1 The Reluctant Dick - The Case of the Not-So-Fair Trader (28 page)

The pictures Tiffany snapped at the funeral with her camera phone weren’t very clear, but that didn’t seem to bother the boy. I watch him closely. He pauses for a second look at Queen Latifah. “This one looks familiar.”

“Great,” I roll my eyes. “Keep going.”

He also pauses at Joan’s picture, one of the traders who attended and one homeless guy who slept in the back pew.

“Anybody?”

He shakes his head.

“Take a look at this one again.” I page back to the picture of Martin Luther King. “You ever see this guy before?”

“Don’t ring no bell.”

“How about her?” Tiffany says, showing him Doris one more time.

“Not sure.”

“So far, he’s a pretty lousy snitch,” Tiffany says.

“Who you talkin’ ’bout, bitch?”

I place the pictures of Doris and Joan side by side. “Mister Bird ever get white women visiting him?”

He picks up both photos, gives them one last look. “Maybe. Can I have da other ten bucks now?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Who said you were getting another ten bucks?”

“I ain’t leavin’ till I get another ten bucks,” he says, sitting deeper into the seat.

“Tell me more.”

“I didn’t say there was no white woman, especially no old white woman bitch hangin’ ’round here.”

“Start the car, Tiffany,” I say, roll down my w
indow and hang the bill outside.
“Come and get it.”

The kid comes out of the backseat, up the side of the car, and snatches the bill out of my hand.

“Go.”

I can faintly hear the boy yell, “Come back if you need some weed,” as we drive off.

In a few seconds Tiffany asks, “Was that worth twenty bucks?”

“It was to me.”

“Why?”

“Because it was your money.”

___

Tiffany wastes no time getting out of this part of Dodge. She breaks every speed limit to the Dan Ryan Expressway. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re doing with the suspects, then maybe I could be more help.”

“I would, but I don’t know myself.”

“Then how am I supposed to learn from somebody who doesn’t know what he’s doing?”

“Thank God, Tiffany, that is your problem and not mine.”

The skyline of the city reflects the afternoon sunlight. Chicago is beautiful in a phoenix-rising-out-of-the-ashes kind of way.

“Where are we going next?”

“I’m not sure,” I say, “but head North.”

We get caught in lunchtime traffic just before the interchange. I get out my cell and dial.

“Hello, Nick… Richard Sherlock… I’m calling from my cell… Does Alexis have any time open this afternoon?”

Nick calls back in five minutes.

“I knew you’d be back,” he says, consult
ing
her schedule, “For you, she’s available.”

“Good, I’ll be there at four.” I flip my phone closed.

“Now what are you doing?” Tiffany says.

“Return trip to the escort.”

“Again?” Tiffany asks. “You turning into some kind of sex maniac, Mister Sherlock?”

We continue north.

___

It is no secret that architects don’t make a lot of money. They are considered more artists than businessmen. Architects probably have mixed feelings about this. So, it only stands to reason that an architect’s assistant wouldn’t be pulling in the big bucks, either.

The building we arrive at, just past
2 pm
, is no designated landmark. The offices of Frued and Associates are not going to win any design awards. Our person of interest sits at the front desk in the one office, office. There must not be a lot of associates associated with Frued.

“Are you Lizzy?” I ask the somewhat attractive, under thirty, thin, but slightly weathered brunette.

“Only to my friends,” she says as if she knows who I am.

“Richard Sherlock,” I put out my hand to shake.

She pushes back in her chair. “Christina told me about you.”

“Anything good?”

“You’re supposed to be helping her get her money back
;
but instead you send over this disgusting beast of a man.”

Herman must have made a house call.

“Who are you?”

Tiffany matches Lizzy’s level of politeness. “His assistant.”

“Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?”

“You already have,” Lizzy says.

I sit in the chair.
Tiffany prefers to stand.

“You didn’t get along too well with Christina’s daddy, I understand?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“He was a tight-assed, cheap son-of-a-bitch that Christina could have done a hell of a lot better without.”

“Please,” I say in all modesty, “don’t hold back.”

“Alvin didn’t do shit for her. He sinks tons of money into those idiot half-brother
s
; but she has to fight for every dime she gets. She should be part of the corporation, drive a company car,
get expenses, health insurance
and a salary
,
as well as that miniscule trust fund she had to wait five years to collect on.”

“Do you also act as her de facto business manager?”

“I try.”

“That’s big of you,” Tiffany says.

“How about the mother?” I ask.

“Never met her, either.”

“Never met Doris?”

“Oh yeah, her,” Lizzy says, “is she a piece of work or what?”

I sit back in the chair, in an attempt to allow the venom in the room to dissipate a bit. “Who do you think killed him?”

“I don’t care.”

“That wasn’t the question,” Tiffany corrects.

“Does it matter?” Lizzy asks.

“Yeah,” Tiffany says.

“All I know is it wasn’t Christina. We were together the night before and that Saturday. Plus, she doesn’t have an evil bone in her body.”

“Being a product of Alvin’s genes, that doesn’t seem possible; does it?”

“Believe me, a more loving, trusting, gentle human being doesn’t exist,” Lizzy says.

“Must take after her real mother,” I conclude. “You know her?”

“I’ve never been to Boston.”

“How did you two meet?” Tiffany asks, as she decides to sit in the chair next to mine.

“In a bar.”

“Which one?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Was it a lesbian bar?” Tiffany keeps it all in staccato.

“Probably.”

“Which one? There’s not that many.”

“Girl Bar, maybe.”

“Don’t know it.”

“Why would you?” Lizzy asks.

“Some of my best friends are lesbians,” Tiffany says in obvious false admission.

“Name one.”

Tiffany hesitates, caught in a game of her own making.

I take back the questioning. “Were you ever at the house in Kenilworth?”

“No. I wasn’t welcome.”

“You
r
and Christina’s picture was in the den,” I say.

“No, it wasn’t.”

Lizzy is either calling my bluff or was lying on the previous question.

“How long have you two been a couple?”

“Six, eight months.”

“Love her?”

“Of course I love her.”

Lizzy shuffles papers on her desk. “I got to get back to work. It’s been a real joy speaking with you.”

I stand. “Herman might be a beast, but he’s a genius when it comes to anything money.”

“Your buddy embodies everything disgusting about men.”

Lizzy may have a point.

___

We get into the Lexus and head back downtown. “You feel okay?” I ask.

“Fine.”

“What did you glean from our visit with Lizzy?”

Tiffany says, “I wouldn’t want her in the audience if I was doing stand
-
up.”

“I don’t see the two of them together,” I say.

“For every fem, there’s a dyke.”

“They just don’t fit.”

We drive down Western Avenue
,
past car dealer after car dealer
. E
ach one offers better financing options
than the last
. Something is wrong, but I don’t know what.

“Sure nothing is bothering you?”

“Yes,” she says.

“Good.”

We pass a bank.

“Don’t forget to stop at an ATM
.
I’m going to need cash for my appointment with Alexis.”

___

Same idiot works the concierge desk. He makes another “Enjoy” comment as I pass through the inner doors.

Instead of 4114, I knock on 4116  directly across the hall. There is a short wait until Alexis opens the door. She is dressed in a tight black mini-skirt and flowered blouse.

“I’m surprised to see you,” she says
,
as I enter the condo almost identical to the one I visited before.

“I try to be a surprising kind of a guy whenever possible.”

“So this is regular business?”

“Whatever.”

We sit. She offers champagne. I decline. She crosses her legs and smiles. I am perfectly still. She watches me and I watch her. Alexis leans forward, places her hand on my knee. Smiles again. I cannot imagine a situation less sensual or sexy.

“I didn’t come for sex.”

“You called Nick.”

“I wanted to see you alone.”

“Why?” She removes her hand from my knee.

“Numbers don’t add up.” I cross my arms on my chest. “Even at five hundred buck
s
a pop, you two would have had to have done Alvin over eighty times to run up such a tab. Alvin would have keeled over weeks ago from the fluid loss.”

Alexis stares at her shoes.

“So, I conclude it was a family type operation. You did Alvin, Clayton, Brewster, maybe an uncle, a distant cousin… business partners when they were in town?”

Alexis bites her lip, “I only did Alvin.”

“Diane do the rest?”

“Brewster.”

“Really?”
And they said he didn’t have the balls
.

I pace around the small room. “Was it just you or was Diane also in the condo the night before Alvin died?”

“We weren’t there.”

I stop. “Dumb to lie now; don’t you think?”

“Both of us,” she says.

“You do Alvin that night?”

“Yeah.”

“What time did you leave?”

“Around one.”

“That jives with the cab.” I never checked with the cab company, but said this anyway to make myself seem a little more professional. “Leave alone?”

“I had another appointment. Fridays are prime time in this business.”

“Alvin promised to
pay what he owed you that night,
didn’t he?”

“How’d you know?”

“I’m real smart,” I say. “Why didn’t he?”

“He was in such a
surly mood, that
asking him would have been suicide.”

I pause to consider a number of questions.

“Was there an old guy there, about sixty, probably wearing a tweed sport coat, limping a bit?”

“His accountant.”

“You ever see him before?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Fun guy?”

“Swell, just swell.”

“Diane hang around after you left?”

“Yeah.”

“How’d she get out of working for Nick that Friday?”

“Monthly excuse.”

At times being a woman has its rewards
.

“Could Diane have gotten paid and not you?”

“Certainly hope not.”

I walk over to look out the window at the city beneath. “Were there guys at the party you had never seen?”

“One.”

“A guy named Joey Villano?” I ask, wait
…
see the name doesn’t register and add, “Italian, dark hair, maybe thirty, pudgy, maybe a bit on the nerdy side?”

“Yeah.”

“Anyone else?”

“No.”