“Who set that up?”
“Piper.”
“You want some backup?”
“If you showed up there it would create a lot of tension.”
“I know.”
“I think there’ll be enough of that as it is, but thanks for the offer.”
“Just be careful. You’re not on Carl’s list of top ten friends, either.”
“Oh, really?” I asked. “I didn’t know he had that many.”
As I was about to leave the phone rang, and I grabbed it instead of letting the machine pick it up.
“Jacoby.”
“It’s me, Ray.”
“Is everything all right, Ray?”
“Fine, as far as I can see. She’s home and I’m calling from a phone across the street.”
“Have you spotted anyone around?”
“No.”
“Has she spotted you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“All right, Ray. Keep me posted, will you?”
“You’re the boss.”
At least Lee was all right. After I spoke with Piper, I might be able to pull Ray off.
I turned the answering machine back on and left.
As luck would have it the first person I saw when I entered the restaurant was Cagey Carl himself.
“Jacoby,” he said. He had been playing host, talking to some people at a table, and had turned around just as I walked in.
“Hello, Carl,” I said. “I heard you got married. Congratulations. My invitation must have been lost in the mail.”
“Like hell,” he said. “What are you doing here?”
“Having lunch with a . . . business acquaintance. Maybe you know him? Leo Piper?”
“Piper? Yeah, I know him. You a friend of his?”
I shook my head.
“Like I said, a business acquaintance. Is he here yet?”
“He’s here,” he said, and he didn’t look very happy about it. “I’ll have a waiter take you to his table. Do me a favor, will you?”
Surprised I said, “What?”
“Since you’re here, and I don’t make a habit of refusing to serve people, order something expensive.”
“Sure, Carl. Anything to help a friend in need.”
He waved a waiter over who took me to Piper’s table on the second level, which overlooked the first.
“Jacoby,” Piper said as I pulled out the chair across from him. “Thanks for coming.”
“This is on you, I hope. I don’t make a habit of eating here.”
“I do,” he said, smugly. “I guess it would exceed your means.”
“Personally, I’d prefer Nathan’s in Coney Island,” I said, watching his face, “but as a Brooklyn boy, you’d probably feel the same way.”
“Well, I don’t,” he said, tightly. He made a visible effort to control his emotions and said, “You’ve been talking to Lee, haven’t you?”
“Yes.”
“I was afraid of that.”
“Why? There’s nothing on Leo Piperneski but an old rap sheet filled with kid’s stuff.”
“That’s true.”
“Is that why you had your two—friends—pay me a visit outside her place the other night?”
He stared at me for a moment and said, “All right, I’ll admit that was a mistake. I’ll even apologize for it.”
“That’s big of you.”
“But you’ve got to stop spreading my . . . my real name around. I’ve had my name changed legally to Piper, and that’s all I want to be called.”
“Fine with me,” I said. “Can we order now? You did invite me to lunch, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I did,” he said.
I did as Carl had asked and ordered something expensive, partly because I didn’t eat that well often, but also to make Piper dig deeper into his pocket than he might have wanted to.
Over coffee he said, “What do you want from me, Jacoby? What do I have to give you to keep you from broadcasting my name all over town?”
I studied him for a few moments, then put my coffee cup down.
“For starters, I don’t want anyone to touch Tiger Lee.”
“I never had any intention—”
“You never intended to use muscle on me either, remember?”
“All right,” he said. “No one will go near her.” He shook his head then and started to laugh. “Whoever would have thought that little Anna Lee from Brooklyn would become Tiger Lee.”
“She did.”
“Yeah, I suppose she did. She was always better than everyone else I knew back then. You won’t believe this, but she’s the only thing I missed when I left.”
“You should have stayed away, then. That would have been the best thing you could do for her.”
“I had to come back, Jacoby. You wouldn’t understand that. You’ve never been to Cincinnati, have you?”
“No.”
“This is the only place to be,” he said, meaning New York. “And if I’m going to be here I want to be in control.”
“You can’t control Lee.”
“I did once,” he said, “but I know I can’t anymore. Don’t worry, I won’t bother her.”
“Good.”
“Is that all?”
“Not quite. I want to know if you had anything to do with killing Alan Cross.”
“I told you before, I don’t kill for pennies.”
“I’ll take that as a no, Piper,” I said, standing up.
“What about—”
“Leo Piperneski?” I finished for him, and he winced at the mention of the name. “As long as I don’t find out you lied to me, Leo, he’ll stay dead. Thanks for the lunch.”
Twenty-Nine
Goings On was on West Seventy-fifth Street and West End Avenue, while the institute was on East Eighty-third Street and Lexington. Although my meeting with Ginger wasn’t for another two and a half hours, I walked up to Eighty-sixth Street and took a crosstown bus.
I killed some time over coffee and the sports pages of the News and Post, and walked into the institute half an hour early for our meeting. To my surprise, Bayard was expecting me.
“Mr. Jacoby, I’m glad you’ve come in early,” he said, approaching me.
“Really? Why is that?”
“I have a message for you.”
“From whom?”
“Ginger McKay. Would you care to step into my office?” he asked, and then went that way without waiting for an answer. I had no choice but to follow.
When we were in his office with the door closed I asked, “Is anything wrong?”
“Not that I know of. Miss McKay called and asked me to tell you that she would not be here tonight.”
I didn’t like the sound of that.
“We had an appointment,” I said, and the dismay was obvious in my voice.
“Has this to do with your work?”
“Yes, it has.”
“I suspected as much. The young lady sounded very agitated.”
“Do you know who she is?”
“I believe so. Isn’t she the young lady who is built a little more, er, pneumatically than is common with our students?”
“Delicately, but correctly put.”
“She’s actually quite good, considering . . .” he said.
“Sir, do you have any idea why she won’t be here tonight?”
“I believe I do, yes. She and her friends will be attending the kick-boxing contests tonight at the Felt Forum. It’s also been called full contact karate.”
“I read about it. What makes you think she’s going there? Did she say so?”
“Now that was odd,” he said. “I had the feeling that she wanted to say that, but after she asked me to tell you she wouldn’t be here, she hung up rather abruptly.”
“Someone might have walked in on her.”
“I see. Is this young lady in danger, Mr. Jacoby?”
“That’s very possible.”
“Well, her friend Mr. Foster was here
earlier.”
“Why?”
“Actually, he got the tickets for the fights from me,” Bayard said, looking a bit sheepish. “I gave him five and assumed he would be accompanied by Mr. McCoy and Mr. Smith, and Miss McKay and Miss Dewitt.”
“I see. I hope I can still get a ticket.”
“I believe I can help you there,” he said, opening one of his desk drawers. He took something out and handed it to me.
“I know some people and usually get tickets for my better students. I’m sorry this one is not in sequence with theirs.”
Under other circumstances, I might have been flattered, but in this case I knew better.
“Thank you,” I said, tucking the ticket away in my shirt pocket, “now all I’ve got to do is find them among twenty thousand or so people.”
“Then I would suggest you get there early and catch them going in.”
“Good point,” I said, and it was my turn to look sheepish. “Thank you for your help, Mr. Bayard.”
“That’s quite all right,” he said. “I’ve never had the opportunity to aid a private eye before.”
I was surprised at both his words and the animation that showed on his normally placid face.
“If you have an opportunity,” he said, then, “try and pay special attention to the featured bouts tonight.”
“Why?”
“Jean-Yves Theriault is really quite amazing,” he said, “but in particular I would like you to watch the PKA junior featherweight champion, Yoel Judah.”
Having just killed time reading the sports page, I realized what he meant.
“He’s the ex-prize fighter who turned to kick-boxing.”
“And became a champion,” Bayard added. “Keep that in mind, will you?”
“I will,” I said, feeling slightly puzzled. Was he trying to tell me what I thought he was?
“Then come and see me,” he said, as he had said once before, and I knew that he and I had some serious talking to do when I was done with this case.
The kick-boxing card was scheduled to start at 8:00 p.m. I got to Madison Square Garden early and wandered the lobbies, trying to decide how to play it. When Ginger, Fallon, and the others arrived, would it be better for me to trail them to their seats, or approach them immediately? How would Foster, McCoy, and Smith react to seeing me after what Fallon must have told them . . . or had she told them anything?
As it turned out, all my scheming was for naught. I ran into someone I knew, and after a short conversation I turned and literally walked into Ginger and her group.
“Jack!” she said, or she may have been on the verge of saying “Jacoby,” but my reaction to seeing her surprised even me, and that was all she was able to get out before I grabbed her and kissed her on the mouth. She tensed for a moment, but then melted into my arms as if she understood what I was trying to convey to the others.
When we broke the kiss I kept my arm around her waist; her friends’ reactions surprised me.
“Hello, Miles,” Greg Foster said, putting his hand out to be shaken. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”
“I’ve been busy.”
The look on his face, and the faces of Smith and McCoy, said that they had some idea who’d been keeping me busy. Fallon, on the other hand, had not reacted at all, aside from tightening her mouth.
“Let’s all sit together,” J.C. Smith suggested.
“Well, to tell you the truth,” I said, “I’m kind of here unexpectedly, and I’d really like to sit with Ginger . . . if you all don’t mind, that is.”
“Hey,” Foster said, “why should we mind, right?”
Smith and McCoy nodded, while Fallon maintained her silence.
“Thanks,” I said. “Enjoy the card.”
“We will,” Foster said. “You two enjoy yourselves, too.”
I waved, and propelled Ginger away from them. I turned back once and found the three men in deep conversation, all of them smiling, while Fallon glared after us, tight-lipped.
“That was quick thinking,” Ginger said, and I was actually surprised at how quickly she had reacted. “How did you know I’d be here? I didn’t have time to tell the director where I’d be.”
“He figured it out.”
“Thank God,” she said, leaning hard against me in relief. “When Greg told me he had these tickets I didn’t want to arouse suspicion.”
“Are you afraid of him?”
“Not him, or the others,” she said, “but I thought Brown was going to be here!”
“Let’s find some seats.”
“Are we going to stay?”
“Aren’t there enough people around to make you feel safe?”
“I suppose.”
A few bucks to an usher got us two seats together, even though our tickets were some numbers apart.
As we sat down I could feel the tension returning to her body, and said, “Ginger, try to relax. You’re safe here.”
“As long as Brown doesn’t show up.”
“Actually, Brown isn’t really the one I want to talk about.”
“I know,” she said, looking down at her hands, “you want to talk about Alan Cross.”
“That’s right.”
“Cross and Brown were tight while Brown was at the institute,” she said. “Even after Brown left, he worked for Cross.”
“Worked for Cross? Doing what?”
“Putting pressure on people, beating people up—”
“Wait a minute,” I said, stopping her short. “Alan Cross was in the advertising business.”
“That was his regular job.”
“He had a sideline?”
“It was more than a sideline,” she said, “much more.”
“Ginger, do you want to tell me what kind of sideline we’re talking about?”
“I guess I should.”
“If you don’t, then there wasn’t much point to our meeting, was there?”
“I suppose not.”
The initial match was coming to a close as one fighter closed in on his opponent for the kill. The crowd was shouting for blood, and Ginger had to shout so that I could hear her answer.
“Movies!”
“What?”
“Cross was making movies!”
The hurt fighter went down and was counted out, and the crowd sat back to await the next bout.
“You said Cross was making movies?”
“Yes.”
“You mean he was financing them?”
“Financing them, and casting them . . . with amateurs.”
“Ginger,” I said, thinking about Cross’s book, “what kind of movies are we talking about here?”
“Porno movies,” she said, leaning closer to me, “Cross was making porno movies.”
Pornographic films.
Blue movies.
Fuck films.
Was that where Cross had been getting the money to gamble so heavily? Still, even if he was investing heavily in porno, were his returns really that large? He couldn’t have been in business alone. He might have been only one of the investors but an investor who was actively involved in auditioning “actresses” for the films.
The book!
“Ginger, was that was Cross’s book was all about?”
“Fallon told me that you showed her a book,” she said, nodding. “That’s what we figured. He must have been putting the names and phone numbers of the people he used in a book.”
“That means—”
“Yes,” she said, breaking in on me as if she wanted to say it herself, “that means that Fallon and I . . . if that book gets into the wrong hands, Jack . . . we never thought—it started out as . . . as fun—”
I stopped her before she could get so worked up that we attracted attention.
“All right, calm down,” I said, taking her hand. “I have the book, so let’s not start worrying about it getting into the wrong hands.”
“Okay, I’m okay.”
“Ginger, was Melanie Saberhagen’s name in
the book?”
“I don’t know.”
“There is an entry for someone named Mel,” I said. “Could that have been her?” I knew it was, but I wanted to see how much she knew.
“Jack, I really don’t know. I never noticed Cross and Melanie getting particularly close.”
Then again, Melanie was younger than the others. Maybe Cross didn’t want anyone to see them together.
“Ginger, why don’t you relax for a while and watch the bouts,” I said. “This is all new to me and I’ve got to think about it for a while.”
“Okay.”
The only problem was that I found it very difficult to juggle my thoughts with all of the activity that was going on around me, and then while both Theriault and Judah were in the ring I found myself enthralled in spite of myself.
Kick-boxing is a combination of karate and boxing, with rules in common as well as rules of its own. In addition to wearing boxing gloves the fighters wear foot pads covering the tops and sides of their feet, leaving the soles of the feet bare. The fighters are required to execute a minimum of eight above-the-waist kicks in each round. Failure to execute the minimum number of kicks results in a two-point penalty.
After the last feature bout, Ginger looked at me and said, “They were terrific.”
“Yes, they were. Are you ready to go?”
“There are a couple more bouts.”
“I’d like to go somewhere and talk. I can’t concentrate here. I’d also like to avoid the crush on the way out.”
Crowds tend to work two ways. You can be relatively safe in a crowd, but they also act as good cover for pickpockets and worse, especially when people are pressed together.
She seemed unsure about leaving and I said, “Don’t worry about your friends, Ginger. We’ve got them convinced we don’t need them around.”
“Except for Fallon.”
“You’ll have to deal with Fallon later. You’ve made your decision to talk to me, don’t start worrying about how she’s going to feel.”
She thought that over for a while, then nodded and said, “All right, let’s go.”
Once we left the Garden, I suggested we go to Bogie’s.
“Fallon knows about that place.”
“I know. She called me there. Who gave her the number? Brown?”
“Yes. He didn’t like you, so he followed you there.”
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