CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Mickey Shanahan was sitting in Mason's desk chair, his feet propped on Mason's desk, drinking from a bottle of fresh orange juice, when Mason arrived just before ten o'clock.
'Is that my orange juice?'
'Sorry, Lou.' Mickey wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 'This woman dropped it off a while ago. Said she was your aunt. Said you should call her so she could chew your ass. Whatever you did, she's, like, totally pissed, man. What's goin' on?'
'First, that is my orange juice. Second, my aunt is probably upset that I got trapped in a burning barbershop with a dead body. Third, when did you move into my office?'
'Sorry again, boss,' Mickey said, this time taking his feet off of Mason's desk. 'I give on the OJ. But you've got to tell me about the barbershop and the body. That is too much! And you're the one who hired me to check out Ed Fiora. That was yesterday. You left me here without the key. I didn't want to leave the place unlocked and I didn't know when you were coming back, so I stayed.'
'All night?'
'That sofa's not bad. And the orange juice is pretty good.'
Mickey was wearing the same faded jeans, denim shirt and black crew-neck sweater he'd worn the day before. He had scruffy stubble on his chin, and his unwashed hair looked like it had been finger combed.
'Mickey, where do you live?'
He brushed his sweater, freshening his dignity. 'I've got a place not far from here.'
'What about clients? I haven't seen a single client in or out of your office in six months. What's up with that?'
'It's been a little slow. I'm expecting things to pick up. This case will give me a big boost.'
Mason got a quick picture of a kid barely off the street who thought he had scammed Blues on the office lease and had probably been living at the bar ever since. Mason doubted that Mickey had fooled Blues from the moment he'd said hello. Mason reached into his wallet and took out a twenty.
'I haven't had breakfast. Would you mind picking something up for me? Get yourself something too if you want.'
'Hey, no problem, boss. I'll probably stop at home and get cleaned up if that's okay.'
'You bet. Did you find anything out about Fiora?'
'A lot of smoke, not much fire. It's all here in a report I did for you.'
'Give me the highlights.'
'I've covered the public-record stuff, property ownership, lawsuits, stuff like that. The gaming commission files could be the real bonanza.'
'Why?'
'I found two things in those records that are the keys to the information universe. Fiora's social security number and bank accounts. It will take some time, but I'll eventually be able to follow the money.'
'Is that legal?'
'Hey, you're the lawyer. Do you really want to know?'
'No, I really don't. What's the bottom line?'
'Fiora is a big football fan. Just like the mayor. I did some checking on him too.'
Mickey handed him a typed report with printouts attached. Mason thumbed through it, impressed by the level of detail and organization. He reached into his wallet again and handed Mickey two fifties.
'We haven't talked salary yet. This will cover yesterday until we have time to work out the details.'
Mickey folded the fifties and stuck them in his pocket with a nonchalance that clashed with the hunger in his eyes.
'Works for me. I'll have to see where I'm at with my other clients before I can commit to anything full- time.'
'Sure. I understand. Check your schedule and let me know. I'm probably going to need somebody at least until Blues's case is over. If you're not available, I'll have to run an ad. That's always a pain in the ass.'
Mickey pursed his lips and nodded, realizing that they were playing each other. 'So what's the story on the barbershop and the body?'
'Buy yourself a newspaper and read all about it. Come to work for me full-time and we'll talk.'
Mickey smiled. 'Catch you later, boss.'
Mason, certain that he would, settled into his desk chair, checked out the traffic on Broadway, and read Mickey's report.
The relationship between Fiora and the mayor was more complicated than a backwoods family tree and was filled with enough smoke that there had to be a fire somewhere. The Dream Casino bought a wide array of goods and services to make dreams come true for its customers, including food, laundry, carpets, paint, security equipment, slot machines, lighting, liquor, and beer.
The Dream had an exclusive contract with a local beer distributor owned by Donovan Jenkins, a former wide receiver for the Kansas City Chiefs who had been Billy Sunshine's favorite target. Jenkins had been a steady supporter of his old quarterback, making modest campaign contributions. A month after Jenkins inked the exclusive deal with Fiora, Mayor Sunshine refinanced the $250,000 mortgage on his house. The mayor's new lender was Donovan Jenkins. Mickey speculated at the end of his report that the mayor wasn't making house payments like regular folks.
Mason picked up his phone and dialed Rachel Firestone's number at the Star.
'What do you know about the mortgage on Mayor Sunshine's house?' he asked her.
'Good morning to you too. Nice of you to call, and you're welcome for last night.'
'I'm sure it was as good for you as it was for me.'
'As good as it gets. How did you find out about the mortgage?'
'You aren't my only source,' he told her. 'What do you know about the relationship between Fiora, Donovan Jenkins, and the mayor?'
'Fiora made Jenkins his exclusive beer supplier. Jenkins loaned the mayor a quarter of a million bucks. It's dirty, it sucks, but it's legal. I've talked to the U.S. attorney about it. Jenkins's loan is a matter of public record. Amy White, the mayor's chief of staff, showed me canceled checks for the monthly house payment Mayor Sunshine makes to Jenkins. The interest rate is a market rate. End of story, but I've got something you might be interested in on that tunnel you found in the basement of the barbershop.'
'Are you going to make me sit up and beg?'
'Not over the phone. I can't tell if you're really sitting up. I checked the paper's archives. During Prohibition, Pendergast owned a speakeasy that was on the other side of the alley from the barbershop. He built the tunnel so his boys could escape in case the feds raided the joint.'
'Who owns the building?' Mason asked.
'Donovan Jenkins. He bought it from Jack Cullan a year ago.'
'That's handy. Who does Jenkins lease the space to?'
'An art gallery. They had a big opening last month. It was vacant a long time before that. Care to guess who the last tenant was before the art gallery?'
'And rob you of the pleasure of telling me? Never.'
'You are so thoughtful. Would you believe it was the Committee to Reelect Billy Sunshine?'
'Get out!'
'Get in and get in deep.'
'Man, is there anybody in this whole mess who isn't in bed with one another?'
'Just you and me, babe. Just you and me.'
'Don't you hate being left out?'
'No. Deal with it.'
He laughed. 'That should be my biggest problem. Thanks again for last night.'
'It was nothing. Keep in touch,' she added before hanging up.
