"You sound like a man in love for the first time."
He looked at me and nodded. He glanced around the room again. A puzzled look came over his face. He quietly asked, "Do you know if Abati is tailing you, Nick?"
I shook my head.
"There are two mugs who are watching us closely."
I shrugged. "Let 'em look."
He raised his eyebrows and took a sip of his coffee.
I decided to bring us back to the topic at hand. I asked, "How old are you?"
"38."
"Any family?"
He shook his head. "My parents both died back in '37. Car crash. No siblings."
"And that's when you married the girl, right?"
"How'd you know?"
I shrugged. "You from here?"
"No. Modesto."
"Okies?"
"No. My father grew up there. My grandparents had a big spread outside of town. My mother was from Sacramento."
I hadn't touched my lunch. I wasn't really hungry. But I grabbed a slice of the bread and spread some butter on it. "And this is probably the first time you've really been in love, right?"
He wiped his mouth with his napkin and nodded.
"So, my advice is to take things slowly. But, always do what's right in front of you. Mike is a maybe."
He started when I said that but I kept going. "Your life is being messed with and that needs to stop. Today. When we're done here, go back to Central and file charges against this guy. Then go to the postmaster's office where that post office box is located and do the same. Then, and only then, go to your captain. That's my advice. And, no matter what anyone says or does, remember I have you covered. You're not gonna be tarred and feathered."
He looked scared. That was good. He had reason to be. But it was all gonna work out. Or that was what I hoped.
Chapter 14
Offices of Consolidated Security
Tuesday, June 22, 1954
Around 2 in the afternoon
"Where were you?" That was Carter. He and I were in the restroom on the third floor. He was cleaning up after going through the house for a third time.
"Chasing down Holland."
"Why?"
I gave him the highlights and ended by saying, "I sent him back to Central. I hope he does the right thing."
Carter was drying his hands. He bent over to see if all the smudges on his face were gone. I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.
He smiled at me and asked, "What's that for?"
"No reason." I smiled back.
He looked at me for a long moment. "How's this going to work having people in the house all the time?"
I cocked my head. "Waddaya mean?"
He straightened up and looked down at me with a leer. "You know. I kinda want to go home right now and have my way with you."
I smiled back. "They can always quit if they don't like it."
Carter grinned. "I guess they can at that."
. . .
We were in the Emerald room and getting dressed when there was a knock on the bedroom door. Since he was mostly done, Carter walked over and opened the door a crack. "Yes?"
It was Mike. He pushed his way in and stalked over to me. "What the hell have you been up to today, Nick?"
I was buttoning my shirt and said, "What?"
"Holland just resigned. Why?"
I looked at my watch. It was just past 5. "That was fast."
He grabbed my wrist and turned it a little. Just enough to hurt but not enough to do any damage. Carter walked over and said, "Mike."
Letting go of me, Mike stepped back and crossed his arms. "Why did you convince him to do that?"
I rubbed my wrist. "Shouldn't you be asking Greg?"
"Greg?" Mike's monster face turned uglier than I'd ever seen it.
"Yeah. That's his name, isn't it?"
"Do you have a thing for him? Is that why you convinced him to quit?"
"Look, Mike. Has he told you why he had to resign?"
Mike shook his head. "He just said that he decided to after talking to you."
"And so you ran over here to yell at me without asking him why?"
Mike looked down at the floor. "Yeah. He said he would call me later."
"He was being blackmailed, Mike."
"What!?"
I nodded and explained what had been happening.
Mike took his hat off and threw it on the bed. "Damn it. Why didn't he tell me?"
"He tried to. He came looking for you this morning while you were in Livermore."
Mike narrowed his eyes. "And why did you get involved?"
"Because he looked like he hadn't slept. And he was acting strange. So, I went and found him at McKeegan's--"
"That dive? What time was this?"
"Around 10."
Mike seemed to finally get it. "Oh."
"After he left, I followed him to the building site. He came clean while we were there in the office. And I told him he had to go file charges."
Mike nodded. "Yeah. I'd have done the same thing."
"I also told him that he had a job but he'd have to work for me."
Mike nodded again. He looked sheepish. "Sorry, Nick. I don't know why I'm so touchy about this."
Carter slapped Mike on the back. "You're in love, son. Ain't it grand?"
. . .
As the three of us were walking down the stairs to the first floor, the phone started ringing. I watched as a young man with high cheekbones, chestnut hair, and light brown eyes walked out of the dining room and over to the phone alcove. He was was lean and stood about 5'9". He was wearing an oddly tailored morning suit. He picked up the receiver and, with an interesting accent, said, "Prospect Nine Zero Zero One." Each word was enunciated clearly.
We walked over to where he was standing and watched, like some sort of Greek chorus.
Mike whispered, "That's the kid who let me in the door." He looked like he was 25, at the most.
I looked up at Mike and winked, "Obviously, he needs better training."
He snorted.
After listening, the young man said, "One moment, please." He turned, saw us, and was startled. I saw him flush briefly as he looked up at Mike and Carter. That made me smile.
I said, "Is it for me?"
He nodded. "Yes, Mr. Williams. It is Miss Marnie. She wishes to speak with you."
"Thanks, kid."
I picked up the phone receiver and said, "Yeah, doll?"
"Who was that?"
I turned and watched as the young man disappeared into the dining room.
"I dunno. Our new butler, I think. Or valet. What's up?"
"Henry's looking for you. There's some trouble at the construction site."
"He say what it was?"
"No. He just wants you down there as soon as you can."
"Fine. Thanks, doll."
I put the phone back in its cradle.
. . .
The cab pulled up at the corner of Post and Montgomery. I threw the driver a folded five as the three of us piled out. Work was over for the day, so the site was quiet. Henry was waiting for us at the gate. He looked pale and nervous.
"What's up, Henry?" I asked.
"It's some mob guy. DiLuca is his name. Wants to talk to you."
I looked around. I didn't see anyone. "Where?"
"Over at The Old Poodle Dog."
. . .
The restaurant was busy when we walked in. The early dinner crowd was out in force.
I walked up to the maitre d' and said, "My name is Mr. Williams. I believe my party is here already."
The man nodded and said, "Follow me." He moved across the room and to an opening with a red curtain that was marked "Private." He pulled back the thick fabric and ushered us in. We followed him up a flight of stairs, covered in a plush red carpet. The stairwell was dimly lit. The walls were covered in photographs of the old restaurant. I was pretty sure I saw one of Uncle Paul, but didn't have time to stop and look closely.
<
br /> At the top of the stairs was a hallway that ran the length of the building. The maitre d' led us to a door at the back of the building. He knocked discreetly and then opened the door without waiting for a reply.
Seated at a large round table were four men. I immediately recognized Johnny DiLuca, who was one of Michael Abati's lieutenants. He was dressed in a dark suit with a red tie. He had small dark eyes, was clean shaven, and had almost no hair on his shiny bald head. I figured he was around 55.
Two of the men were obviously muscle. They looked uncomfortable in their suits and were standing behind the table. I could see guns under their coats. They made no attempt to hide them.
The fourth man was around 30 or so, handsome but pouty, and looked vaguely familiar. I couldn't immediately place who he was.
DiLuca and the fourth man had wine glasses in front of them. An unlabeled bottle of red was half full in the middle of table. Neither of the glasses had been touched.
The four of us walked into the room. DiLuca raised his hand in greeting. "Welcome, Mr. Williams." He then waved off the maitre d' who left, closing the door as he did.
"Please, have a seat. Mr. Jones. Mr. Robertson. And, of course, Mr. Winters."
As we sat in the four empty chairs, I said, "How do you do, Mr. DiLuca?"
He nodded at me. "So, you know who I am?"
I smiled. "Of course."
That seemed to please him. He smiled as one does to the hired help. "Good. These are my associates." He waved vaguely at the muscle. "And, this is Joseph Abati, my employer's son."
Now I could see it. The kid looked like his father. He also looked very upset about something. I nodded and said, "Good to meet you, Mr. Abati. How can we help you?"
DiLuca raised his hand. "No business yet. Some wine, perhaps?"
I shrugged.
"Rocco. Call down for more of this." He pointed to the unlabeled bottle of red. Rocco, one of the muscle, picked up a phone by the table and mumbled something into it.
DiLuca smiled at me. "So, I see the great fortune of Mr. Paul Williams continues to expand under your competent guidance."
I quickly glanced over at Carter, who was trying very hard not to smile. I just nodded and said, "Thank you. I'm very fortunate." I was resorting to what Carter usually called my "high-hat" tone. It was how my father liked for me to talk.
DiLuca nodded. "Yes. Such a great fortune. I am still at a loss to understand how the court saw fit to hand it over to a known degenerate." He smiled in a particularly nasty way as he said that. Joseph Abati shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
I shrugged. "Like uncle, like nephew, I suppose."
DiLuca laughed at this. It wasn't a nice sound. "Yes. The stories of your uncle are legendary. I understand that you are moving into your father's house on Nob Hill. May I congratulate you?"
I shook my head. "I'm just doing what my father wants."
DiLuca nodded thoughtfully. "Your devotion is wise. Particularly in these times of such wild abandon among our youth. Filial devotion is a mark of respect. Don't you agree, Joseph?" He turned slightly in his chair and looked at the younger man.
"Of course, Zio."
DiLuca smiled at us. Again, like we were the help. "Zio. That means Uncle in our language. Of course, I am a close friend of the family, but no blood relation." He reached over and patted the kid's cheek. It was a curiously affectionate gesture that held an obvious threat in it.
Right then, there was a knock on the door. A waiter entered with a second unlabeled bottle. He placed that on the table. He departed without saying anything.
"Joseph, please pour our friends each a glass of wine."
Abati stood up, picked up the new bottle, and did as he was told. I was hoping that everyone would be smart enough not to drink from a bottle that wasn't opened at the table. I knew Mike would. But I wasn't sure about Carter and Henry.
Once Abati was done and had taken his seat, DiLuca raised his glass. "To our new friends."
We raised our glasses in reply. I sniffed the wine and it passed the smell test. I took a small sip and put it down. I quickly glanced around. Mike and Carter did the same. Henry, however, took a whole mouthful. I took a deep breath and hoped for the best.
I saw that DiLuca and Abati both drank from their glasses. DiLuca looked at his glass and said, "From the vineyards of a friend in Sicily. Not far from Mount Etna. The volcanic soil adds a little spice to the grape, don't you think?" He looked at me as he said that.
"I don't know much about wine, to be honest."
He nodded and looked around the table. "Well, if you will allow, I would like to tell you why I asked to meet with you, Mr. Williams."
I nodded and waited.
"You see, when poor Johnny Russell fell off your building, I believe it may have led you to believe that my--" He coughed. "Our organization might have been involved. Of course, nothing could be further from the truth. Then I find out that, today, you are having lunch here, at my favorite restaurant, with a police lieutenant. And I begin to ask myself why."
I waited while he paused. I was gonna let him lead the way down this particular garden path.
"So, I thought that, perhaps, without bothering my employer, Mr. Michael Abati, that we could have a little talk about these things. Ours is not a large organization but, then again, compared to Chicago or Los Angeles, San Francisco is not a large city. We have, as I'm sure you know, an understanding with the police. Neither of us likes anyone coming in from the outside."
Mike said, "Like Nick DeJohn." This was the Chicago mobster that Michael Abati had murdered back in '47.
DiLuca looked surprised. He glanced at Mike and then at me. He nodded in acknowledgment. "As the case may be, I asked you here to give you a friendly reminder to stay clear of the police. Let them do their work."
I smiled. "The man I had lunch with resigned from the force today."
DiLuca sat back in his chair. "I had not heard this."
"Yes. He'll now be working for me. That's what our lunch was about."
"I see. So you're adding another pervert to your organization, is that it?"
I didn't reply. I watched a grin pass over Abati's face and then disappear. He looked at me for a long moment. I kept my eyes on DiLuca.
"I find the increasing presence of perverts and queers in the City to be very disturbing." Mike stirred in his chair. I watched as Rocco put his hand on his gun.
I looked at the Abati kid. His face was flush with some emotion. It could easily have been shame or embarrassment. I wasn't sure. I looked back at DiLuca who seemed to make a mental note of my glance.
"You see, Mr. Williams, I am a friend of the Hearst family. I can certainly understand why they would be upset at being disturbed in public by the likes of you."
I knew he wasn't really trying to intimidate me. There was something else going on. "The likes of me?" I asked.
"Yes. The pervert." He glanced around the table and ended up with his eyes on Abati. I suddenly understood.
I said, "Well, Mr. DiLuca, as you know, this is a free country."
He nodded. "Of course. We live and let live. That's the phrase?"
None of us replied.
After a couple of beats, DiLuca stood up. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Williams. Please, stay and have dinner on me." Abati, who was still blushing, stood up along with the muscle and the four of us. I stepped back, getting as far away from DiLuca as I could. Mike and Carter did the same. Henry looked a little woozy. Carter grabbed him as DiLuca left the room in between his muscle. They left without saying anything else. The Abati kid glanced at me as he walked by. There was an obvious pain in his eyes. I simply nodded.
As soon as the door was closed, Mike ran over to the phone and picked it up. He barked into the mouthpiece, "We need a big glass of milk. Right now!"
Chapter 15
The Old Poodle Dog Restaurant
65 Post Street
Tuesday, June 22, 1954
Early evening
W
hatever was in the wine didn't really harm Henry. It just made him feel pretty bad. A different waiter had brought in the glass of milk and got it there fast. I handed him a folded twenty and said we were leaving.
The milk seemed to help Henry a bit. We went down to Post Street. Mike took Henry over to Robert's in a cab while Carter and I walked home.
He asked, "Well, son, how does it feel to be leaned on?"
We were standing at the intersection of Taylor and Sutter. We'd walked up Post to Taylor and then turned north. The sidewalk had been packed so we'd walked in silence.
"DiLuca was trying to dump Abati's son on us."
Carter looked down at me. "Really?"
"Yeah. There was some posturing, sure. But why bring Abati along?"
"Showing him the ropes?"
I shook my head. "DiLuca wants to be the boss. He doesn't wanna train the son. He wants to get rid of him. Easier to convince us to take him that to rub him out. Less messy."
Carter shook his head and said, "Yeah. Poor kid."
I nodded. "DiLuca would already be the boss if the trial for DeJohn's murder had gone the way the D.A. wanted it to." The charges against Abati had been dropped and the case was still open.
We had just crossed Bush and were coming to the steep part of the hill so we stopped talking. When we got to California, we stopped and waited for the light to change. The early evening was cooling off fast and there was a thick fog rolling in.
We crossed the street and walked along the side of Huntington Park. When we got to house, we walked over to the side and up the stairs to the kitchen door. It was locked, so Carter used his key to open it.
When we walked in, we found Mrs. Kopek in the middle of a small group of people. Everyone was talking loudly in some language other than English. I couldn't tell if we'd interrupted a fight or what. Something smelled very good. I saw a number of pots on the stove.
When she saw it was us, she smiled, bowed slightly, and said, "Hello. Welcome home."
Everyone else in the room went silent and stared at us. Mrs. Kopek said something and suddenly they were all smiles.
"Hello. Who do we have here?" I asked.
"These are your new staff. All Czechoslovakian. I introduce." She clapped her hands and they all formed a line. It was like something in a movie.
The Mangled Mobster (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 7) Page 13
