“I wouldn’t know, sir. Shall I take you to your observation post?”
“Yeah,” Lo growled. “Do that.” Then, to me, “You know which one of these turds is Lapasa?”
I shook my head.
“Let’s go,” Lo said.
We left the reception area and turned right.
“Observation post?” Ryan whispered from one side of his mouth.
“Sshh,” I warned.
“The chick thinks she’s Moneypenny.”
Tina led us to a glass-sided room with a long, gleaming table and twelve swivel chairs. As we settled in she picked up a remote and hit several buttons.
An image sparked on a large flat-screen monitor wall-mounted at one end of the room. Voices piped from its speakers, clear and static free.
Handing Lo the remote, Tina withdrew.
“This puppy definitely beats your setup,” Ryan said.
“We don’t get to charge three fifty an hour,” Lo replied.
“Good point.”
Ignoring the banter, I watched Navy Suit ease Face Mask into a chair. The man moved gingerly, as though ill or fearful of injury. Once seated he kept his eyes on his hands.
The table on the screen was round and smaller than ours. Seated at it was a man with a bow tie and tortoiseshell glasses. In front of him lay a yellow legal pad and a silver Cross pen.
I assumed this was Nickie’s attorney, Simon Schoon. Behind the lenses Schoon’s eyes looked dark and sharp.
Navy Suit took the chair beside his companion.
I studied the two men from California. Which was Al Lapasa?
Schoon spoke first.
“My client appreciates your willingness to appear in person.”
“My client has his reasons for agreeing to do so.” Navy Suit.
Yes! The tall guy was a lawyer.
I focused on Lapasa, the man in the mask.
“And you would be?” Schoon asked.
“Jordan Epstein.” Epstein slid a card across the table. “I represent Mr. Lapasa.”
Schoon glanced at but did not touch Epstein’s card.
“Before proceeding, we’d like the courtesy of knowing who
“My client prefers to remain anonymous,” Schoon said.
“I’m afraid we must insist.”
“I’m afraid I must decline.”
Epstein pushed back his chair. “Then this interview is over.”
Throughout the exchange, Lapasa had not raised his head. He did so now.
“It’s Nickie Lapasa, isn’t it?” Muffled by the pharmacy mask.
Schoon’s face betrayed nothing.
Lapasa raised his voice and spoke to the room. “You out there, Nickie? You getting this?”
Epstein laid a hand on his client’s arm. Lapasa shook it off.
“I got people know the Internet as well as yours do, Nickie. You find me, I find you.” The words were overly precise and paced, like those of a drunk trying hard to sound sober.
“Mr. Lapasa, I advise you to remain silent.”
Lapasa ignored his lawyer.
“You looking for your brother, Nickie? Might be I could help you out with that. First you tell this douche bag to quit dicking us around.”
“Very well.” Schoon licked his lips. “Let’s work with the assumption Nickie Lapasa is seeking information on the death of his brother.”
“What makes you think he’s dead?”
“Let me rephrase. Do you know anything about the whereabouts of Xander Lapasa?”
Epstein swiveled to face his client. “Don’t answer that.”
