I looked up, she was now standing behind her desk. The short pencil skirt of the pale green fitted suit she wore exposed two perfectly toned legs. If my meeting with Mancuso hadn’t knocked me so far off my equilibrium I would have considered initiating a conversation to see if I could make observations that could elevate her strong twelve rating even higher. I just didn’t have the energy, so I said, “No, thank you. I’m just leaving.”
As I started to walk to the glass door, she took a couple of strides to the end of her desk, her heels clicking on the marble floor, and handed me a business card, “Here’s my card, if you need assistance in the future just call me. I jotted my personal cell number on the back, in case you needed to call after business hours.” Her words were professional, her smile was mischievous. Holy shit, Miss Georgia was hitting on me.
I took the card and muttered, “Yes, thank you.” I was just too distracted to follow up with any of my usual spontaneous flirtatious wit.
Looking at the card on my ride down in the elevator I learned that Miss Georgia was Elena Wilson, Executive Assistant, Mancuso Enterprises, Ltd. The cell number written on the back was in a flowing feminine handwriting that seemed to scream call me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
I walked back to my car and had just gotten behind the wheel when my cell phone vibrated. I didn’t recognize the number as I answered. The voice purred, “Mr. Nolan?”
“Yes. Who is this please?”
The purr became softer, “This is Elena Wilson from Mr. Mancuso’s office.” My hopes soared, Mancuso had a change of heart and decided to help me.
“Oh, yes Elena, how can I help you?”
“Well actually, I called to help you. First, I wanted to make certain you had my cell number in your phone before you lost my business card, and second, I was hoping you’d let me buy you a drink. Leaving Mr. Mancuso’s office you looked like you could stand to have a drink. You don’t want to get into traffic at this time of day heading north. You can have a drink with me and get back to Hollywood as soon as if you left right now.”
How does she know I’m going to Hollywood? Duh, probably the same way Mancuso knew how I came to own Cap’s and that I’d met with the cops earlier in the week. I asked, “That’s very considerate of you, but what time do you leave work?”
“I’m leaving right now to meet you.”
“Okay. Did you have a place in mind?”
“Yes. How about the Bleau Bar at the Fontainebleau?”
“Sounds great. I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.”
The Fontainebleau is an iconic Miami Beach hotel with a storied history dating back to the 1950’s. Everyone who is anyone passing through South Florida makes a stop, at one time or another, at the Fontainebleau. I’d never been there.
I opted not to utilize the valet parking, expecting it to cost something on the order of a set of new tires, and found a spot in a ramp a couple of blocks away. The complex is huge and I wandered for a few minutes before swallowing what little male pride I had left by asking a bellman where I’d find the Bleau Bar. His directions proved to me that I would have found it on my own in another hour or so. Once I got close, the bar was really quite obvious as the entire area seemed to emit a blue hue from the lighted blue floor and blue accent of the very contemporary furnishings. The motif was the antithesis of Cap’s Place.
The end of the work week crowd was beginning to build, but I found Elena seated on a low couch in front of a cocktail table. Her heels were laying on the floor and her legs were tucked under her. Her suit jacket was draped over one end of the small couch and as I approached she smiled and patted the seat cushion next to her. She looked absolutely radiant in the soft blue lighting. Of course she’d looked pretty damn good in the harsh office lights less than an hour earlier.
As I sat down next to her on the couch she picked up a martini glass from the table and said, “Hope you don’t mind, I didn’t wait to order a drink. If I have a drink in my hand, it at least takes away one of the standard opening lines. Keeps pickup artists somewhat at bay.”
I wanted to tell her that I doubted that the Miami Dolphins defensive line could keep pickup artists from approaching her, but decided that sounded like a pickup line in itself so settled for, “Sounds like a plan to me.” Watching her raise the glass to her perfect red lips I asked, “Is that a martini? Do you recommend it?”
“I do recommend the martini here. Andy, the bartender working, mixes a great martini. They also have a nice scotch menu if you’re a scotch guy.”
Scotch guys are probably cooler than Landshark guys, looking around I didn’t notice anyone drinking beer, but my insight into the world of scotches is pretty limited. The waitress paused on her way by with a tray of cocktails and asked if I would like a drink. I asked, “Do you have Bowmore?”
“I’m sorry Sir we don’t. I can bring you the scotch menu, we have a very nice selection.”
The Fontainebleau doesn’t stock Bowmore. Maybe Bracchi’s taste in scotches isn’t so popular, at least not in South Florida. Maybe he should stay in New York or New Jersey or wherever it is he hails from. Gesturing toward Elena’s drink I replied, “That’s fine, I’ll have a martini please.”
After the waitress left I turned to Elena and said, “If you know the bartender by name, you must be a regular here.”
A coy smile crossed her face, “Well, I’m not a lush if that’s what you think. I do stop in on occasion. It’s only a couple hundred yards from my condo so if I stop for a drink it’s usually here.”
Off to a smooth start Jack. “Oh, I wasn’t implying you’re a lush. I just know that most people don’t remember a bartender’s name until several visits.”
The warm smile, “Relax Jack, I’m just teasing you. I’m not that easily offended. Got to be thicker skinned than that to work where I do.”
I stayed away from that comment and asked, “You have a condo here? I thought this was a hotel.”
“Oh it is, but the towers on both sides are condos. Mine’s about two hundred yards north and twenty-five stories up.”
The waitress arrived with my martini. After she walked away Elena said, “From your expression leaving Mr. Mancuso’s office, I surmised that he couldn’t help you with your problem.”
I shook my head, “No, unfortunately not. I guess it was a long shot, but I had to at least try.” Wanting to change the subject I said, “Tell me the Elena Wilson story.”
She settled back into the couch and said, “A man who would rather hear about me than tell me about himself. You are a rare specimen Jack Nolan.”
Settling back into the couch had nudged her skirt even farther up her thighs and I nearly forgot my question. I attempted to refocus and said, “Well, let’s hear it.” That should cover whatever it was I asked.
Elena took a sip of her martini and said, “Okay, the condensed version. I was born in New York, but when I was two we moved down here. Pretty normal childhood. Typical bratty only child with stay at home mom and dad who worked endless hours. Got my Bachelor’s Degree at the University of Miami and my Master’s in Architecture at MIT. Married a guy I met at MIT and went to work at a large architectural firm in New York. Amazing experience working on projects around the country.” She paused and took another sip, “Unfortunately, after a few years, the travel took its toll on my marriage. I tried to stay focused after the divorce, but couldn’t seem to get back in the groove. Two years ago, I came back here and went to work for Mr. Mancuso.”
“Seems like with a Master’s in Architecture from MIT you’re a bit overqualified to be an administrative assistant.” I didn’t mention the fact that her boss was an organized crime kingpin. She is obviously a very bright lady so one would think she’s aware of that minor fact.
She smiled, “Oh, you thought . . . you thought I was Mr. Mancuso’s secretary? Actually, he has three admins who work in his main offices on the floor below. He met you in his private office. He does have a receptionist who occupies the desk I was sitting
at, but she was off this afternoon, and I was going to spend the afternoon catching up on email so I told him I’d be glad to do it from her desk so the position would be covered for his afternoon meetings. I have an office connected to his on the other side of the suite because so much of his business involves dealings with real estate and my background is very helpful in evaluating proposals.”
I was beginning to think maybe I did have the wrong Lorenzo Mancuso. Attempting to see if her story would jive with my internet research I asked, “Mr. Mancuso has a lot of real estate holdings?”
She looked at me intently, “He does. At one point last year he had the largest portfolio in South Florida. I’m not certain that’s true today because he’s constantly buying and selling. At any rate, it would be fair to say his holdings are significant.”
“He must be diversified though. He mentioned something about businesses supporting the shipping industry.”
Elena turned to get the attention of our waitress walking nearby and signaled that we would like two more drinks while she absently replied, “He does own interests in a variety of businesses, but I really don’t know much about that. I’m totally focused on the real estate.”
I took a long sip of my martini in an effort to catch up. Before I could ask another question Elena said, “Okay, turn about’s fair play. Let’s hear the Jackson Nolan story.”
She knows my name’s Jackson, hell Mancuso probably knows about the mole on my stomach. Yet, why would my personal dossier have been shared with Little Miss Real Estate. There’s more to Elena than she’s letting on. Maybe Mancuso sent her to gather additional information on me. But why? Unless, maybe he is considering helping me with Bracchi.
I gave the condensed version of the Jackson Nolan story leaving out parts I didn’t think were flattering. That made the story much shorter. When I got to the present I tossed out a crumb about Bracchi to see if Elena would bite, “Unfortunately, I’m just getting the business running smoothly and this guy is trying to push his way in. Sort of a hostile takeover attempt.”
She replied, “That is unfortunate.” Took a sip of the martini the waitress had just delivered, and changing the subject, asked, “So what does Jack Nolan do for fun?”
I like to think of myself as a pretty smooth conversationalist, especially with women in bars, but that question always throws me for a loop. The truth is, I don’t really do anything just for fun. I don’t play any sports. I jog a little to stay in some semblance of decent shape, but that certainly isn’t fun. I don’t ride a motorcycle or fly a plane or sail a boat, or any of those other guy things that are considered fun. I do enjoy meeting women and establishing new relationships, but it’s difficult to articulate that in a way that won’t immediately end the present conversation, so I omit that from my answer and usually go with, “I’ve been so busy the past few years with Cap’s Place that I haven’t done much at all just for fun.”
A mischievous smile crossed her face and Elena purred, “Well, we need to remedy that. Everyone needs to have a little fun now and again. I’ll bet I can come up with something fun for us to do sometime.”
If I wasn’t so distracted thinking that Bracchi might really make me dead I’d have thought I just died and went to heaven. This woman is drop dead gorgeous, smart, well educated, and she’s hitting on me. Well, there’s the little thing about her working for an organized crime guy, but nobody’s perfect.
Her smile faded into an intent focus, “Have you ever thought about practicing law again? Having been through a divorce that threw me for a loop professionally, I can certainly understand why you quit when you did, but have you thought about going back to practicing law now that some time has passed?”
I answered, “I’ve thought about it, but I guess I’m so caught up in the day to day I don’t ever seem to get around to planning for life’s big decisions.”
“You react to life rather than controlling it.”
I shook my head, “I guess you could say that. At least at this point.”
I didn’t know if it was Elena’s persona, or the two martini’s, but I could feel intoxication creeping up on me. I said, “I think we should grab some dinner. There must be any number of nice restaurants here.”
Elena smiled again but it quickly faded, “There are several very nice restaurants here and I would love to have dinner with you, but I already have plans and it just wouldn’t be right to cancel on such short notice. Can I have a rain check?” Then with a pout, “Please?”
I smiled but couldn’t completely hide my disappointment, “Of course you can have a rain check. After all, I have your number in my cell phone now.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Traffic was still heavy as I made my way northbound on A1A. I considered going west to U.S. 1 or even I-95, but knew traffic would be just as heavy on them so opted to just go with the flow, stopping at every single traffic light. I was in a real funk. I went into the meeting with Mancuso not knowing what to expect, knowing that I could be making a mistake, but I never expected him to totally stonewall me. I thought he might at least engage in a discussion about a tactic I could use with Bracchi.
My only ray of hope was that maybe he’d sent Elena to get more information from me. Yet, she’d totally dodged my efforts to discuss the situation so that didn’t really make sense. In all honesty, I was also hoping that Elena was pursuing her own personal interests and not merely an assignment from her boss. One solace was that I felt that Elena was equally disappointed that we couldn’t have dinner and continue our time together.
I was sitting at one of the ten thousand traffic lights I would encounter before I got back to Cap’s, when my cell phone buzzed. For a second I thought that maybe Elena had reconsidered and cancelled her other engagement. My hopes were dashed when I saw the number come up as Cap’s. It was Marge telling me that the restaurant inspectors from the state agency that licenses our food service had sprung a surprise inspection on us. We are inspected quarterly and our last inspection was a couple of weeks ago so we certainly weren’t due again. Besides, regular inspections are always during the day, not during the height of business on a Friday night.
I asked Marge, “Why an inspection now? We aren’t due? Why this time of day?”
I didn’t like the reply, “They say they received a complaint of serious violations.”
“Did they say who the complainant was?”
“No, I asked but they said complainants are confidential.”
Now I was mad, “Bullshit. I’ll get it through the Sunshine Law. Tell them that!” I calmed down a bit and reconsidered, “No, don’t threaten them. That’ll just make things worse. I can’t believe they’ll find much of anything, but we don’t want to antagonize them to look closer.”
Marge interrupted, “Jack, I’ve got it under control. We’re killing them with kindness. It’s the same two guys who did our last regular inspection. They know we run a tight ship. I get the feeling that someone made the type of complaint that triggers immediate action. They seem to believe it’s a wild goose chase, but they have their job to do. I just wanted you to know in case you were going to be back soon. Didn’t want you to walk in unaware.”
I should have known Marge had everything under control. She always does. Probably reacted much better than I would have. I said, “Okay, thanks, but I’m on my way back from Miami Beach and with traffic they’ll probably be gone before I get there.”
“No problem Jack. I’ll be here when you get back.”
I mulled the surprise inspection over in my head the entire drive back. At least it was a distraction from the start and stop traffic. I would have rather used the time fantasizing about Elena, but that was not the kind of luck I was having today.
Business was brisk, as it should be on a Friday evening, when I arrived back at Cap’s. I found Marge in the office reading the inspection reports. I slumped down on the couch and asked, “Well, how’d we do?”
She looked up and grinned, “Relax Jack, turned out to be
a non-event. They didn’t really find anything to cite us for.” She chuckled, “In fact, Juan had already implemented a couple of recommendations they’d made when they were here two weeks ago. After they saw that I don’t think they really even looked too deep. Really didn’t turn out to be much of a disruption to business. Like I said, I would chalk it up as a non-event.”
I asked, “Still no idea who complained? Guess I’ll have to file a formal Sunshine Law request.”
“I wouldn’t bother. Juan, who can be pretty personable when he wants to, learned from one of the inspectors that it was an anonymous complaint. Someone called their hotline and said his whole family was sick with food poisoning after having lunch here today. The caller, his wife, and two kids. All sick as dogs. Wouldn’t give a name, said he didn’t want to get involved. The State was afraid to ignore it on a Friday because their inspectors wouldn’t be back until Monday and it was made to sound so serious.”
I was digesting what she’d said when she continued, “Here’s the interesting thing. No one working remembers a family with kids being in today. So I went through the security camera footage since we opened this morning and found no family here today at all.”
Playing lawyer, “Maybe they confused the day? Maybe they were here yesterday?”
“Nope. The caller was emphatic that it was lunch today. Kept saying his whole family had been sick ever since they had lunch . . . today.”
I exclaimed, “Bracchi!”
Marge nodded, “That’s exactly what Moe said.”
I asked, “You and Moe have been talking about Bracchi?”
Marge scoffed, “Of course we have Jack. You don’t think we don’t all know what’s going on around here, do you?”
I exhaled, “I just didn’t want to get you guys involved in this mess.”
“Jack, we’re all part of Cap’s Place. We’re involved. You can’t prevent that. What happens if this thug takes over? You think that doesn’t impact us?”
Nimble Be Jack: A Jack Nolan Novel (The Cap's Place Series Book 2) Page 14
