right Gianni. So was Max into you for five hundred thou?” Gianni shrugged.
“Maybe he was,” he said. “Maybe he wasn’t.”
“Okay Gianni. I’ll start with an easier one because I like you too. Remember I’m not a cop. We don’t have to play games here. Even if he was into you for half a mill doesn’t mean that I’m gonna do anything w
ith that. Or could do anything with it. Okay, here’s a fly ball. Does it make sense to you that a guy who liked to gamble. A guy who had a lot of his own money would use other people’s money to gamble. So that it makes it more exciting. Does that make sense to you?”
“I’ll tell you what makes sense to me Anthony. Words from the mouths of children and babies because it’s honest. People are weak. You’ve seen this yourself. They get greedy and they lose control. They want more power. They start to feed their insecurities and weaknesses and these monsters inside of them. It starts to fester and this evil and disease leeches from them and they poison themselves with their own weak flesh. Because their mind Anthony, their spirit is so pathetically lazy and weak. So what ends up happening is their indiscretions, their weaknesses get the better of them. There is a reason that we have the seven deadly sins. They lead us down the path to death. This is what happened here with Max. Not because of greed which is the gambling, but because of the lust I’m sure. And I’m sure you know about the lust Anthony. So yes, I can see easily how someone like Max would borrow money to feed his addiction, his greed. To make it more exciting. To make it more daring.”
He took a sip of his iced tea. I took a finger from my Scotch. Yeah I knew about lust. But I didn’t like it called that. Sullied it for me. Besides I’d been faithful to every woman I’d been with. I figured I’d try and keep us on track.
“So Max did owe you half a mill then?”
He nodded. “Small stuff Anthony, small stuff.”
“So how come you’re leaning on the kid so hard? If it’s such small stuff.”
He looked at me coolly for a moment. I thought I saw a spark flicker in those calm eyes.
“Well Anthony. A debt is a debt. I asked Tony over there to see if the kid would be good for it. You see Anthony, the kid Stephen is a piece of shit. He’s like his father. He’s got this weakness like his father. He’s up to his eyeballs in crack and coke and smack and whatever other shit they do now. He owes some bad people tens of thousands. Not my people, bad people Anthony. People that’ll knife him next time he tried to buy without any money. In a way, a very small way, I was thinking maybe if my people leaned on him it would scare him enough to make a change. If not, so be it, I’ll still get my money back. As it stands now, with Max dead, I’m not looking at getting it from the estate. I don’t think he would have left a little paragraph in there for the payment of mob debts. Does this make sense to you Anthony?”
Anthony Carrick Hardboiled Murder Mysteries: Box Set (Books 1 - 3) Page 14
