Bobbie gathered the design materials into a folder, reserving the choices we made, and headed into the office area to paint the wall samples. “We’ll have to wait until these dry to be sure, but I like them already,” he told me.
“I agree.”
After a trip to the men’s room to wash up, he settled in my visitor chair with a notebook. “I met with the restaurateur, Jimmy Malone, at a coffee shop yesterday. He’s a piece of work, Angie. Thinks he’s Irish Mafia or something. Very abrasive and hard-nosed. I channeled my inner Angie to keep from walking out on him.”
“Inner Angie?”
“You know, professional, good listener, not easy to rile. He referred to the barista as a fag. I bit my lip and added ten percent to the potential bill.”
With a snicker, I said, “Works for me. So, what did he have to say?”
“We went over receipts, which are definitely down, and work schedules for all the staff. He doesn’t want cameras at this stage.” Bobbie leaned forward a little. “I think there may be some funny stuff happening at the place, and he doesn’t want it recorded.”
“Funny, how?”
“No idea yet. It’s a gut feeling.”
Like Wukowski, I thought, but quickly shoved it to the back of my mind. “What are the odds you can figure this out? Shall we accept the client?”
“I think so, and not because it would be the first case on my own.” He removed a check and handed it to me. “Retainer,” he said. “I can return it if you disagree.”
Glancing down, I felt my eyes widen. “Nice,” I said.
He smirked. “Told you I’d make him pay. So here’s my plan.” He detailed ideas to identify a pattern to the losses and the possibility of Susan reviewing the books. “If none of that pans out, it’s either camera surveillance or I go undercover on the staff, which will be pretty expensive for Mr. Jimmy damn-fag Malone, I assure you. Am I missing anything?”
“I’d run background checks on his workers. Depending on how many he employs, it shouldn’t be too costly. Look for anyone with a criminal background, someone living in an upscale neighborhood that a restaurant salary wouldn’t support, that sort of thing. And don’t forget to do the same for Malone. It wouldn’t be the first time an owner robbed the till and tried to claim insurance.”
Bobbie made notes as I spoke. “I’ll find out who his agent is. Won’t hurt to contact them regarding recent claims.”
“Good work, Bobbie,” I said. “Print out the client forms and email them to Mr. Malone, if you think it’s secure. He can fill them out and bring them when he meets you. I always insist on a real signature. Electronic ones are too easy to deny.”
Bobbie rose and headed for the conference room. “I’m meeting Steve for lunch. Want to join us?”
The idea of being with a happy couple gave me a slight bellyache. “I’ll pass, but thanks. And thank Steve for his help.”
“Will do.”
After Bobbie left, I checked the time on my watch and then verified it on my phone. Twelve-twenty. Had Papa and Bart reached a consensus regarding Bertha? I wanted to call her home and tell her to get out of town, but I’d made a deal with Bart and I had to honor it. How long would it be before I heard from them? I decided to go back to the condo for lunch, now that the reporters weren’t camping out in my driveway.
At home, I brewed a cup of tea and assembled a small plate of cheese and sausage on crackers, with a savory artisanal mustard. A side of Glorioso’s Giardiniera filled out the plate. I sat at the table and pulled out my tablet to check personal email.
The landline rang mid-chew. I jumped up to answer it and saw Papa’s number on the caller ID. “’Lo,” I mumbled through the crackers in my mouth.
“Angie, this is Papa. You sound rushed. Should I call back?”
“No, don’t hang up. I just need a swallow of water.” I took a couple of gulps and picked up the handset again. “Sorry, Papa, you caught me eating lunch, but I didn’t want to miss the call.”
“Ah. I’m sure you’ve been a bit anxious.”
Too right, I thought. “You might say that. Have you and Bart reached an agreement?”
“We have. Perhaps you would join us at his office.”
“I’m on my way.” I took a moment to dump my tea into a go-mug, then hustled out, leaving the messy table for later.
Chapter 35
No evil is without its compensation. — Seneca the Younger
Mighty Mary grabbed my coat and waved me upstairs, where Papa and Bart waited for me in Bart’s office. “Lock the outer door, please,” Bart called as I entered what was once Bertha’s realm. A tingle of foreboding ran up my spine at Bart’s words.
Papa rose to plant a kiss on my cheek. At least this isn’t all business, I thought, remembering my meeting with Don Pasquale in the family kitchen. Bart rose slightly from his big chair and nodded. I sat next to Papa in one of the visitor chairs and waited.
“Angelina,” Papa said, “Bart and I have done a great deal of what you might call leg work since yesterday.” He looked at Bart, who nodded to him to proceed. “I contacted the Chicago consigliere after you left, to protest the danger that you were in and to ask for his help with his east coast counterpart to determine who notified them of Severson’s whereabouts. Marco assured me that he would take the matter up with the acting boss. When Bart called me last night to inform me of Mrs. Conti’s deceit, I notified Marco.” Papa nodded to Bart.
“Louie Tomatoes, that is, Louis Marino, was in negotiation with Joe Merlino in Philadelphia this morning. There was an acknowledgement of wrong-doing
