“Sure, Jacoby,” the guy in the cage said, pronouncing it the way it looked instead of the proper way, “Jack-o-bee.” I let it ride.
He handed me two tickets while staring past me at Linda. I let that ride too. If I was going to get upset at every man who stared at her, I’d be mad at the world.
“This is your guy, huh?” Linda asked, pointing to a poster on the wall.
It was a bad likeness of Waldrop, but it actually made him better looking than he really was.
“That’s him.”
“What’s his gimmick?”
“I’ve never caught his act. This will be my first time too.”
She stared at me and said, “Why does everything some men say sound dirty?”
I said “Wha—” helplessly, feigning outrage, and we went inside.
19
The floor was crowded with small tables, with very little space between them. Apparently, the tickets I had were good ones because the guy I gave them to showed us to a table down in the front. The stage was a riser with a stool on it, and a brick-wall backing with the words, in neon, the comic look. There was a microphone sitting on the stool at the moment.
“I’m impressed,” Linda said as we sat.
“Didn’t know I had such influence, huh?” I leaned toward her and asked, “Is it true women find this kind of thing sexy?”
She leaned toward me, giving me a good whiff of her “Red,” which was rapidly becoming my favorite perfume.
“Influence is impressive,” she said in a low voice, “but power is sexy. Keep working.”
I laughed, and as I sat back I looked past her and saw Andrea Legend being shown to an even better table than ours. She had changed her clothes. Now she was wearing a sleeveless black jacket and a pair of wide, billowy, black-and- white print pants.
Linda noticed my look and turned around to take a look-see herself.
“She’s beautiful. Do you know her?”
“She’s Stan’s agent. Her name’s Andrea Legend.”
“Really? That’s really her last name?”
“Yes, really.”
“And who’s the man?”
I didn’t know who the man was. He was young, maybe late twenties, and very good-looking. His hair was longish, and he had an earring in each ear à la George Michael, with the same kind of beard stubble. He was wearing a black silk sports jacket with a green T-shirt underneath.
“He’s adorable,” Linda said.
“You think so?”
She looked at me and said, teasingly, “Oh yes, very sexy.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“Why don’t you go and say hello?”
“I think I will. Want to come?”
“No, I’ll stay here,” she said. “I might suffer by comparison.”
“Never happen.”
I walked over and started to wonder how I’d fare by comparison, but decided to forget it.
Andrea Legend saw me coming and said something to the man that made him look too.
“Hello, Miss Legend.”
She smiled and said, “I thought we decided to use first names . . . Miles?”
“Andrea,” I said. “I didn’t know you’d be here, or I would have said something earlier about coming together.”
“As you can see,” she said, indicating the man next to her, “I made do—as I see you have. She’s lovely.”
“Thank you.”
“This is Bill Allegretto. Bill is another of my—our—clients.”
I shook hands with Bill, but as I tried to release it he held on. He wasn’t trying to match grips, he just wasn’t ready to let go, yet.
“Andy tells me you’re a private detective.”
“Yes . . . and you?”
“Oh, I’m a comedian.”
He finally let go of my hand.
“Bill is very up-and-coming, and has great things ahead of him.”
“I’m really an actor, but I seem to have a flair for comedy.”
“Really?”
“It’s comedy with an edge,” Andrea hastened to add, “a sexy edge.”
“Really.” I was still working on his calling her “Andy.” I was trying to read their body language, but while they were sitting close, they weren’t touching.
“Think you can learn something by watching Stan?” I asked.
Bill laughed at that and gave Andrea a “where-did-you-get-this-guy” look.
“Well,” I said, “maybe not.”
“Enjoy the show, Miles . . . and call me. I’d like to know what you think.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll call.”
Bill and I shook hands again and I waited until I was back at my table to wipe mine on my jeans.
“Who is he?” Linda asked, turning to look again. Somehow Andy and Bill were already being served drinks, and Bill raised his to Linda, who smiled back.
“Hey,” I said, “I’m over here.”
“Are they . . . together?” she asked.
“Why? You want to hit on him?”
She smiled an impossibly beautiful and wide smile, showing lots of pretty white teeth. I thought Linda Matella was probably the most beautiful woman I’d ever been within ten feet of. I wondered why I hadn’t tried to get her in bed, yet. Was I thinking that because I was jealous?
“Miles . . .” She packed a lot into my name.
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. His name is Bill Allegretto and he’s another of Andrea’s clients.”
“A comic?”
I nodded.
“Apparently, with an edge . . . a sexy edge.”
“I can believe it,” she said, but she had the good grace not to turn around for another look.
“Where’s the waitress?” I groused. “I want a beer.”
20
When I had a beer and Linda had a screwdriver, we started to catch up a bit as the place filled. I finally asked her how things were going with her job.
“I’ve had it, Miles. I’m handing in my papers and getting out.”
“Gee, Linda, I’m sorry to hear that. What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know yet. I’ve got some money saved, but in a few months I’m going to need a job pretty badly. I could go back to school, but I’m twenty-eight.”
“Way over the hill.”
“I know people have gone back even later, but I hated school. I was good at it, but I hated it. I thought I’d found what I wanted in police work. God, I loved the academy. It wasn’t like school at all. When they first assigned me to police headquarters I said okay, for a while, but now I know they’ll never let me out.”
“Do you have anything in mind?”
“Well,” she said, “I could be a P.I.—don’t worry, I’m not asking you for a job. I was been thinking about some kind of security work. You know, like for those private agencies that patrol neighborhoods?”
It wasn’t such an outrageous idea, considering I was going to be partnered with Walker.
I told her about that, because after all we were catching up.
“Oh, Miles, if you need a woman for anything—”
“I know, Linda. I’ve already thought of that.”
“Oh, God,” she said, covering her mouth with her hand, “I am asking for a job.”
“Why don’t we just see what happens? I can’t promise you anything, but something might come up for you. Meanwhile, keep your options open.”
I checked my watch and saw that Stan was ten minutes late getting on stage. I glanced around. The club seemed pretty full, with just a few empty seats in the back. Other people were looking at their watches also, like Andrea Legend. She was frowning, leaning over and saying something to Allegretto. As a couple they were drawing a lot of admiring glances. I looked and figured that she and Linda were the best-looking women in the place. Maybe I was keeping Linda from getting the attention she deserved.
“Where is he?” Linda asked. “Wasn’t he supposed to be on by now?”
“Yeah, he was.”
“Maybe he doe
sn’t remember any of his jokes.”
I looked at her.
“Well, from what you told me in the car . . .”
“I know, it’s a possibility.”
I looked at Andrea just as a man hurried over to her, leaned down, and said something in her ear with some urgency. From the look on her face it was shocking news. She surprised me then by getting up and walking toward us.
“Miles,” she said, ignoring Linda and grabbing my arm tightly, “I need your help.”
“What is it?”
“Can you come backstage?”
“Why?”
“Something’s wrong.”
I looked at Linda and said, “Come on.”
“Oh, I meant, just you . . .”
“This is Linda Matella, Andrea,” I said, “she’s a police officer.”
“Oh!” Andrea gave Linda a funny look. “Well, I guess you had better come too, then.”
Linda stood up and we followed Andrea backstage. I noticed that Bill Allegretto was staying right where he was.
When we got backstage, the man who had spoken to Andrea was waiting.
“Who is she?” he asked, pointing to Linda.
In response Linda took out her shield and ID card and hung it from the pocket of her blazer:
“Oh,” the man said.
“Who are you?” Linda asked, taking charge.
“Harry Joel . . . uh, I’m the manager.”
“What’s the problem?”
“Uh, in Stan’s dressing room.”
“Show us.”
Joel, Andrea, Linda, and I walked along a hall to Stan’s dressing room. The door was closed. When Linda opened it, we all saw Stan lying on the floor, on his back.
“Is he dead?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Joel said. “I sent one of my assistants back here to see that was taking him so long, and she found him. The poor kid’s in hysterics.”
“Miles . . .” Linda said.
She had never been faced with a body before.
“Let’s take a look at him,” I said to her, my stomach feeling hollow. This was the last thing I expected. Maybe he’d just fainted, or he was sick . . . something. As we stepped into the room, I hoped for something other than what it appeared to be.
I leaned over him and checked. His body was warm, but there was no pulse at all.
“Damn it.” I shook my head.
Linda turned and pointed at the manager:
“Do you have security?”
“Uh, yeah . . . I mean, I got bouncers—”
“Nobody in or out until the police arrive. Understand?”
“Uh, sure, but—?”
“Who else knows about this?”
“Just us, and Sherry—that’s the girl I sent back here.”
“Where is she?”
“In my office.”
“Make sure she doesn’t tell anyone what she found. I need a phone.”
“There’s a pay phone out here.”
“Miles,” she said, “I’ll call it in.”
“I’ll stay here,” I said, staring down at my dead client.
Shit, I hadn’t even gotten the chance to work on his case, I was so wrapped up in finding Ray Carbone . . . and now this.
Fuck!
21
I kept Harry Joel and Andrea Legend with me, even though she wanted to leave.
“What happened to him?”
I leaned over again and examined Stan Waldrop without touching him. There was blood underneath his head. I hadn’t seen it the first time because it only showed on the left side of his head, the side away from me. The floor must have slanted that way.
“It looks like he was hit on the head from behind.” I stood up and looked at Andrea. “When was the last time you saw him?”
“I haven’t seen him in over a week.”
“Not tonight?”
“No,” she said, “when I got here I went right to my table.”
“When did you talk to him last?”
“That was today.”
“When?”
“After I talked to you, I called him to see if he was all right for tonight. I also told him he should have called us before hiring you.”
“What did he say?”
“We agreed that we’d talk about that tonight, after his performance.”
I looked down at Stan. No more talking, no more jokes, no more worries—for him, anyway.
Linda returned and said to me, “They’re rolling from the Sixth.”
“We’ll all wait here.”
At that moment a man came rushing up to Joel and said, “Harry, they’re gonna tear the house down—” He stopped short when he saw Stan’s body. “Jesus.”
“Talk to him,” I said to Joel. “Make sure he doesn’t say anything to anyone.”
Joel pushed the man out of the doorway, then came back in himself.
“I’ve got to do something. People are starting to get restless, and a few want to leave already.”
“Don’t you have anyone else you can put on?”
“No, Stan was it.”
“Bill.”
I looked at Andrea.
“Bill Allegretto. He can go on.”
“Is he a comic?” Joel asked.
“Yes.”
“Can I?” Joel asked. He wasn’t sure whether he should talk to me or Linda, so he looked at us both.
Linda looked at me.
“I don’t see why not. Get him back here, though. Andrea, you tell him he has to go on because Stan’s sick.”
“Why not tell him the truth?”
“It might shake him up, and then he won’t be able to go on. As it stands now, we need him to keep everyone occupied until the police arrive.” I looked at Joel and said, “Get him.”
As Joel left I looked at Andrea and said, “Don’t tell him about this, okay?”
“All right,” she said, probably feeling a little stressed out. “I have to call my boss.”
“No, not until the cops are done.”
“You said she was a cop.”
“We need the detectives here to take charge,” I said. “Once they’re here, you can argue with them. For now just go along with us.”
“All right, all right.”
“Let’s go outside,” I suggested. “We should close this door.”
Out in the hall, Joel arrived with a puzzled looking Allegretto. Andrea talked to him for a few minutes and he nodded.
“The show must go on,” Linda said under her breath.
22
When the detectives from the Sixth Precinct arrived, they took over. Linda identified herself and I could see immediately what she had been going through in the department. The two detectives who responded were Mark Pell and Christopher Matthews. Pell seemed to be the lead man, and a little young to be a detective. Matthews was older, and he immediately began calling Linda “sweetheart” and looking her up and down.
She pushed through it, explaining both her presence and mine, although I was almost immediately evicted from the crime scene and exiled outside with the rest of the crowd.
The audience had been laughing at whatever Allegretto was doing onstage when the police arrived. While they were looking over the body and the scene, Allegretto finished onstage. That was when the people tried to leave and found out they couldn’t. They grumbled, but it was finally explained to them that a murder had occurred on the premises, the police were on the scene, and no one was going to be permitted to leave without being questioned.
I was the first questioned because I knew the victim. Actually, I was probably the first after Andrea Legend.
Thankfully, when Linda came out to find me it was with Detective Mark Pell.
Pell appeared to be in his twenties, though I doubted it. I figured he was just young-looking, and was more likely in his early thirties. He was a tall, slender man with large framed glasses and a face that hardly looked touched by a razor yet. I was willing to bet he knew a little bit about what Li
nda had gone through the last five years. Even though he had risen to the level of detective, he must have taken countless ribbings along the way for his appearance.
“Mr. Jacoby?”
“That’s right.”
“I have a few questions.”
“I’m all yours.”
He paused and looked at Linda.
“I’d like to speak to Mr. Jacoby alone, Officer?”
Linda looked at me, then said, “Oh, sure, Detective.”
Pell took me into the manager’s office, which had been “donated” by Harry Joel for the purpose of interviews. I sat in a chair and Pell perched a hip on the desk. The walls were covered with photos of comics who certainly hadn’t appeared here, since the place was fairly new. Maybe they were the Harry Joel private collection, and maybe the photos came with the frames.
“Officer Matella tells me you knew the victim.”
“Yes, he was a client.”
“May I see your ID, please?”
He was real polite, and I decided to try and get through this as painlessly as possible, holding little back and not cracking wise. I took out the photostat of my license and handed it to him. He looked at it briefly, nodded, and handed it back.
“The victim hired you?”
“Yes.”
“To do what?”
“He thought someone had gotten into his computer and stolen his jokes.”
“His jokes?”
“Yes.”
“He wrote them all down?”
“I guess so.”
“Did he know who did it?”
“No, that’s why he hired me.”
Oops. Did that qualify as a wisecrack?
“Look,” Pell said, “some of my questions may sound stupid. How about you just answer them without comment?”
“I’ll try.”
“He wrote all his jokes down on computer?”
“Yes.”
“Hard disk or floppy?”
“What?” He might as well have spoken Greek to me.
“Never mind. I’ll ask his agent. When was the last time you saw . . .”
The rest of the questions were standard. When and where had I last seen him? Talked to him? My impressions of him. Had he given me any names of people he suspected? Was he nervous? Blah, blah, blah . . .
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