He shrugged and said yeah, okay. We swayed over to the storefront window of Ehrlich's tobacco shop. We stared at the pipes, pewter beer mugs, cigars, fancy ashtrays, and lighters in silence. Joe shifted his weight from foot to foot, his hands shoved down into his trenchcoat pockets. He moved his arms in and out, flapping the coat open and closed idly like a giant wading bird on its nest.
'Look at those lighters,' he said.
'Uh-huh. What about Lucia's watch? Think it means anything?'
'Yep. It's a helluva coincidence if it doesn't. Remember I said the guy looked Italian. I'll make you a gent's wager that at least one of the Fabrianni staff turns up missing tomorrow. Hell, maybe we should get a post-mortem pix of the guy and check it out now. Question is, why? What's the connection between the dead guy in the chimney and the Fabriannis and their treasures? The cup was safely returned to the Fogg from the hotel, so Johnny didn't have it in his pouch.'
'Okay, right. But maybe the thugs didn't know that. They're associated with the show and know the value of the piece. They set up the ambush-'
'You keep saying they -'
' Two gas masks, remember?'
'Right. They.'
'They set it up, kill Johnny, and snag the pouch. But then they discover the cup isn't there-'
'Ah! Or maybe Johnny was carrying something else from the Fogg, something smaller that they could easily fence…'
Joe decided to have somebody from his office follow up with a post-mortem photograph to show to Lucia. Then he went back to staring at the window.
'Gee, I want to go in there and look at those fancy lighters, Doc. Too bad it's closed.'
'There's a tobacconist's in the Copley Plaza that's open; we passed it on the way out.'
That was all the invitation he needed. In three minutes we were back in the hotel, looking down through the glass of the counter display case, checking out the lighters. But the kind Joe was looking for wasn't there. He grew morose and impatient, asking the clerk if he carried Orsini lighters.
'We keep them in back, sir. They're not asked for that often. Excuse me a minute.'
He returned shortly with two red leather cases which he unfolded on the glass counter. Set on the plush lining were about twenty lighters. They looked like the one Lucia had used. Joe was agitated: No, he was excited. He was all in a sweat to get one. Then he took a peek at one of the small tags underneath.
'Jees! Six hundred twenty-five bucks! Uh… I don't know. Doc, whaddayuh think?'
'I think it's dumb. Get a Zippo for six bucks. You'll never lose a cheap lighter. Just like a cheap pen. But you get one of those, you'll lose it within a month.'
But he couldn't take his eyes off the cases of fancy lighters. Some were blue and gold. Their labels said they were lapis lazuli and pure gold. Big deal. Others were platinum and onyx, tortoiseshell and gold, and so on. Joe was transfixed; he was going to be awhile.
'Yeah, yeah- how about this one? No, the blue,' he said impatiently.
Now that I considered, I wished Ehrlich's was open; I needed tobacco. I bought a small tin and some Te Amo coronas. Joe looked at lighters. Finally he appeared at my side, ready to go. He hadn't bought anything. We left the shop and walked over I to Joe's car. I put my bag of tobacco and cigars on the seat beside me. Joe eyed the bag enviously.
'How much did your watch cost?' he asked.
'You mean the black one? Why do you ask?'
'How much?'
'Uh, about four hundred bucks. Don't tell Mary.'
'Hold on a sec.'
He jumped out of the car and hoofed it back to the tobacconist's, reappearing shortly with a little paper bag in his hand. He got behind the wheel and opened it. He took out a small, cardboard box, opened it, and held a jewelry case in his hand.
On the blue case, in stylized lower-case letters in silver, was the word Orsini. He handed it to me and I snapped it open. Inside was a blue-and-gold lighter.
'Very handsome,' I said. 'How much?'
'Three twenty-five. It was their second~cheapest one. But still nice. He just filled it for me.'
'What does it run on, plutonium?'
'Butane. Nice, eh? See, the nortes aren't the only ones who can have these. I don't buy that much for myself, you know.'
We headed home. For his dues Joe bought a sack of pears and some Brie in Fresh Pond, and we were home by four. But after the car rolled to a stop and I gathered our purchases to carry inside, I noticed Joe hadn't moved. He was still behind the wheel, regarding the lighter that he flipped around in his big hands. I thought he must really love it. Then he got out slowly, as if burdened by a great weight. He sighed as he walked up the flagstones, carrying the new lighter in front of him in both hands the way a priest carries the host.
'Dammit, Doc. Why the hell did I ever buy this thing?'
'Oh I don't know,' mused Mary as she fingered the lighter. 'It looks really nice, Joey. And don't worry so much what those nortes do or don't do. We all know they're not really Italians. They're Austrians in drag.'
We had asked Mary to pass judgment on Joe's big purchase. We were sitting around the dinner table after a huge feast.
'The tortellini was a nice surprise,' I said, placing my hand under the table and on her thigh, which I commenced to stroke.
'That's a ball, Charlie,' she said with a sigh.
'Huh?'
'Low and outside,' she said, patting my hand.
'That's tawdry, dear. Must you always be so tawdry?'
'Yep.'
Joe took the lighter back. It had clearly become an object of guilt, an albatross around his neck. Poor guy. Mary had the solution. She went upstairs and got my fancy black watch and fastened it onto Joe's wrist. Then she took the lighter from him and gave it to me. Pretend you've given each other presents, she said.
'Great,' said Joe, regarding the fancy timepiece. 'Only trouble is I don't need a watch.'
'And I don't need a cigarette lighter.'
'Well it's the thought that counts,' said Mary. 'Now Charlie, make the cappucino.'
After dessert we put on a Mahler symphony and sat in the living room speculating on the Robinson/Fabrianni/dead-guy-in-the-chimney connection. There still didn't appear to be any, which made it all the more puzzling.
'Why are you guys so sure the poor man in the chimney was working for the Fabriannis?' asked Mary, who was busy flipping through a magazine.
'Well, the main thing is the fact that he looked Italian- not Italian-American but real Italian, you know,' said her brother, scowling and fingering his new watch, which seemed to confuse and disgust him. 'And also the fact that Johnny Robinson was carrying a gold cup for the Fabriannis earlier. But mainly, he wore a watch just like the one Lucia Fabrianni was wearing. It's called a Bulgari, and it's made in Italy.'
'You guys are full of it,' said Mary, looking at her nails.
'Now what makes you say that?' I asked.
'The man's watch. Two reasons. One: here's a Bulgari watch right here.'
She flipped the magazine around and showed us a full-page color ad with the name boldly spelled out. I noticed it was spelled with a Roman style u that was shaped like a v. The magazine washer favorite: Attenzione, the magazine for Italian-Americans, or anybody who likes anything Italian. I liked the magazine a lot.
'Charlie and Joe, these Bulgari watches are the new thing. No more Rolex or Patek Philippe. It's all Bulgari now; the stores on Newbury Street are selling them like crazy. So reason number one, again: everybody's getting
