by Chance(lit)
"Speaking," I said.
"You was working out in Vegas in September," the voice said.
"Yeah."
"With a big black guy, bald head?"
"Actually he's not bald, he shaves his head."
"Same difference," he said.
"My name is Bernard J. Fortunate, you remember me?"
I slid my desk drawer open and looked at the business card I had put there more than a month ago. It said Bernard J. Fortunato.
Investigator, Professional and Discreet.
"Yeah," I said.
"Little guy with a Panama hat and a short Colt."
"I'm compact," he said.
"Sure," I said.
"That's what I meant to say, compact guy with a Panama hat and a compact Colt."
"You still interested in a broad named Bibi Anaheim?" he said.
"What makes you think I'm interested?" I said.
"I don't think. I know," Fortunate said.
"Okay, how do you know it?"
"Because I pay fucking attention," Fortunato said.
"I look, I ask questions. You still interested in her or not."
"Yeah, I am."
"She's back in Vegas," Fortunate said.
"Now?"
"Right now," he said.
"Where?"
"She's staying at the Debbie Reynolds Hotel and Casino."
"You've seen her?"
"Yeah."
"And you recognized her?"
"I told you. I pay attention. It's my business."
"You tell her husband?" I said.
"No."
"I thought you worked for him."
"I did. He hired me to keep an eye out in Vegas for a guy named Anthony Meeker. Said if I spotted you, you might lead me to him.
Told me where to pick you up."
"Which you did."
"Right."
"And we did."
"Right," Fortunate said.
"Then I kept an eye on him until Anaheim showed up in person."
"And you rented him a hotel room in your name."
"Yeah, and he stiffed me on it, and he stiffed me on the job," Fortunate said.
"And after he popped you one on the kisser, I figure you and him ain't pals so I'm telling you what I seen."
"To get even?"
"You interested or no?"
"Interested," I said.
"You want to work for me?"
"I'm in business."
"Good, keep an eye on Bibi Anaheim until I get there. If she leaves follow her."
"Expenses?"
"Guaranteed," I said.
"Even if she goes to like, Paris?"
"Even then," I said.
"You want to know what I charge?"
"No."
"I ain't getting burned again. I give you the numbers you wire money to my account today. I don't get it today, I drop the broad like a bad habit."
"Spenser's the name, cash is the game, where you want it sent?"
He told me the amount and how to send it. Lucky I was bucks up.
CHAPTER 45
Joe Broz still kept an office in the financial district with an executive-level view of the harbor. There were still a couple of hard cases lounging around in the outer office, working on their relaxed tough guy look. And Joe himself still had a little left of the old theatricality. But this time when I went into his white office he was an old man. The changes weren't so much physical as attitudinal.
As if he had decided to be old. He had arranged himself in front of the big picture window behind his desk, his back to the door, a dark form without detail against the bright morning light that came through the eastward-looking window. When I came in he didn't move while I closed the door behind me and walked to a chair and sat down in front of his desk. I waited for a while. Finally, Joe turned slowly from the window to look at me. He had on a dark blue suit, a dark blue shirt, and a powder blue tie. He should have been nipping a silver dollar.
He said, "How long I known you, Spenser?"
"Long time," I said.
"You got a smart mouth. You think you're God's gift to the fucking universe. And you been a pain in my ass since I knew you."
"Nice of you to remember, Joe."
"I shoulda put you in the ground a long time ago."
"But you didn't," I said.
"Half the people I know are dead and most of the others are gone, and you keep showing up."
"Good to be able to count on something, isn't it?"
Broz walked stiffly from the window and lowered himself gingerly into the chair behind his desk. He put the palms of his hands carefully together and rested his chin lightly against his fingertips.
He took in some air and let it out slowly through his nose.
"Whaddya want?" he said.
"Some Russians tried to kill me last night."
"Good for them."
"Depends how you look at it," I said.
"Two of them are dead."
Broz shrugged.
"I know you're good," he said.
"Never said you weren't good."
"I got no fight with any Russians," I said.
"Somebody sent them."
Broz kept looking at me with his clasped hands under his chin.
He had a powder blue show hankie in his breast pocket. It matched the tie perfectly.
"And there's some, ah, realignment, maybe, going on in the
rackets in town. There's something happening with Gino Fish and Julius Ventura. I hear the Russians are trying to move some people up from New York."
Broz nodded silently.
"Thought you might be able to tell me a little something."
Broz didn't move. He didn't say anything. Looking past him through the big window all I could see was sky and the kind of light you get over water. I waited. Joe unclasped his hands and rested them on the dark walnut arms of his leather chair and tilted the chair back slowly.
"You want a drink?" he said.
"Little early in the day for me."
Joe nodded.
"Early, late, don't make much difference to me anymore. I don't sleep much and when I do, I don't know I'm sleeping unless I have a dream. I eat when I'm hungry. I drink when I want to."
He stood and moved slowly to the ebony bar with the blue leather padding in the corner of the room where so many years ago a guy named Phil had made me a bourbon and water, with a dash of bitters. Things hadn't worked out between me and Phil. I had to kill him a couple of weeks later. He took some ice from a silver ice bucket and put it in a lowball glass and poured some Wild Turkey over it. He carried the drink carefully back to his desk and put it down and sat carefully back down in his chair. Then he picked up the drink and looked at it and took a sip and put it down carefully.
He looked at me for a moment and then shifted his eyes so that he was staring past me.
"I know I owe you," Broz said.
"You don't say anything about that, and I notice that you don't. But you coulda killed my kid, when was it? Three years ago?"
"More like five," I said.
"Five years ago. You coulda killed him, and you' da been justified."
He picked up his drink and had another sip, put the glass down carefully without spilling any, and looked at it absently.
"Kid's out of the business," Broz said. He could have been talking to himself for all the notice he seemed to take of me.
"Set him up in a nice tavern out in Pittsfield. Wasn't cut out for the business. And Vinnie's gone."
"He's with Gino now," I said, just to remind him I was there.
"You know Gino's a fairy?"
I didn't answer. Broz didn't care.
Broz shook his head.
"When I got Gerry settled in the tavern I was gonna pass the business on to Vinnie."
He drank some more Wild Turkey.
"I was gonna retire," he said.
"I was gonna give the business to the kid and Vinnie coulda helped him, but it didn't work o
ut. My wife's dead. I got nothing much going on at home, I got nothing to do, so I figure I may as well work some more. Tony Marcus is away, and his deal is up for grabs, and Gino and Julius are starting to move in 'cause they think I'm over the hill, you know? And I'm thinking about all this and one day this Russian comes in to see me from New York, and he says they'd like to get an operation going up here, and I tell him there's no room for anybody else, and he says they want to join my crew and get rid of Gino and Julius and take over the Marcus operation and they want me to run the whole deal."
Broz smiled a little and tasted a little more of his Wild Turkey.
"And I ask the Russki what his people get out of it? And he says they don't know the territory up here, they want to get set up
and sort of ease in, and all they want from me, when I die, they get the business."
"What about Fast Eddie Lee?" I said.
"I asked him that. He says they don't do business with Chinks.
Says they leave Fast Eddie alone, long as he leaves us alone."
"You believe that?" I said.
"They think Fast Eddie's too tough a nut for them right now, they figure they get everything else and isolate Fast Eddie and then when they're ready they move on him. Be what I'd do."
I nodded. We sat quietly. Me looking at Broz. Broz looking past me. Broz was taking a lot of time to get there. But I had time. The plane to Vegas didn't leave until 4:05 in the afternoon.
"I told him no," Broz said.
"I told him there wasn't much outfit left, certainly not enough to take on a partner. He says they bring in new business as they expand. I tell him I don't want to expand. I got no heart for it anymore. I tell him I don't care what happens to the outfit after I die. They can have it as well as anybody else. But, I told him, if anybody makes a move on my outfit while I'm still around I will chew them up and spit them into the harbor like mackerel chum. He says okay would I consider acting as a kind of consultant for them, being as how I know my way around this city.
I say if the price is right I got no problem giving them advice. So the price is right and we make that deal. They leave my crew alone, they can consult me on whatever else they want to do."
"An elder statesman," I said.
"So they ask me who they should start with. I tell them Tony Marcus. He's in the place. Stooge is running the operation."
"They say they don't want to do that because it would make Gino and Julius suspicious. And it might push them together and the Russkies might have to fight them both before they want to.
They want to take them out one at a time, and I say in that case start with Julius. And they say why? And I tell them that Gino's got Marty Anaheim running number two, and Julius got that asshole son-in-law."
"He's not number two for Julius," I said.
"No, but he's waiting around to take over, you don't get a good number-two man, you know what I mean. I know, I lost Vinnie 'cause of the kid."
"So, did they?"
Broz did a big elaborate shrug.
"I'm a consultant, they call me when they need me."
"How would they go about it?"
Again the flamboyant shrug.
"Don't know."
"How would you go about it?"
"Make a deal with Gino. Then after he helps me drop Julius, make a deal with Tony Marcus's stooge to drop Gino. When I got that done, I could pick the stooge off at leisure. Then Fast Eddie could have the Chinks, and I'd have everything else."
"You think they'll leave you in place?" I said.
"I got no place no more," Broz said.
"They got no reason to fuck with me."
"So why did they hit me?"
"Don't know," Broz said.
He leaned forward in his chair and picked up the phone and dialed.
"Broz, lemme talk to Vie... Broz, couple your people tried to hit a guy named Spenser. How come?... Yeah, I know he did. He's sitting here with me in my office... yeah?...
yeah?... no he ain't my friend but I owe him something and I pay my debts... yeah... who asked you to do it?... yeah... I don't know, maybe it's personal. Can you lay off Spenser this time around? I only owe him this one, next time you can blow him into caviar, you wanna... Okay? Okay."
He hung up the phone.
"Marty Anaheim asked them to hit you."
"So it looks like they did what you'd have done."
"Looks like," Broz said.
"Except that Marty's not with Gino anymore."
"No he ain't."
"But he probably was," I said, "when the scuffle started."
"Probably."
Broz was obvious in his disinterest.
"You know why Marty left Gino?" I said.
"No."
Broz drank the rest of his Wild Turkey.
"You can have Marty," Broz said.
"Nobody will give a fuck. But stay away from me and the Russkies."
"I'm looking for Bibi Anaheim," I said.
Broz stood carefully and walked carefully to the bar. He poured more Wild Turkey over ice and turned, leaning against the bar the way he always had.
"What I told you is between you and me."
"Sure," I said.
"Your word?"
"My word."
"Your word's good," Broz said.
"We even now?"
"I don't know, Joe, I never said we weren't."
"No," Broz said, "you never did."
CHAPTER 46
"You figure Marty wanted to bop you 'cause you keep poking at this thing?" Hawk said.
"Yeah," I said.
We were 33,000 feet above western Pennsylvania in the firstclass compartment (neither Hawk nor I fit well in coach) on our way to Dallas to catch a flight to Las Vegas. I had survived the takeoff again. My tray table was down. I had a scotch and soda and the cabin crew was moving along the aisle serving food.
"Don't seem too smart," Hawk said.
"We was poking, but we wasn't getting anywhere.
"Cept the rocks jivin' in the bag. And what he think we going to do 'bout that anyway."
"We might tell Julius," I said.
The food service was moving closer to us. The food is almost always hideous on an airplane and I can never wait for it to get there.
"You think Julius don't know?" Hawk said.
"Might not know the details."
"And we do?"
"Marty doesn't know what we know," I said.
"He only knows we're pecking at it and we won't go away."
"So how come he don't hit me?"
"Maybe figured with me gone, you'd back off. Maybe figured he'd get you next."
Hawk sipped some champagne and thought about it.
"Nobody ever say Marty is smart," Hawk said.
"But even he got to figure killing you going to stir things up more than they calm things down."
"Maybe it wasn't the mob takeover stuff," I said.
A stewardess with big blonde hair put a tray of food on my table. Her name tag read CHERYL. I took a bite. Hawk looked over as I chewed.
"What'd you get?" he said.
"Might be chicken," I said.
"How about you?"
"They steamed the steak, just right," Hawk said.
"You think he don't want you to find Bibi?"
"Yeah."
"Why?"
"Because I think he killed Shirley Ventura. And Bibi knows it, or knows enough to let us figure it out."
Hawk chewed silently and swallowed.
"You ever wonder why they don't just serve you couple nice sandwiches on an airplane," he said. "
"Stead of trying to microwave you a five-course meal that tastes like a boiled Dixie cup?"
