Deal Breaker

“Hi, Timmy.”

“Hey, Myron, I’ve been waiting here two goddamn hours for your call.”

“I was out. What’s the problem?”

“I’m here in Toronto, okay, at the Hilton. And this hotel’s got no hot water.”

Myron waited. Then he said, “Did I hear you correctly, Timmy? Did you say-”

“Unfuckinbelievable, ain’t it?” Timmy shouted. “I go in the shower, right, wait five minutes, then ten minutes. The water’s fucking freezing, Myron. Ice cold. So finally I call down to the front desk, right? Some pissant manager tells me they’re having some kind of plumbing problem. Plumbing problem, Myron, like I’m staying in a fuckin’ trailer park or something. So I say, when’s it going to be fixed? He gives me this whole long spiel how he don’t know. Can you believe this shit?”

No, Myron thought. “Timmy, why exactly are you calling me?”

“Jesus Christ, Myron, I’m a pro, right? And I’m stuck in this hellhole with no hot water. I mean, isn’t there something in my contract about that?”

“A hot water clause, perhaps?” Myron tried.

“Or something. I mean, come on. Where do they get off? I need a shower before a game. A hot shower. Is that too much to expect? I mean, what am I going to do?”

Stick your head in the toilet and flush, Myron thought, massaging his temples with his fingertips. “I’ll see what I can do, Timmy.”

“Talk to the hotel manager, Myron. Make him understand the importance.”

“As far as I’m concerned,” Myron said, “those orphans in Eastern Europe are a minor annoyance in comparison to this. But if the hot water doesn’t come back on soon, check into another hotel. We’ll send the bill to the Red Sox.”

“Good idea. Thanks, Myron.”

Click.

Myron stared at the phone. Unbelievable. He leaned back and wondered how to handle his three big problems: Chaz Landreaux’s sudden departure, Kathy Culver’s possible re-emergence, and the Toronto Hilton’s plumbing. He decided to forgo the last. Only so much one man can do.

Problem 1: Chaz Landreaux was climbing into bed with Frank Ache. There was only one way out of that. Big brother Herman.

Myron picked up the phone and dialed. He still knew the number by heart. It was picked up on the first ring. “Clancy’s Tavern.”

“It’s Myron Bolitar. I’d like to see Herman.”

“Hold on.” Five minutes passed before the voice came back on. “Tomorrow. Two o’clock.”

Click. No need to wait for an answer. Whatever time Herman Ache agreed to see you, you were free.

Problem 2: Kathy Culver. Nips magazine had been mailed from a campus box. It had been mailed not only to Christian Steele but also to Dean Harrison Gordon. Why? Myron knew that Kathy had worked for the dean. Was there more to her job than just filing? An affair, perhaps? And what about the dean’s lovely wife? Did she wear underwear?

But Myron was digressing.

The catalyst of this whole thing was the ad in Nips. Gary Grady claimed he had nothing to do with it. Maybe. Maybe not. But either way the picture had to go through Fred Nickler. Good ol’ Freddy was at the center of this.

Myron looked up the number and dialed.

“HDP. May I help you?”

“I’d like to speak to Fred Nickler.”

“Whom shall I say is calling?”

“Myron Bolitar.”

“Please hold.”

A minute passed. Then Fred Nickler came on. “Hello?”

“Mr. Nickler, this is Myron Bolitar.”

“Yes, Myron. What can I do for you?”

“I’d like to come by and ask you a few more questions about the ad.”

“I’m afraid I’m quite busy right now, Myron. Why don’t you give me a call tomorrow? Maybe we can set something up.”

Silence.

“Myron? You there?”

“Do you know who took that picture, Mr. Nickler?”

“Of course not.”

“Your friend Jerry denies any knowledge of it.”

“Myron, please. You’re a man of the world. What did you expect him to say?”

“He says he had nothing to do with putting that picture in the ad.”

“Well, that’s quite impossible. He was the advertiser. He submitted the photograph.”

“Then you have a copy of the photo?”

Pause. “It has to be in the file somewhere.”

“Maybe you can pull it out, and I’ll come pick it up.”

“Listen, Myron, I hate to be rude, but I’m really busy right now. It will just be the same photograph you already saw.”

“Kathy’s picture was only in Nips,” Myron said.

“Pardon me?”

“Her picture. It wasn’t in any of your other magazines. Only Nips.”

Pause. “So?” But his voice was suddenly tottery.

“So the same ad was in all six magazines. The same exact page with the same exact pictures. Except for one small change in Nips. Someone had changed just one photograph in the bottom row. Someone had switched pictures for just that one magazine and not the others. Why?”

Fred Nickler coughed. “I really don’t know, Myron. Tell you what: I’ll check on it and let you know. Gotta zillion calls waiting. Gotta run. Bye.”

Another click.

Myron sat back. Fred Nickler was starting to panic.

With a shaking hand Fred Nickler dialed the number. After three rings the phone was picked up.

“County police.”

Fred cleared his throat. “Paul Duncan, please.”

Chapter 22

Nine P. M.

Myron called Jessica. He filled her in on his dean discovery.

“Do you really think Kathy was having an affair with the dean?” Jessica asked.

“I don’t know. But after seeing his wife, I’d tend to doubt it.”

“Good-looking?”

“Very,” Myron said. “And she knows her basketball. She even cried when I got hurt.”

Jessica made a noise. “The perfect woman.”

“Do I detect a note of jealousy?”

“Dream on,” Jessica said. “The fact that a man is married to a beautiful woman does not preclude him from having affairs with pretty co-eds.”

“True enough. So the question is: How did Dean Gordon get his name on this infamous mailing list?”

“I haven’t got a clue,” she said. “But I too found out something interesting today. My father visited Nancy Serat, Kathy’s roommate, the morning he died.”