used to tell myself I was too busy to attend to the relentless clamor and clatter of human interaction. To indulge the compulsive infantilism of the emotionally needy, the indignation of the disenfranchised, the crafty connivers and brainless bullies. Or even the sainted ones, the selfless and thoughtful. I only wanted to know the people I already knew. Those I loved. Loved so completely no surplus attention was available to divert to other purposes.
You can’t call it a philosophy because the word implies forethought, deliberation. It was just the way I was, which I didn’t understand entirely until it all tumbled and fell. Or, more accurately, disintegrated before my eyes.
“How those eggs going down?” I asked him.
“Like butter through a goose.”
“Good. Keep chewing so I can tell you what else I’m thinking.”
He took another mouthful and nodded.
“One of Jonathan’s clients was Ivor Fleming.” Sullivan’s eyes registered the name, but I kept talking. “For whatever reason, it looks like he’s only one of two clients unhappy with Jonathan’s investment advice. Unless you count his brother, though that’s a different kind of thing.”
“Fleming’s got a lot of juice, or so they say. Never had a twitch out of him since he moved into Sagaponack. You’d never know he was there. Not that guys like that are big on high profiles. I can find out easy enough from the boys up island. Who’s the other unhappy one?”
“Joyce Whithers.”
“Well, there’s a big surprise. Owns the Silver Spoon, which makes sense since she was born with one crammed up her ass. I heard she called 911 over a guy bucking his check. Has to replace all the waiters and bartenders every season. Nobody ll work for her. Pays cash for everything ’cause she’s stiffed every supplier from here to Brooklyn. I never understood why the ones who got it all can just stick it to somebody who’s actually working for a living. Shit like that really works me up.”
“Have another bite of eggs. Cholesterol has a calming effect.”
“Yeah? Never knew that. What about the brother?”
“I don’t know. I’ve only talked to Fleming.”
“And?”
I told him about my visit to Fleming’s house in Saga-ponack. The only thing I left out was the iced tea. Too damaging to my credibility.
“Shit, Sam, should we be liking this guy?”
“Maybe. I don’t put a lot of stock in reputations. Just because he’s got some dumb punks working for him. I knew a lot people like that in the Bronx. Liked to play the part, push people around. Makes it easier to get a table at the Knuckle Buster Bistro on Saturday night. The real ones you don’t know about unless you’re inside. But I wonder about him.”
“I’ll see what they say up island. Not a lot about him in the case files.”
“Yeah. I read that—air-tight alibi. Which is one reason I wonder about him. You wanted an angle on Mrs. Eldridge, but I think you’re better looking at Fleming. He seemed to think I was trying to peddle him something. I thought at the time he meant Jonathan’s business. But maybe there’s something else. You could apply a little heat, see what cooks.”
“I like that. Gives me something.”
“Just
“Huh?”
“That’s Spanish for watch your ass. Don’t underestimate him, or his meatballs.”
“Nobody’s stupid enough to mess with a cop.”
“Right. And keep your elbow up with that right. You’re just tiring yourself out without really hurting the other guy.”
Sullivan sopped up the rest of his grease-sodden eggs with the crust of a piece of toast and stuck it in his mouth. Then he made a gesture most people even outside of New York would understand.
“Yeah, and this is Irish for who gives a fuck.”
—
“I want to start over,” said Amanda, speaking through the screen door and looking down at Eddie, who was trying to push it open with his nose. I let her in and poured her a cup of coffee and one for myself while she scrunched around with Eddie’s ears. It was late morning and I was just back from helping Frank estimate a new job. She was wearing an oversized men’s dress shirt over a white bikini. I could smell freshly applied suntan lotion.
“Okay” I said, and led her out to the screened-in porch. The day was warming up quickly, but at least on the porch we’d have a fighting chance at a little breeze.
“I have a proposal,” she said, blowing across the top of her coffee mug. “Let’s say we just met. I’ve recently moved in next door. I used to work in a bank, but now I don’t have to, so I’m just hanging around trying to figure out what to do next.”
Eddie jumped up on the daybed where Amanda had settled with her coffee. He wanted her to do that thing again with his ears. I was at the beat-up pine table in the corner where I could keep an eye on her and the Little Peconic at the same time.
“That’s an Oak Point tradition.”
“Exactly. After getting settled in, I managed to strike up a conversation with my reclusive next-door neighbor. They say he’s a hard case, but he talks to me. So we get to hang out a little, keep each other company. Almost like we’ve know each other for a few years.”
“And you’re bribing his dog.”
“Not a difficult task.”
“Okay” I said. “So what do we talk about?”
“Whatever we want. As long as it isn’t emotionally challenging.”
“Like the pennant race,” I offered.
“Or the collapse of the stock market.”
“You’re asking a lot,” I said. “You know how much I love to dwell on painful recollections.”
“I know that. But there’s so much else we can talk about.”
“Like car bombings?”
“That’s entirely up to you,” she said.
She looked at me expectantly. I didn’t know if I really wanted to tell her anything, but I found myself telling her anyway. I always had trouble shutting up around Amanda. Maybe she knew that.
“I have been giving it some thought,” I said.
“Get out of here.”
“You might be curious yourself,” I said.
“I am. I want to know who blew up that man.”
“Jonathan Eldridge. Plus four customers, a waitress and a guy counting the till.”
Eddie had enough with the ear thing. He shook his head and jumped off the daybed. She gave him a little pat on the rump to send him off.
“Any theories?” she asked.
“None they’re sharing with me.”
“Not them. You. What are your theories? And don’t insult me by saying you don’t have any.”
“I think it’s one of his clients. The whole market’s taken a dive. Have to blame somebody. Why not your investment adviser? Especially a solo operator like Eldridge. Unobscured by a big organization. Makes it more personal.”
“But a car bomb? Seems like overkill. Literally.”
“When you kill to make a point, you want the point unambiguous. We’ve certainly learned that by now.”
Amanda thought about it for a minute.
“So it should be easy,” she said. “Just grill all his clients.”
“You working the case?”
“No. Are you?”
