Penelope winces. “Is that what you think happened?”
“Could be, but nobody knows,” Billy replies. “I’m sure the NTSB will look into it.” Then he taps a finger on the paperwork he brought in. “I don’t get this lawsuit, guys. Shouldn’t it wait until the NTSB finishes investigating?”
“Welcome into the pool with the legal sharks, pal,” I mutter.
“This isn’t exactly our area of expertise, Mr. Likens,” Penelope says.
“Billy, please.”
Penelope smiles. “Billy it is. Are you sure you want us to represent you in this matter? We could do a little research and recommend a firm with more experience in air accidents.”
Billy looks at me and shakes his head. “Mel trusted you. I trust you. I watched your dad’s trial and that business with the village where you saved Liberty Street from the wrecking ball. You folks are big time!” he concludes with a grin.
“Big time, my ass,” I say with a chuckle. He’s referring to the one and only criminal trial I’ve been involved in, and what was essentially a zoning battle with a village of several thousand people. Both had gotten a little press about a gazillion media cycles ago.
Penelope smiles at Billy. “Guess we’ve got a deal.”
Bless her. No questions about billing, no equivocation whatsoever, just “How can we help?” This is why our firm’s monthly billings generally cover the rent with just enough left over to keep the partners in mac and cheese.
Billy tells her about the Windy City invitation to drop by to discuss things, including a brief explanation of what he knows about the owners.
Penelope’s eyes cut to mine. She doesn’t seem to like the idea any more than I do. She cups her chin in her hand and taps the end of her index finger on the tip of her button nose while she ponders the situation, then says, “I don’t like the idea of you meeting with the Windy City people.”
“At least not by yourself,” I add.
Penelope dons a half smile and shoots Billy a sideways glance. “Uh-oh. That’s his ‘Scheming Valenti’ tone of voice.”
I feign an indignant expression. “Me? A schemer? Maybe I plan ahead a little now and then. That’s a crime?”
“Come on,” Penelope says with a soft chuckle. “Out with it, partner. What have you got in mind?”
“An observant fly on the wall in that meeting might learn quite a bit.”
Penelope’s eyes twinkle. “Would this fly on the wall happen to go by the name of Tony Valenti?”
I wink at Billy. “Behold the legal and feminine intuition of my partner, Billy, my boy. You’re in good hands.”
Penelope may be smiling as she chuckles and shakes her head, but her eyes are wary as she looks at me.
“What?” I ask.
“You make for a pretty big fly.”
She has a point. There aren’t many flies my size buzzing around town, not even in a city the size of Chicago.
“You’re pretty recognizable these days, too,” Penelope adds.
I shrug. Since the aforementioned murder trial and village squabble ended, I may as well be the Invisible Man. All that was months and months ago—ancient history in today’s media landscape. Besides, Billy’s would-be benefactors are Board of Trade creatures. “I doubt those people watch much news beyond the market reports.”
“But they may recognize you,” she cautions.
“I doubt they’ll shoot if they do.”
Billy’s eyes have been tracking between Penelope and me as we’ve batted our ideas back and forth. His expression lightens and his eyes settle on mine when understanding finally dawns. “You’re coming with us?”
Well, that hopeful expression settles things, doesn’t it? I can’t say no to that face, which is so similar to Mel’s. I reach over and squeeze his shoulder. “We can’t be sending an innocent little Christian boy like you off to the Board of Trade Colosseum to face those Chicago Loop lions all by yourself, can we?”
Billy grins. Penelope looks mildly skeptical. I belatedly wonder what the hell I’m getting us into.
Chapter Three
“I’m not sure about seeing these guys without lawyers,” Oliver Franklin says uncertainly.
“Don’t be a pussy,” scoffs Jonathan Walton, one of Franklin’s two partners in Franklin, Tyson, Walton Commodity Brokers, LLC. The trio also owns one hundred percent of Windy City Sky Tours. “We’re dealing with blue-collar troglodytes with grease under their nails, Franklin,” he adds. “That’s why all three of us are here. If this meeting is ever questioned, it’ll be our word against theirs.”
Partner number three, Caitlyn Tyson, laughs in delight. “That’s hardly even fair.”
They’re seated in the FTW corporate boardroom with Walton at the head of the conference table, as befits his status as their unofficial leader. Walton began life with a healthy leg up that he owed entirely to the family he was born into. His wealthy mother is a pillar of the Chicago philanthropic and fine-arts scenes, and his father is a prominent plastic surgeon whose services his handsome WASP son couldn’t conceivably need. Jonathan Walton has never quite had to grow up; he still wears ball caps backward away from work and talks more like a college frat boy than a professional trader.
Walton taps his copy of the lawsuit paperwork. “We’re not going to get stuck paying for this, Franklin. A lawsuit like this is exactly why Windy City is set up the way it is. We’re golden.”
Tyson, five foot nine of upper-crust sorority girl dabbling in the business world with a couple of decimal points worth of her family’s fortune, reaches over to cover Franklin’s hand with her own. “Jonathan’s right. No lawyers today. We can string these R & B dopes along with the BS that we’re all in this together, just business partners looking out for one another.” She grins wickedly and adds, “We’ll get our lawyers involved to screw over these bozos later. For now, let’s learn what we can about what happened out there. These two probably have some insights into what went wrong.”
“They sure as hell know more about it than we do,” Walton agrees. “We can
