'Save it for the jury, H.T. Look, we're wasting a lot of time. You've got a waiting room full of clients, and from the looks of them, most are lucky to be out on bond. Let's conclude discovery, ask for an early trial date, and finish this.'
'— A string of malicious canards impugning my client's cuisine, damaging his reputation, assaulting his honor. The jackals of the Journal shall pay the ultimate price; their ledgers will flow with red ink in this, the Mother of all Lawsuits. And may I enlighten you as to how Shakespeare described the importance of a man's reputation in Richard II? '
I'd already heard it, something about the purest treasure mortal times afford. By now I figured Patterson was getting paid by the word or maybe the syllable. He would go on for a while, making the stenographer earn her keep. I checked my watch. Three-thirty. Barely time to beat rush hour on the drive to Hialeah.
'A man loses everything in his war-ravaged country…'
Odd, since Wong was a Viet Cong sympathizer.
'Then in our land of opportunity, he employs dozens of unfortunate souls from the Caribbean, South America, and the Orient…'
Not one green card in the bunch.
'Our city leaders dine at his famous establishment…'
Freebies for the commissioners, no kitchen inspections for Wong.
'Until that savage reporter unleashed his venom…'
Actually he was drunk and the copy editor asleep.
Max Blinderman looked me up and down and didn't like anything high or low. 'She ain't here,' he announced, leaning on the counter in the Compu-Mate office.
I gawked over his shoulder, which isn't hard to do when you're nearly a foot taller. True enough, Bobbie was nowhere to be seen. Max wore a black T-shirt with a pack of cigarettes rolled up in the sleeve. I hadn't seen anything like it in years.
'Actually, I came to see you,' I said, and waited for my nose to grow.
He looked at me skeptically. On his forearm, the tattooed snake seemed to hiss. Looking down, I noticed a bald spot expertly camouflaged by some vigorous back-to-front combing and a healthy dose of hairspray.
'I wanted to apologize for that story in the Journal,' I continued, making it up as I went along. 'Bobbie threatened a lawsuit because of what it would do to your business. I just wanted you to know that I had nothing-'
'Fergit it. Hey, business never been better. Babes are calling in, wanting to join, talk to the murderer. Some kind of turn-on, can you believe it? And guys, too, one wants the handle 'Sexy Strangler,' I won't give it to him.' He paused a moment to pat himself on the back. 'This is a classy operation.'
I nodded in agreement, and my nose was still normal except for a curve where an elbow once came through my face mask. 'It's a strange world out there, eh, Max?'
'Yow.'
'One more thing. When Bobbie responded to the subpoena, she gave me a printout of the calls to both women on the nights they were killed.'
'Yow.'
'Could the list be wrong?'
'Whaddaya mean?'
'Is it possible for someone's name to be listed by mistake? Can the computer be wrong?'
He loosened up a bit, probably figuring I'd have served him with a warrant by now if that was my mission. 'Don't see how. The computer records the handle automatically when the customer gets online. No human error possible.'
'What about an impostor? My handle's Stick Shift, but what's to keep me from logging in as Passion Prince?'
'Won't work. Customer's handle can only be used when matched with his password. And that's something known only to the customer.'
'Not quite,' I said.
'How's that?'
'You know all the passwords, don't you, Max?'
A smile flashed like a blade beneath his mustache. 'Yow. What of it?'
CHAPTER 19
'But I can't go to England.'
Charlie Riggs continued packing his battered leather suitcase.
'I've got a partners' meeting next week. If I miss another one…'
Charlie neatly folded a heavy mackinaw and placed it in the case. Next came a woolen scarf and a pair of gloves.
'I've got a libel trial with H. T. Patterson. If I can prove that Chong Gong Wong pisses in his soup…'
With his hand Charlie dusted off an old fedora that Harry Truman would have loved. He placed it lovingly on top of the clothes and gently closed the case.
'To say nothing of the Diamond murder investigation. I'm stuck with a suspicious state attorney and a horny professor, and I don't think either one is Jack the Ripper. Plus the reporters are driving me crazy. Rick Gomez was hiding in a mango tree this morning when I went outside to water the crabgrass.'
'Precisely why you should accompany me to London. While I'm lecturing, you can follow up on the Ripper connection. Tour the East End if you wish. Call New Scotland Yard. Anything.'
'I don't know, Charlie. I think the Mr. Lusk stuff is a curveball.'
Charlie was stuffing his favorite pipe with cherry-blend tobacco. He would have to go eight hours without a puff and was going to miss it. 'I'm sure Nick Fox would approve your travel expenses as part of the investigation.'
'No doubt. He probably wants me out of town.'
'It could be useful, getting away, thinking about the case. Tempus omnia revelat. Time reveals all things.'
'It doesn't feel right, leaving just now.'
Charlie shrugged. 'It's up to you. And maybe just as well. You didn't seem to get along that well with Pamela Maxson.'
'What's she-'
'As the hostess for the lecture tour, she'll be around quite a bit. I can understand your reluctance to go if the two of you don't-'
'What time's our flight?'
The Miami airport in July. An air-conditioned icebox stocked with frozen tourists. Shorts and thongs and legs broiled lobster red. Europeans on charters to art-deco South Beach. South Americans booking off-season rooms and escaping winter back home. Miamians heading for Asheville, Bar Harbor, and Aspen.
Intentional tourists. Tourists from the islands hauling boxed Sonys and Panasonics, tourists from the Midwest loaded with tax-free liquor from the islands. Tired children screaming, caged dogs yowling, monotone messages in three languages on the PA.
And the businessmen. Another day, another city. Gray suits, blue shirts, rep ties, a thousand weary faces. Briefcases stuffed with forms, Dictaphones, and calculators. Guys from sales or marketing peddling software or mainframes or this season's widget, sitting at the gate, figuring last week's commissions, fudging the expense accounts, making lists, taking inventory.
