The Manipulated (Joe Portugal Mysteries) (29 page)

“Which was what I’m doing here.”

“Right.”

He looked around. It was an off hour, and no one was seated near us. Still he dropped his voice. “What I’m doing here is getting you to stop sticking your nose into the Lennox business.”

I stared at him. I stared at my father. “Dad? You actually thought you had to bring in muscle to keep me out of harm’s way?”

“Joseph, you can be such a schmuck sometimes.”

“Agreed, but why—”

“Horse,” Santini said.

“Umm?” my father said.

“You have to go to the bathroom.”

My father thought about it. He put his hand on his stomach. “I have to go to the bathroom. The two of you will excuse me.” He got up and headed for the restroom. Except he didn’t get there. I saw him push open the door and go outside.

Santini got up, swung around to the other side of the booth, sat where my father had been. I thought of all those movies where someone has a gun under the table, pointed at the other person’s crotch. “So,” he said. “You know who did it?”

“Yes.”

“Who?”

“Alma,” I said.

“Now why would she do that?”

“Dennis screwed over Valerie like he screwed over so many other women. Alma found out.”

“You think that’s what happened?”

“Yeah. I’m right, aren’t I?”

He stared at me, and I thought again of what he might have under the table.

“Yeah,” he said. “You’re right. I figured you were getting close, once I heard you went up to see Valerie again.”

“How’d you find that out?”

“Not everyone that follows you around is as lousy at it as Sonny.”

“Who was it?”

“Vito. Just the last day or so. He’s pretty sneaky for such a big guy, don’t you think? So tell me. How’d you figure it out?”

“When Lu went in and saw Dennis dead, the light was on. When I found his body, it was off. Somebody turned it off, and who else was there but the killer?”

“And you found out how nutty Alma is about turning off lights.”

“She turned off the one in your office, the day I met her. Twice, she turned the one on her desk on just long enough to see what she had to, the day you were testing me.”

“She wasn’t gonna kill him, you know. Sometimes it just happens.”

“And Lu? Why’d she have to bash Lu?”

“Would’ve seen her.” A shrug. “She didn’t hurt her bad.”

Maybe on his scale, what happened to Lu equated to not hurt bad. “She could’ve died.”

“She didn’t.”

I grabbed my teacup, drank most of it down. “Is Mike taking the fall?”

“Nah. That pretty-boy cop got a bug up his ass. Whole thing over in Venice was a big mistake. He’s probably out by now.”

“What’ve you got on him?”

“What’s that mean?”

“You did something for him. You called in your favor. You had him set up this whole woman-at-the-hockey-game thing just to get me in to see you. So you could help me find her, supposedly, and then I’d owe you one.”

“How do you know I even know the guy?”

“You know the guy.”

“Yeah, okay, so I know him. So what?”

“See, when I first met Alma, I was surprised that, even across Staples, Mike would’ve mistaken her for Donna. More I thought about it, the less likely it seemed. But he never thought he saw her. That whole thing was a setup. What did he owe you for?”

“Had a little trouble with his store and the DEA, ten or twelve years back. I pulled some strings, helped him out.”

“And you waited this long to call in your marker?”

“Sometimes it takes that long.”

I tried to hold his gaze. “I can’t just stand by and let Alma get away with murder.”

“Even if I threaten to send some big guys after you?”

“Even if you do. But I think you won’t.”

“Why not?”

“Out of respect for my father.”

“Kid. That’s not how things work. Your father, I love him like a brother. Hadn’t seen him in forty years, still I love him like a brother. But that don’t mean anything.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“Ever had your kneecap shot?”

“No. Though I’ve been thinking about it since you swung around to the other side of the table. I never got fitted for concrete overshoes or had burning bamboo shoved under my fingernails either.”

He broke out laughing. “You got some stones, I got to hand you that. You know, that bamboo business, that’s not us, that’s the Chinks.”

“Doesn’t matter. I still can’t—”

He had his hands up in submission. “Yeah, yeah. I get it. I can’t scare you. So I got to play the other card in my deck.”

I leaned in. “You threatening my wife?”

He put his elbow on the table, laid his forehead in his palm, shook his head. “Jesus. Where do they get these ideas?” He picked his head up. “I don’t threaten wives. I don’t threaten kids. I don’t threaten your fucking canaries, for Christ’s sake.”

“How do you know about my canaries?”

“Forget the goddamn canaries. I’m trying to conduct a little business here.”

“Fine. So what’s your other card?” I knew what was coming. But I wanted to hear it from him.

“You owe me one.”

I looked in his eyes. I wondered what those eyes had seen. How many times they’d taken in scenes like the one in Dennis Lennox’s den. “Yes,” I said. “I owe you one.”

“I’m calling in my marker.”

“So helping me find somebody is worth turning a blind eye to murder?”

“A favor’s a favor. You don’t have big ones and small ones.”

I looked out the window. The Orthodox family was still there. The four kids were holding hands, two by two. “You’re not sure,” he said. “I understand. So I’m gonna go to the bathroom.”

I didn’t know how taking a leak was going to convince me of anything. Not until the place he vacated was taken by my third tea companion of the day.

Alma Rodriguez.

I said, “I didn’t see him call you.”

Her gesture said, We have our ways. She said, “Do you have children?”

“Didn’t the Great Santini Information Network give you the answer to that?”

“Sorry. I know you don’t have children. If you did, maybe you’d understand better.”

“Dennis Lennox screwed over dozens of women. None of the other parents felt it necessary to shoot him in the head.”

“You didn’t see her. She was close to suicide.”

“She told me.”

“Isn’t the world better off without him?”

“Whose decision is that?”

“He was a terrible man. I did the world a favor by shooting him.”

“I don’t believe that, and neither do you. And anyway, he was about to change.”

“Where’d you get an idea like that?”

I just knew the answer would go over well.“Ike Sunemori. The head guy up at Ambiance.”

But she surprised me. She nodded and said, “That’s what Dennis told me too. When I showed up at his house. He said he’d had … what’s that word?”

“An epiphany.”

“Yeah,” she said.“One of those. He’d had an epiphany and was going to make everything right, right there that night, with a bunch of people he’d dumped on lately. He said he’d called Valerie too, but couldn’t get hold of her and was going to fix things with her later.”

“And you shot him anyway.”

“Not ‘anyway.’ I shot him
because
he said that. I thought he was making it all up, that he thought I was an idiot who’d believe such bullshit, and … what, you think I went up there intending to kill him?”

“The thought had crossed my mind.”

“I wasn’t going to use the damned gun. I don’t know what I was going to do, but actually shooting him wasn’t part of it. Then he fed me that epiphany thing, and turned away like I wasn’t worth his attention, and next thing I knew I’d blown his face off.”

“And Lu? The housekeeper?”

“I heard her coming. I wasn’t going to shoot an innocent woman too. So I grabbed the first thing I could and hid behind the door and—”

“And clobbered her. And then you shut the light on the way out.”

She shrugged. “My parents drilled it into me.”

I tried to catch her eyes, but she wouldn’t look at me. “And in the weeks since, have you ever thought he might have been sincere about changing?”

“Maybe.”

“Because why else would he have gathered us all up there that night? I mean, I think that Ambiance bullshit your daughter’s involved in is mostly a load of crud, but I’ve got to accept that every once in a while it resonates in someone and can make them have—”

“An epiphany.”

“Yeah,” I said. “One of those.”

I looked out the window again. The Orthodox family was gone. Replaced by a couple of teenage girls. One was smoking, the other chewing gum with her mouth flapping open, and each had a ring in her navel. Someday they’d meet shits like Dennis. Everyone did. Didn’t matter if they were male or female, rich or poor. Was the world any better if the shits were eliminated?

That was a question for bigger minds than mine. And a pointless one. Because, regardless of John Santini’s past and possible present, I’d made an agreement with him. That someday I’d repay his favor with one of my own. There were no stipulations.

I turned my attention back inside. Santini was sitting opposite me, turned away, looking for the waitress. While I was inspecting the teenyboppers,Alma left and he came back. I didn’t say anything, didn’t make any sign that I’d noticed. I didn’t have anything else to say to her.

Santini got the waitress’s attention. “More pie, please. For him too.” Indicating my father’s piece, “And wrap this one up.” He swiveled back to the table. He waited for me to say something.

I obliged.“You can get me to stop looking, but you know and I know the cops are a lot bigger threat to you—to Alma—than I ever was.”

“Cops are taken care of.”

“Just like that?”

He smiled. “It’s complicated. Let’s just say, everything’s gonna turn out all right.”

“You have a fall guy.”

“You know what? I start telling you shit like this, you could get in trouble. Would make you an accessory after the fact.”

“I’m already one.”

“Are you?”

“Yeah.”

“Meaning, when we get up from this table, we’re gonna be even?”

“Yeah,” I said. “We’re gonna be even.”

He pulled off those thick-framed glasses, squinted through them at the light, put them back on. “You’re a good kid,” he said.“It’s tough finding people who’re true to their word. You ever want a job in import-export, you come to me, okay?”

“You know and I know that’s not likely to happen.”

“You never know. Life deals you some funny hands.”

Our seconds of pie arrived. The waitress boxed up my father’s piece, cleared the other plates, asked if we wanted more hot water. Neither of us did. When she was gone I spoke. “You’re not going to pull him back into a life of crime, are you?”

I regretted the words before they cleared my mouth. I saw his eyes narrow. I knew what he was going to do.

His fists flew up in front of him. “Every time I think I’m out …” Elbows jerked back, fists following. “They
pull
me back in. Jeez, I love doing that.”

“That’s the worst Pacino I’ve ever seen. Answer my question.”

“Of course not, dumbass. Your pop’s been straight for a long time. I’m not gonna fuck that up. We’re just gonna socialize now and then. Now eat your pie.”

“You’re going to pay for this.”

His expression darkened. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

I pointed at the table. “The pie. And the tea. You’re going to pay for it.”

The menace dissipated. A smile replaced it. “You’re a funny kid. Fun to have around. You really ought to think about import-export.”

I attacked my second slice of blueberry pie. No, I wasn’t going to, at the ripe old age of fifty, suddenly become an import-export baron. Not yet, anyway. Maybe if the detective thing didn’t work out …

I waited until his mouth was full and said, “You set the whole Donna thing up just so I’d owe you a favor.”

“Jeez—” Bits of blueberry flew. “Are we back on that?”

“And I paid you back your favor. But when you set it up, you didn’t know Alma was going to kill Dennis. So you didn’t know I was going to repay you by letting her get away with it. So there was something else you were going to have me do.”

“I was wondering when you were gonna get around to figuring that out.”

“What was it?”

“I’m not gonna tell you.”

“Why not?”

“Doesn’t matter now.”

“Did it have something to do with my father?”

“Why would you say that?”

“Just a guess. So what was it?”

He shook his head. “Not now.”

“He’s my father. I have a right to know.”

He gave me five seconds of the other Santini. The one Gina and I had met at Fabrini’s. “No. You don’t.”

Sometime, weeks, month, maybe years in the future, I was going to find out what his original plan was. And how it concerned my father. Of that I was sure.

But not right then. Not after seeing The Real Santini again. You think I’m an idiot?

We finished our second pieces of pie. Mine didn’t sit well. I rubbed my stomach.

“That reminds me,” he said. He dug into his pocket, came out with a vial, held it out to me. “Those stomach pills I promised.”

“Is this a favor?”

“Nope. This is a gift.”

I took the pills, popped one, shoved the rest in my pocket. He paid the bill, we got up and went outside. As, ever so civilized, we shook hands, I said, “Just one more thing …”

“Who are you, fuckin’ Columbo?”

“If you can be Michael Corleone, I can be Colombo.”

That got a big smile. “Shoot.”

“Was Alma even at Staples that night?”

“Nope.”

“Are those seats even yours?”

“Hell, no. I got better things to spend my money on.”

“So when I was told they were yours, that was just so much horseshit, wasn’t it?”

He caught my eyes. He smiled again. He said, “Been nice seeing you, kid. Keep in touch.” He turned and walked away.

So that was it. The murder was solved and the person who did it was getting away with it and I didn’t mind. Not much, anyway. People got away with murder every day. Everyone said so, so it had to be true, right?