I nodded.
"I'm gonna give you a list of names," I said. "Whenever you hear a name you know, tell me."
"What, are we playing some fucking parlor game."
"Elliot Silver," I said.
Jumbo stared at me.
"Carson Ratoff," I said.
"Whatever game you're playing, pal," Jumbo said, "I'm not fucking playing."
"Alex and Augie," I said.
Jumbo clamped his mouth shut.
"AABeau Film Partners," I said.
Jumbo opened the box of candy in his lap and ate a chocolate.
"Alice DeLauria," I said. "Your agent."
Jumbo ate another chocolate.
"Nicky Fellscroft," I said. "Your agent's father."
Jumbo seemed absorbed with his candy.
"Stephano DeLauria," I said. "Your agent's husband."
Jumbo ate some more candy.
"You know any of those people?" I said.
"No."
"Now, Jumbo," I said. "Don't be an idiot. One of them is your agent. You know Alice DeLauria?"
"Yeah, sure," Jumbo said. "But I don't know none of those other fuckers."
"You have any idea what any of them do?"
Jumbo's face attempted what might have been a sly look.
"Alice DeLauria is an agent," he said.
I said, "Now we're cooking, Jumbo. How about her father?"
Jumbo shook his head and chewed on a caramel.
"What's Z doing for you?" Jumbo said.
"Z?" I said.
"You said he's working for you," Jumbo said. "He been telling you shit?"
Jumbo had gone through the top layer of chocolates in the box. He took the crinkly little sheet of divider paper out and dropped it on the floor.
"We talk," I said.
Jumbo ate a candy.
"Well, he's fulla shit," Jumbo said.
"Lot of that going around," I said.
"Well, it ain't coming from me. I don't know nothing 'bout any of those people, except Alice."
I nodded.
"So how come Silver and Ratoff came to my office and spoke on your behalf."
"I don't know," Jumbo said. "What'd they say."
"They told me, sort of, to buzz off," I said.
"Maybe you should listen to them," Jumbo said.
He was unconsciously feeling the chocolates, apparently counting how many were left.
"That hole you mentioned that Ms. Fiore and I might end up in?" I said.
"Yeah?"
He ate a candy. Probably caramel, because it took some chewing.
"Who's going to dig it?" I said.
"You're digging your own hole," Jumbo said.
"And who will push us into it?" I said. "And why?"
Jumbo shook his head.
"You'll find out," he said.
Rita had been watching quietly. Now she spoke.
"Jumbo," Rita said. "The point is, he will. You don't know him as I do. He'll find out what happened to Dawn Lopata. He'll find out why everyone he listed is so interested in you. Everything. Remember, we were originally hired to help you."
"I don't need no help."
"Lemme tell you why you might," I said.
Jumbo rolled his eyes and popped another chocolate.
"I ain't got all day," he said.
"Nicky Fellscroft in L.A. has a great deal of ill-gotten cash that he needs to launder," I said. "So he takes the cash and invests it in AABeau Film Partners, which is run by Alex and Augie Beauregard, and retains Carson Ratoff as counsel, and Elliott Silver as a security consultant. AABeau invests the money in your pictures. They always make money. They are an ongoing franchise, and you can be reasonably expected to continue the franchise for a number of years."
Jumbo looked sort of pleased that I recognized his value.
"I do okay," he said.
"All of which makes you valuable, as long as the franchise keeps its nose clean. So somebody, probably Nicky Fellscroft, decides to give you a keeper, and his daughter becomes your agent."
"She's a good agent," Jumbo said.
He ate the last piece of candy and dropped the box on the floor.
"Sure she is," I said. "She's got style, she seems smart, she's got her daddy's clout behind her, and Nicky trusts her."
"You my agent," Jumbo said, "that's all the clout you need."
"How's my theory of the case sound to you so far?" I said.
"It sounds like bullshit," Jumbo said.
"I have a lot of facts, and I've only been at this a month or so. This case keeps cooking, and the cops will be all over AABeau and all their investors. How long you think it'll be before Alex and Augie and Nicky and friends decide to, ah, sever all ties."
"Whaddya mean?" Jumbo said.
"You think they want the cops questioning you and re-questioning you? You think it won't be a very appealing option to have someone simply make you go away?"
"Away?"
"You know what Alice DeLauria's husband does?" I said.
"No, what?"
"He's an enforcer for his father-in-law," I said.
"What are you telling me?"
"They'll kill you," I said.
"Nicky ain't gonna kill me," Jumbo said. "You're the one he'll kill. Both of you, and anybody else needs to be killed. He's not gonna kill me. Kill Jumbo Nelson? I make people laugh. I'm funny."
"You're not funny," I said. "You haven't said a funny thing since I met you. You must have a knack of saying funny things other people wrote, but you're not funny. They'll be able to find another fat man."
"I'm getting out of here," Jumbo said. "You try and stop me and I'll . . . I'll sue your ass."
He stood.
"I'm trying to help you," I said.
He was moving his vast self toward the door.
"What happened to Dawn Lopata?" I said.
"I'm outta here," he said.
"What happened to her, Jumbo? You don't tell me, I can't help you."
"You're as good as dead already," Jumbo said. "You can't help jack shit."
"What happened to her?" I said.
"I don't know," he said.
Jumbo's voice was shaky, and had gone up an octave.
"I don't fucking know!"
He reached the door. I let him go. When he was gone, I looked at Rita.
"Maybe he doesn't," I said.
35
SUSAN AND I WERE HAVING martinis in my living room, looking out over Marlborough Street at the blue evening.
"Your session with Jumbo doesn't sound very productive," Susan said.
"Hard to tell," I said. "I didn't learn much I didn't already know. But I might have scared him enough to make something else happen."
"You still haven't talked with Z about the death."
"No," I said. "Not yet."
We sat on the couch, with our feet up on the coffee table and our shoulders touching.
"But you will?" Susan said.
"Yes."
"When?"
"When it's time," I said.
"And how will you know when it's time?"
"I don't know," I said.
"Well," Susan said. "At least you have a plan."
"Jumbo said at the end that he didn't know what happened," I said.
"And you believe him?"
"Maybe," I said.
"Not a ringing endorsement," Susan said. "You're sure he was there?"
"Pretty sure," I said.
"So how would he not know?"
"Coulda passed out," I said.
"There was booze," Susan said.
"ME said she was drunk when she died."
Susan sipped her martini and wiggled her right foot a little.
"When you spoke a little while ago about maybe scaring Jumbo enough to make something else happen," she said. "Could you talk about that a little more?"
"He's involved with some very bad people," I said, "who have invested a lot of money in him. If they fear for their investment, they'll do someth
ing."
"Like what?" Susan said.
"I don't know," I said. "I'm hoping he'll worry about that enough to come to me, or Quirk, or Rita, and speak up."
"So far what the bad people have done is warn you off the case," Susan said.
"I know," I said.
Susan carefully fished one of the olives from her martini and took a bite of it. She chewed thoughtfully for a moment. She could make a martini olive last for several bites.
"Do you suppose," she said, "that if Jumbo reported to them that you were pressing him, they might intensify their warning to you?"
"They might," I said.
"But we're not scared of them, are we," Susan said.
"Only a little," I said.
We were quiet while she finished her olive.
"Do you wish I were a pediatrician?" I said. "Or a software specialist?"
"No," Susan said.
"No regrets about what I do?" I said.
"You do what you are," Susan said. "I love what you are."
"No fear?" I said.
She washed down the rest of her olive with a small sip of martini and put her head on my shoulder.
"Only a little," she said.
36
Z WAS ON THE COUCHwith his feet up, reading a newspaper. I was at my desk, looking at the list of people to talk with about Jumbo Nelson, when one of them walked in.
Alice DeLauria looked great. Black dress, three-inch heels, diamonds, and a perfect tan. She kept her sunglasses on. She saw Z and glanced at him without interest, put her small black purse on the edge of my desk, and sat in one of my guest chairs.
"You know my associate," I said. "Mr. Sixkill."
"I used to," Alice DeLauria said.
Z shrugged and went back to his newspaper.
"Coffee's made," I said. "Would you care for some?"
"This is not a social call," she said.
"I'll take that as no," I said.
"You recently lured my client to an office, where you bullied him and prevented him from leaving," Alice said.
"I did," I said.
"You admit it?"
"I do," I said.
If she'd had facial surgery, it was good facial surgery. It was a very good-looking face, except there was nothing about it that indicated feelings. That might well have been no fault of the surgeon, if she had one.
"Our attorney has spoken to you already about harassing Mr. Nelson," she said.
She took her sunglasses off and put them on the desktop beside her purse. Uncovered, her eyes were smaller than I'd expected, and about the color of blue slate.
"That would be Ratoff?" I said.
"It would."
"I thought he represented AABeau Film Partners," I said.
"We often consult with him," Alice said.
"Well, tell him I'm harassing as fast as I can," I said.
Alice looked at me silently for a bit.
Then she said, "Listen, hotshot. Jumbo tells me you know who my father is."
"Yes, I do," I said.
"And my husband."
"Him, too," I said.
"Why do you think I'm Jumbo's agent?" she said.
"Because you love laughter and good times?" I said.
"Because Jumbo Nelson belongs to us," she said.
"How so," I said.
"We have too much invested in him," Alice said, "for it to be otherwise."
"Nicely put," I said.
"I went to Barnard," she said.
"The value of a good education," I said.
"Yes," she said. "Well spoken, well dressed, poised, and articulate," she said. "I am also Nicky Fellscroft's daughter, and Stephano DeLauria's wife."
"Which means?" I said.
"Which means if I need to cut off your balls," she said, "I'm quite willing, and I have the means."
"Are you flirting with me?" I said.
"You need to take me seriously," Alice said.
"I know," I said. "It's one of my greatest failings."
"Not taking things seriously?" she said.
"Yeah," I said. "I'm ashamed, but there it is."
Alice nodded slowly.
"You think," she said, "that I'm some L.A. chick with pretty good legs. . . ."
"Very good," I said.
"Thank you, but here's how it's going to go," Alice said. "I warn you to get as far away from Jumbo Nelson as you can, and stay there. If you don't take the warning, some people will come around and hurt you. If you still don't get the message, some people will come around and kill you."
"Oh," I said. "You're not flirting with me."
She looked at me steadily. There was very little in her smallish eyes that seemed feminine--nor, for that matter, quite human.
"Will you give it up?" she said.
"No," I said.
Alice looked at Z.
"My advice to you, Injun Joe, is to stay out of this," she said.
Z didn't look up from his newspaper. Alice stood, picked up her purse, and put on her sunglasses.
"You'll be hearing from us, soon," she said, and walked out.
37
WE WERE QUIET, listening to the rain fall. The scent of her perfume lingered.
"Good-looking," Z said.
"Except for the eyes," I said.
"Eyes looked kind of hard and empty," Z said.
"They did," I said.
"Hard to imagine bopping her," Z said.
"Scary," I said.
"She look at me with those eyes," Z said, "might not be able to get it up, you know?"
"I bet I could do it," I said.
"Brave man," Z said.
"Intrepid," I said. "You in?"
"In," he said.
"Hard to plan something like this," I said. "Basically we go ahead and do what we do and assume if something comes up we can handle it."
"I stay by you," Z said.
"This isn't," I said, "something either of us can do drunk."
Z nodded.
I got up and went to the closet and unlocked it. I took a Colt Python revolver, in its holster, off the top shelf, and a box of .357 shells. I walked back and put the gun and the bullets on my desk.
"Same gun you've fired at the range," I said. "Six-inch barrel. Six rounds in the cylinder. As you may recall, it's not brain surgery. Aim for the middle of the mass. Squeeze the trigger."
Z frowned.
"Could you write that out for me?" he said.
"If I thought you could read," I said.
Z got up and put the gun on his belt.
"How come I don't get one of those fancy semiautos like they all have in the movies?" he said.
"Revolver's simpler," I said. "Fewer moving parts."
"What you got?" Z said.
"Thirty-eight," I said. "Two-inch barrel."
"How come you don't get something bigger."
"I got something bigger, but the .38 is lighter to carry, and up close it works fine," I said. "Generally I don't need to pick people off as they ride along the ridgeline."
Z nodded.
"The .357 is kinda heavy," he said.
"Especially when it's loaded," I said.
"Wouldn't want to wear it empty," Z said.
"Good thinking," I said.
"You think she's serious?" Z said.
"Yes."
"You think some people gonna try and pound on you?"
"Yes."
"So there might be some fighting," Z said.
"Might," I said.
Z nodded.
"Good," he said.
38
"WHY DON'T THEYjust shoot you?" Susan said. "Soon as you became an annoyance?"
She was preparing Pearl's supper, which was mercifully the extent of her cooking, except on rare and vaporish occasions when she decided to make us a meal.
"Not sure," I said.
Susan spooned some boiled hamburger with broth over the Kibbles 'n Bits in Pearl's bowl. Pearl sat perfectly still, and watched her intently.
&
nbsp; "How much do they know about you?" Susan said.
"I don't know."
"If they knew about you, they'd know that a lot of people would expend a lot of effort to find who did it."
"Including you?"
"Led by me," Susan said.
She put Pearl's food down on the floor and patted Pearl on the shoulder as Pearl began to eat.
"Certainly," she said, "Quirk and Belson would give it special attention. Healy, the FBI person."
"Epstein," I said.
"And when Hawk came back from central Asia, he'd put together his own posse, don't you think?"
"Might," I said.
"He'd get Vinnie Morris, the Mexican man from Los Angeles."
"Chollo," I said.
"Who might bring Bobby Horse."
"Probably would," I said.
"I'm sure Tedy Sapp would come up. And maybe even that black gangster, you know, the one with the huge bodyguard," Susan said.
"Tony Marcus." I said. "The huge bodyguard is Junior, the jittery little doped-out shooter is Ty-Bop. How come you can't remember people like Tony Marcus, and you remember Bobby Horse like he grew up with you."
"I don't know," Susan said.
Pearl had cleaned up her supper, and was sitting again, staring at Susan.
"How can you not know?" I said. "You have a Ph.D. from Harvard?"
"Well, I did read somewhere that by adulthood, we are so full of accumulated data that our brain has trouble sorting it."
"Oh," I said.
Susan reached into a polished chrome canister on her kitchen counter and came out with an odd-looking item, which she handed to Pearl. Pearl ate it.
"What was that?" I said.
"Duck and sweet potato," she said.
"Part of our supper?" I said.
"No," Susan said. "Our supper is being prepared as we speak by the lovely folks at Upper Crust Pizza. It will arrive at seven."
"Large?"
"Yes."
"Not broccoli or brussels sprouts on it."
"No, I've put health aside this one time," Susan said. "What do you think of my theory about why they haven't shot you?"
"They may know a lot. They may not," I said. "But what they do know is that the murder of someone connected to the Jumbo Nelson case would fully engage the local cops."
"So they'll kill you only if it is less dangerous than letting you live," Susan said.
"Probably," I said. "But their success is not a foregone conclusion, you know."
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