Nooners

by James Patterson

  “Sorry, señor, but Ramon pay for apartment. Without him, mi madre y yo, esta nada…he said…”

  And suddenly, in this church, in the midst of a wake for this woman’s longtime live-together mate and our beloved colleague, I’m being confronted with the same kind of bullshit I’ve been getting for days. Especially from Ramon.

  “Oh, señora. What can I say? It pleases me that Ramon thought enough of me to tell you that, but…I’m just in no position to offer that kind of financial help right now, much as I’d like to.”

  “Si, señor. Forgive me for saying. It’s just…”

  “I understand, Juanita. Yo entiendo. Do not worry. And you have my word, if things change, and I’m in a position to help, I certainly will.”

  And I start to pass her to go back down the aisle. But she’s holding her place.

  Suddenly there’s some kind of bad vibe hanging in the air. I can damned near taste it.

  “No, señor. No.” And now I’m looking at a different Juanita. Much of her accent is gone, replaced by what sounds like assertion. Her posture stiffens.

  “No. Mira,” and she’s got this piercing look in black eyes that one minute ago were bottomless wishing wells, and are now ablaze with anger. I actually rock back on my heels.

  “Mira, I know about you and Ramon.” She actually gestures to his corpse. “I…know. He told me all about it. Your business together. Your moneymaking business. So, you want to…help me? So I say nothing? Then, share. Comprende, señor?”

  I swallow hard. And I don’t need a translator.

  “Look, we’re in a church. We’re here for Ramon’s service, for Christ’s sake.” It’s all I can do to keep my voice down.

  “Share Ramon’s business with me. Or, no se what happens.”

  Only one way to put an end to this shit, for now.

  “Okay, okay. I will make some arrangements. Tell me how to reach you and I will do something. I am sure there are many people at the agency who will want to help, too.”

  “Aqui,” and she hands me a crumpled piece of paper, obviously prepared for this moment. I open it and there’s a Brooklyn address scrawled on it, barely readable, with a cell number.

  “Send money order. Then we see. Juanita Cisneros. C…I…S…”

  “Yes, yes, got it. Okay, I will. Count on it. I…want to help. I do.”

  And I’m looking at another metamorphosis. She’s reassuming the humbled look of a law-abiding illegal alien who has just suffered a painful loss, and is once again unclear about what tomorrow will bring….

  “Muchas gracias, señor.” She imposes another hug, and I see now we’re being watched by some of the agency folks down by the coffee urn.

  “De nada” is what I say, but not what I’m thinking.

  I’m almost sympathetic, because of my relationship with Ramon.

  Ay dios mio!

  Chapter 20

  I want to join some of the agency folk for a minute before I go—now more than ever. As I’m walking back down the aisle…there’s Detective Quinn, sitting in the last pew, way over on the far side.

  I walk down behind the pew to greet him. “Pete? I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “Hello, Tim. Yeah, it’s an opportunity for a look at Ramon’s world, his people, his friends. I spoke with his father outside, and he welcomed me in.”

  “See anything, Detective?”

  “Tim, that’s out of order here. You take care of your people. I’ll be leaving soon.”

  “Absolutely. Sorry. I do appreciate your diligence on all this.” I turn to cross over to where my agency people are clustered in small groups. I’m getting no eye contact, although I catch a glance from Chris and continue to the coffee urn, where Bonnie Jo is refilling her cup.

  “Hey, Bon. Sorry to have to see you here, that’s for sure.”

  “For a whole lot of reasons. Right?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Shhhh…hold it down, Tim. Not the time or place. I know everyone’s glad you’re here.”

  “Really? Sure doesn’t feel like it.”

  “Well, they can’t help but notice that the detectives seem to be talking to you more than anyone else.”

  “Gee, Bonnie, I wonder why? I’m second in command, they know that I know everyone, and they assume I know everything that goes on at work. Which, of course, I don’t.”

  “Sure, I believe you. You just better hope the others do.” She walks over to one of the groups.

  I fill my cup and head over to Paul, standing there with Mo, Bill, Julie, and Chris. Mo breaks the awkward silence. “Hi, Tim, thanks for being here.”

  “Of course, Mo. Of course.” My phone vibrates and I look down to see that it’s Tiffany again…

  Tim!!!!!!!!!!

  I sign the guest register on the way out. Is nothing sacred?

  Chapter 21

  By the time I get up to Grand Central, the schedule monitor next to the ramp to the lower level shows an 8:29 express to Croton-on-Hudson, track 119, downstairs, so I head down the ramp past the Oyster Bar—and here’s Tiffany Stone, leaning up against the wall like she’s waiting for me.

  Of course. She is waiting for me. How the hell did she know I’d be here?

  “Oh, Tim!” she bleats. “I am so glad to see you. I really need to talk to you!”

  “Listen, Tiffany, I’m so sorry, but I’ve got to get home and don’t want to miss my train.”

  “No, you listen to me! I’m scared. Scared to death. It’s awful what happened to Ramon.”

  “How the hell did you know Ramon? I just came from his wake, for Christ’s sake.”

  “I connected with Ramon one time when I was at the agency, and then I got weed from him sometimes, just like everybody else. I even resold some of it every once in a while. Now Ramon’s dead. And I’m wondering who’s next?”

  Only way to describe the look on her face is somewhere between pain, fear, and anger. Which somehow makes her even more sexy.

  “Look, Tiffany. I’d love to help if I could. But I can’t, not now, anyway. Not tonight.”

  “Tim, if I didn’t know better I’d say you were trying to avoid me! After all these years!”

  Shit. I can’t leave it like this…who knows what she’ll do next?

  “Okay, I can see you’re in rough shape. Tell you what. Let’s grab a cocktail. Come with me. This will help, I promise,” and we head down to the Oyster Bar.

  “Okay thank you, thank you.”

  By the time I’m done with Tiffany it’s the 9:54 I catch, barely. At home, this time everybody’s long asleep.

  I crawl into bed with Jean. Her back’s to me. I sense she’s awake. But no acknowledgment I’m here.

  I take the hint.

  Chapter 22

  Next morning I’m walking back through Grand Central to catch the 6 train down to work and there’s cops all over the place. A hell of a lot more than usual.

  My blood pressure spikes. I instinctively pull my carry bag a little closer. What the hell’s going on?

  “Excuse me, sir,” I say to one of the cops standing next to the terminal clock. “Can’t help but notice you guys have, like, tripled up in presence here. Is something going on?”

  “Can’t say, sir. Please move on. Have a nice day.”

  Now what? Maybe it’s some kind of terror threat.…

  I try to figure out what’s going on the rest of the way to work.

  “Morning, Mo,” I say as I pass by her desk into the office.

  “Oh, Tim! The detectives are back talking to us again. There’s been another murder!”

  “Oh, sweet Jesus, Mo! Who? Has the entire universe gone mad?” She shakes her head.

  I head up to my cubicle and Quinn’s sitting there waiting for me.

  “Good morning, Tim.”

  “Morning, Detective. Hardly good, though. I hear there’s been another murder?”

  “I’m afraid so. But first things first. How are you doing?”

  “T
ruth? Not great. This murder stuff is way too close to home. It’s seriously getting to me.”

  “I’m sure you’re feeling it more than most, given your history and standing with Marterelli’s.”

  “And now there’s been another one, Pete?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “So what’s this latest murder got to do with us?”

  “Tim, a woman was murdered in Grand Central Station last night.…”

  My knees start to buckle. Wonder if it shows? No wonder there were so many damned cops there this morning.

  “She was an actress. And the reason we’re back here is she was a person a lot of you guys worked with a good while back.”

  I suck in my breath. Here it comes.…

  “Her name is Tiffany Stone.…”

  “Oh…my…God! The original CrawDaddy girl! The one we put in their very first Super Bowl commercial?”

  My world is officially fractured. The devil himself has decided to fuck with me.

  “They found her in the basement of Grand Central Station—with a bullet through her mouth.”

  I collapse against my desk, trying to collect my wits, and make some sense out of all this insanity.

  But I can’t.

  The second person I know has been murdered.

  Chapter 23

  Quinn’s not done with me yet. I sit on my desk for some stability.

  “I feel your pain, Tim. You must have known her pretty well.” Is he trying to empathize with me?

  “Not really. But I was on the CrawDaddy shoot back then, the first time I was with Paul. She was great. Hung out. Everybody loved her. Funny. Smart. Bawdy—in a good way. Hell, she ad-libbed half her lines in the commercial. It’s not right. Just…not…right.”

  “So, Tim,” he looks me in the eye, “that’s two murder victims with connections to the Marterelli agency. Any thoughts?”

  “Okay. It occurs to me that there’s something that could be helpful. Look, we’re a downtown, independent New York ad agency. Nearly two hundred employees. Highly creative. Break a lot of rules.

  “So it shouldn’t surprise you that a lot of these guys smoke some marijuana every once in a while. Some of them a lot.”

  He’s nodding his head. “No surprise there.”

  “For all I know they’re into other stuff as well…”

  Another nod. And insistent eye contact. Not exactly comforting.

  “I’m not saying I was one of them. But what I hear is most people got their stuff from Ramon. I think Ramon might have been the office dealer, the guy they went to for their weed. And who knows what else? Everybody loved Ramon. Maybe that’s why.”

  More nodding. He’s not saying so, but I can tell he’s still not surprised. These guys know more than they’re letting on.

  “That’s fairly serious stuff, Tim. Why didn’t you share this with us earlier?”

  He’s got me. “I should have, I guess. I really didn’t know for sure until just yesterday, and it didn’t make any sense to me at first.”

  Is he buying it?

  “Look, Tim. None of these things ever make any sense. Until they do…”

  Yeah, but not before one more person in my quickly collapsing world gets murdered.

  “Listen, Tim, I really appreciate your input. Rest assured, you’ve been a big help. I know we can count on you.”

  “Absolutely, Pete, anytime.”

  “Now I’ve got some things to follow up on.” We shake hands and he’s off again.

  Chapter 24

  I sit down and open my laptop so I can send out an agency-wide e-mail to see if we can raise some money for Ramon’s family.

  “Lenny?” He’s back. This time with Chris. Chris has got his blues hat on, which pushes his now unleashed locks close against his face, and he looks like he’s twisted as tight as Lenny. Unusual for him.

  “Chris, you okay?”

  “Well, Tim, not exactly. Not really. You sure are talking to the dicks a lot. You and this Quinn guy have really buddied up. What’s that all about?”

  “Yeah, dude,” pipes in Lenny. “What’s going down with that?”

  “Guys, what’s the deal? Don’t you trust me?”

  “Well,” Chris says. “You know, we’re all in this together, right? You know pretty much everything that goes on here. It’s no wonder these detectives keep talking to you.”

  These guys are losing it. So am I.

  “So, what exactly have you been telling them?” Chris wants to know.

  “I’m not telling them shit. Don’t have to. They already know. They know guys here at work smoke weed. And worse. They know most people get it from Ramon. They know that. So back off, guys.”

  Two guys I thought I knew really well are standing there facing me like total strangers. Pissed-off strangers.

  Then Chris blows me away: “Tim, don’t take this the wrong way, but you should know…I’m carrying.…” and he pulls open his jacket to reveal some kind of pistol stuck in the inside pocket. He’s staring me down, fully intending for me to take it the wrong way.

  “What the hell is that, Chris? This is insane. We’re friends, for Christ’s sake. I was just at your gig Monday night. What the hell?”

  “I’m just sayin’,’’ Chris says.

  Lenny’s got this smirk on his face. “Yeah, you know?”

  “Saying what, that you’ll shoot me if you see me talking to a law enforcement officer who has come to my desk, in full view of the office, to ask about a murder that happened right here?”

  “Whatever, man,” says Chris. “Just thought you should know.”

  What I know is that Chris has now got to be the number one suspect.

  I take a deep breath. Back to my laptop…

  I’m reaching out to my agency friends and colleagues to join me in honoring the passing of our dear, beloved Ramon. Some of you met Juanita—the love of his life—at the wake last night. She’s a strong and dedicated woman who loved and supported Ramon for many years. And now she’s left to confront life’s challenges without him—which is going to be difficult. So I’m setting up a website so we can pool our efforts. Please go to www.ramonmartinezpm.org and you’ll see the easy steps to contribute something. I know Ramon and Juanita will appreciate any help we can provide. I certainly do,

  Tim

  And tap Send…

  My phone rings. “Tim MacGhee,” I answer.

  “Tim, this is Chuck Esposito, WNBC, New York.…”

  “Ah…sure, how can I help?”

  “Well, there’s been another murder. Tiffany Stone, whom your agency hired several years ago for a CrawDaddy Super Bowl commercial.…”

  How the hell do these guys get this stuff so fast? “Yes, we…”

  “Would you care to comment, Tim? You were with Marterelli’s back then, right?”

  “No. Well, yes, I was. But no can do, Chuck. I’m sure you’ll understand. Again.”

  “Not exactly. But of course it’s your option. I may call again though.”

  Damn, these guys are persistent. Lucky me.

  Chapter 25

  I’m sitting here in my desk chair still trying to get a grip on what’s happening when my cell rings again. This time it’s Bonnie Jo.

  I tap Accept. “Hi…”

  “So hey, Tim. Thinking about you…”

  “Where are you, BJ?”

  “I’m home. Playing hooky.”

  And then she says, “Why don’t you come on over?”

  Okay, I admit it: Bonnie Jo Hopkins and I have a…relationship. And I’m not talking about the one at work.

  I’m not exactly proud of it. But with the stress I’m under…damn, it’s good.

  “I don’t know, baby.…”

  “C’mon, things are nuts there. That’s why I stayed home. And I’ve been thinking of you since I woke up this morning.”

  My temperature’s starting to rise. She has that way about her.

  “Get your sexy self over here and maybe we can help each other f
orget all about it.…”

  That’s all the encouragement I need.

  “Meeting Steve Zimmerman for early drinks and dinner,” I tell Mo on the way out the door, explaining why I’m leaving work at five—a final meet with the new business prospect from Weight Watchers before our pitch Friday.

  “Got it. I know you’ll be your usual charming self,” she says. “See you tomorrow.”

  Bonnie Jo lives over in Tudor City, First Avenue and 40th way over on the East Side, near Turtle Bay, in one of the co-op apartments. A classic neo-Gothic building, it was the first residential skyscraper in the world. Fabulous old apartments. BJ’s is renovated, with a spectacular bedroom view of the UN headquarters and the East River from the twenty-sixth floor.

  I grab a taxi out on 11th Street. Don’t want to waste a minute getting up there.

  Chapter 26

  The security guy behind Bonnie’s reception desk recognizes me and waves me on to the elevators. Up on twenty-six I ring BJ’s doorbell and there she is, opening the door, slowly, to reveal her full, gorgeous, sexy…naked self.

  Takes my breath away. Always does.

  “Hi, Timmy,” and she leans in to me with a soft, lingering, open-mouthed kiss. “How nice to see you.”

  “How nice to see you, too,” is all I can come up with.

  “Come in, love, I have something I think you’ll enjoy,” she says, and leads me by the hand over to the couch where we sit down. She torches the weed in her pipe, takes a toke, and passes it over to me.

  “It’s some of Ramon’s finest.…” she reminds me.

  Perfect.

  We’re in no hurry. No need to be. Besides, there’s nothing like making love when you’re high.

  I’m about to be saved by a beautiful, talented woman, who will make us both forget the madness around us. Nothing else will matter, for a while anyway.

  We kiss. The high is taking hold. Mouths open, tongues searching. We kiss again, and she unbuttons my shirt and caresses my chest. Has me totally under her spell. Then it’s my jeans, and the rest of it, and there we both are, fully revealed.