“We’d like our check now,” Randy said. I would have jabbed him in the ribs, but it would have hurt me more than him.
“That’s good,” Leopold said. “That’s real good.” He had a dark eyes and a certain Mediterranean intensity about him. But his words came out in a level midwestern accent. The shotgun was tucked under his right arm.
The bigger man sat down on a weight bench. He had the same eyes, the same black hair. This had to be Leopold’s son. He was massaging his wrists. I must have hurt him when I tried that arm lock. Somehow, I didn’t feel too bad for him.
“There’s been a mistake,” I said. “I don’t know who you think we are, but-”
“I know exactly who you are,” Leopold said. He put the shotgun down on another weight bench, then rummaged through the big pockets in his overalls and came out with two wallets. “Let’s see,” he said, opening the first wallet. He held it away from his face and squinted. “Alex McKnight. Says here you’re a private investigator. Prudell-McKnight Investigations. It’s got a nice ring to it, but this business card is kind of second-rate, don’t you think? What’s this, two guns on here? They look like they’re shooting at each other.”
“I’ll tell my partner,” I said.
“Yeah, your partner,” he said. “Where is he, anyway? I assumed this man was your partner.” He looked at Randy as he opened up the other wallet. “But it turns out this is a Mr. Randall Wilkins. From Los Angeles. You came a long way, Mr. Wilkins.”
“I told you,” Randy said. “I just wanted to find your sister.”
“Yeah, about that,” Leopold said. “Tell me a little bit more about why you’d like to find my sister.”
Randy hesitated. “I met her in Detroit,” he said. “A long time ago. In 1971, when I was called up to the Tigers.”
“You were a ballplayer?” Leopold said. “For the Tigers?”
“Yes. I met her when she… When you were all living over on Leverette Street. You don’t remember seeing me with her? We ran into you one day on the street down by the waterfront.”
“In 1971? That’s a long time ago.”
“I just wanted to find her again,” Randy said. “I came back here to Michigan to do that. My friend Alex was helping me.”
“Your friend, the private investigator.”
“He’s a private investigator, yes,” Randy said. “But mostly, he’s just a good guy helping out an old teammate. We used to play ball together.”
Leopold looked at me. “You were a Detroit Tiger, too, I suppose?”
“No,” I said. “I never got called up.”
“That’s a shame,” he said. “Isn’t that a shame, Anthony?”
“A real shame,” Anthony said. These were the first words he had spoken.
“Anthony,” Randy said. “You’re Leopold’s son?”
“I am,” he said.
“And Delilah? Is she your sister, or is she-”
Leopold took a step toward us. His eyes darkened. “Do not speak her name again,” he said. “Isn’t it enough that you come here and terrorize her? That you grill her with questions about-”
“About her mother,” Randy said. “She’s Maria’s daughter, isn’t she.”
Leopold turned away from us. He went through a pile of weights and gloves and belts and finally pulled out a dumbbell. It was about eighteen inches long. As he held it up, the polished metal gleamed.
He stopped himself. He closed his eyes for a moment. And then he stood and came back to us-slowly-the bar hanging in his right hand.
“He sent you,” he said. “Didn’t he.”
“Who?” I said.
“You know who.”
“We don’t,” I said. “Randy is looking for Maria. Like he told you. He hasn’t seen her in thirty years.”
“It’s true,” Randy said. “I just wanted to-”
“Is that the best you can do?” Leopold said. “Baseball players from thirty years ago? Let me guess. You both wanted to say you played in the major leagues, but you figured that would sound too far-fetched. So you drew straws, right?” The bar began to sway in his hand. He was slowly twirling it like a baton.
“You’re making a mistake,” I said.
“Where is he?” Leopold said. “Where is he right now?”
“We don’t know who you’re talking about,” I said.
“In Los Angeles?” Leopold said. “Is that where he is right now? He sent you out here to find her. And you hired this guy to help you.”
“No,” Randy said. “It’s like we told you.”
“How long have you been watching our house?” Leopold said. “How long have you been sitting out there on the street watching us?”
“No,” I said. “We haven’t.”
“Leopold,” Randy said. “We’re telling you the truth.”
“First, it was a white Cadillac,” Leopold said. He twirled the bar a little faster. “A big white Cadillac sitting out there on the street. How stupid do you think we are, anyway? You think we’re not going to notice a big white Cadillac?”
“That wasn’t us,” I said. “We just found you today.”
“This thing weighs five pounds,” Leopold said. He dropped the bar into his other hand. “It’ll break right through the bone if I hit you with it. Whatever he’s paying you, you know it’s not worth having every bone in your body broken. You guys gotta realize that. I’ll do it if I have to. I don’t want to, but I’m a desperate man. We’ve been playing this game with Har-wood for too long. It’s time to make a stand.”
“For the love of God,” I said. “He didn’t send us. Whoever he is. Harwood, you said? Is that his name?”
He shook his head. “Don’t make me do this,” he said. “I am not a violent man.”
He raised the bar over his head. It looked like I would be first. I tensed my body, ready to move. But he was looking at my left arm. With the handcuffs, there was no way I could avoid it. I picked a spot on his leg, just below the knee. One more step and he’d be close enough for me to kick him there.
He dropped the bar. It hit the carpet with a soft thud.
“I got a better idea,” he said.
I shook my head. “You’re making a mistake.”
He went back and picked up the shotgun. “Who gets it first?”
Neither of us said a word. It was a classic breach-action shotgun, with the two big barrels. It was the kind of gun that makes you nervous just being in the same room with it.
“How about you?” he said, pointing the gun at Randy. “Where do you want it?”
“Don’t shoot him,” I said.
He pointed the gun at me instead. “I thought you were just the hired muscle here. How much is this guy paying you?”
“He’s not paying me anything,” I said. “He’s telling you the truth.”
“Have you ever seen what this kind of gun can do to a person?”
“Yes,” I said. “I was a police officer.”
“If I put this gun against your left knee and pulled the trigger, how much knee would you have left?”
I didn’t say anything. I kept looking at those two barrels. Very slowly, he lowered them to my knee.
“I think we could safely say that your left knee would be more or less completely eliminated. Don’t you agree?”
I closed my eyes. I waited for the blast.
“Leopold!”
The voice came from upstairs. I opened my eyes.
“Leopold! What are you doing down there?”
“My God,” he said. “Anthony, go see what your grandmother’s doing.”
Anthony sprang off the weight bench and started up the stairs. He got about halfway up, it sounded like, before he stopped. “Grandma, what are you doing?”
