“Assuming you didn’t attack me because you were jealous of how good I looked in my cut-off Eddie Bauer sweatshirt this morning,” I told him, “I’m going to guess that someone hired you. Who?”
He didn’t say anything, so I increased the pressure on his arm a little. He groaned a bit but remained silent.
My problem here was that he might be lousy at tailing and fighting, but perhaps good at keeping his mouth shut, at least under minor pain. And I wasn’t willing to jack up the pain-o-meter just to get a name out of him, especially a name I was pretty sure I already knew. Plus, you had to feel sorry for someone who was as career-challenged as this poor slob. So I decided to work the stupid angle again.
“Your lucky day, my friend,” I said. “I know it was Manny.”
“Huh? I didn’t say nothin’ about Manny,” he said.
Some days it’s too easy.
“Okay,” I said, “here’s how we’re going to work it. I’m going to let go of you, and then we’ll both ride down to the first floor and leave like the perfect strangers we are. That work for you?”
He didn’t reply, which I assumed meant he agreed with my plan. But when I let go of his arm, he immediately turned and tried to hit me. Again. I decided it was time to once and for always show him the error of his ways, so after blocking yet another of his free-form punches, I put two fast rights into his stomach. He went “Oof!” and sank to the floor and stayed there, his arms wrapped around his midsection. I released the Hold button, and we continued on our way to the building’s third level. When the elevator’s doors opened, I stepped out. Before heading for the stairs to go back down to the lobby, though, I held the doors open for a minute.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I won’t tell Mom.”
Chapter 31
Since I was only a few blocks away, when I left Gennaro Plaza, I walked over to Starbucks and had a latte and an orange scone, justifying the scone by telling myself that I needed to replenish the carbs I’d expended in my recent elevator encounter.
So Manny Posten had sicced Bozo on me. Why? And why now? Was Manny somehow involved in Terry Pendleton’s death? Or was my investigation getting too close to whatever business it was that Manny wanted to keep private? I wasn’t coming up with any answers, so I decided to have another scone, this time a cinnamon one. Variety. Spice of life. Plus, of course, the carbs thing.
When Irv brought the scone, he said, “Anything exciting going on, JB?”
“Guy tried to roust me in the elevator at Gennaro’s a little while ago.”
“No shit?” he said. “All’s I ever get in the way of excitement around here is some guy bitchin’ at me about not enough steamed milk in his café au lait. You private eye types lead the life, don’t you?”
“Oh, yeah,” I agreed. “Definitely the life.”
He had to leave then to attend to an elderly couple who’d just come in, and as he walked away, I used my cell phone to call Denny. Of course, he wasn’t in his office, so I left a message on his machine telling him that if he’d buy me lunch, I’d give him the evidence he needed to finally crack the Capone case. Five minutes later, my phone rang.
“The Capone case? That was weak, man, very weak.”
“Cut me some slack here, Denny. I was attacked earlier this morning, and I’m still recuperating, you know?”
“You get smacked upside your brain?” he asked.
“Un-uh,” I said.
“Still weak.” Then, after a pause, “Manny?”
“Indirectly. He sent one of his thugs, didn’t get the name.”
“Can’t do lunch,” he said. “Gotta be in court in a little while. Where are you?”
“The Starbucks near my place.”
“I’m in the area. Order me a double espresso. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
Ten minutes later, after I’d introduced Irv and Denny, Irv went back behind the counter, and Denny leaned back in his chair, being careful not to muss the crease in his fawn-colored linen slacks, which went well with the white shirt and yellow tie he was wearing. He’d left his sports coat in the police department Taurus outside, but the jacket would, of course, go beautifully with the rest of the outfit. I studied him for a minute.
“Did you know,” I said, “that there are any number of reputable clothing establishments in this city where one can purchase a decent-looking ensemble for something less than the startup cost of a small business?”
Dennis grinned and said, “Women like a well-dressed man.”
“Personally,” I said, “I prefer to rely on my natural charm.”
“That’s why you’re so knowledgeable about those Saturday night TV shows.”
“Hey,” I said, “it so happens that I have a date this Saturday.”
He nodded and said, “Laura?”
Have to admit that he got me there.
“How do you know about Laura Fleming?”
“Played racquetball with Simon last night. He told me Angie set you up.”
“I assume you are referring to the fact that Ms. Ventura introduced me to one of her colleagues.”
“’Zactly,” said Dennis. “A setup. I was afraid it was another Cecelia Johnson situation, but Simon assured me that wasn’t the case.”
“Definitely,” I said, “not a Cecelia Johnson situation.”
“You still seeing that lawyer babe you told me about, too?” he asked.
“As a matter of fact,” I said, “the lawyer babe invited me over last night for, as she put it, dessert.”
“After your dinner with Laura?”
“How’d you . . . oh . . . Laura told Angie, Angie told Simon, you saw Simon last night. Right.”
“’Zactly. So, a two-fer, huh?”
“Nope,” I said. “Dating two women at the same time may be all in a
