“I’m okay. I was just talking to Kogan about his pal. He wanted me to try to find him. I wish you hadn’t told me. Why should I know about all the dead panhandlers of St. Andrew Street? Give me a break, Pete.”
“You want to sit down or something? Christ, Benny, I didn’t think you even knew the guy.”
“Well, he’s been part of the scenery for so many years. Like old Joe Higgins on his crutches.”
“Yeah, and the balloons …” Pete said, smiling as he remembered.
“And the balsa birds. Remember the red-headed hunchback on the bicycle?”
“Yeah. Worked as a delivery boy. I don’t know what happened to him.”
“And the Mad Scribbler.”
“He hasn’t been around for a while.”
“What are you talking about? He eats in the United at least three times a week.”
“Still at his great work?”
“Sure,” I said, “he must have covered a ton of paper by this time. And you know how he writes: on the lines, between the lines, across, down the page, diagonally, and always in a great frenzy.”
“He once ripped off Grahams. Took a pad of paper. But the old man wouldn’t make a fuss about it. I only heard about it because I was buying a briefcase.” Pete was looking me up and down, probably wondering if I was going to be all right. “A present to myself when I climbed out of uniform.”
“There sure are a lot of them.”
“Yeah. Mild crazies like old Joe, the Mad Scribbler and Apple Mary. And where would we be without them? You feeling better?”
“Sure. I guess I felt the dark angel passing by.” Pete grinned and then looked down, stooped and handed me a black feather. He walked off without saying another word.
I sat in my office for half an hour after that, waiting for something bad to happen. But nothing did. Not then it didn’t. I cleaned the receipts from my wallet. I do that every so often. Having a thick wallet is bad for my character, even when it isn’t thick with anything more interesting than lunch and taxi receipts. I played at this for a while, hoping that an idea might drop out along with loose change. I could have used an idea.
I knew I couldn’t keep fiddling with this thing. There comes a time with a case when you either have to throw it out the window or start moving on it. I’d been all over town, talked to people until I was bored by the sight of them. Larry Geller was off getting a suntan. I could get excited about that. But I didn’t believe for a minute that his own brother would try to put me on his trail. Daytona Beach is a big place, not as easy to lose yourself in as Miami, but the possibilities of finding yourself later on are better. What was Nathan playing at? Did he know that his brother was up in Haliburton running a freshwater marina on Eagle Lake, or that he’d enrolled at Carleton University in Ottawa to get a whole new career for himself. Balls! I wasn’t any better off than I was on Wednesday when the rabbi and Mr. Tepperman came to see me. Whenever I hear myself say “Leave it with me, let me nose around for a few days to see what I can find,” I should have myself committed.
Well, I have nosed around. I’ve talked to people at every corner in the thing and it didn’t lead me home. Time I confessed to the rabbi. I gave it my best shot. Now the time has come to bow out gracefully. In the Toronto paper, there was a story about a guy who’d done exactly what Larry Geller’d done. There was an epidemic. Somewhere down south they must be having a convention and comparing statistics about which of them took the oldest widow to the cleaners for the most money. They might steal a plaque and award it annually.
I lit a cigarette and tried to think why Geller made me so mad. I thought about what Pete Staziak said about computer hotshots who try to fleece the population without figuring that all the cops have to do to identify them is locate the terminal or examine the bank accounts. I looked up the rabbi’s number and dialled it. Time to get absolution from this thing. Time to get off the hook. The line was busy. It figured. I found where I’d scribbled Rose Craig’s home number. I tried that, hoping to change my luck.
“Hello?” It was a wary voice, but it was hers.
“Cooperman. You didn’t go back to the office?”
“I told you that if I didn’t get paid, that was the end.”
“Yeah, I know you said it, but I didn’t believe you. I had you pegged for one of those people who will never desert the ship.”
“I know. That’s me all right. But I have rent to pay. I hate myself, but Mr. Cooperman, I don’t think he’s going to come back now. Even I believe it.”
“Good. It’s a start. Tell me, Rose, Larry wasn’t in partnership with anybody, was he?”
“Certainly not. He was known all over town as a lone wolf.”
“But he used to be in business with other lawyers, in his early days I mean?”
“You’re going back farther than I do. He was in partnership with Irving Bernstein. But that must be at least ten years ago. The partnership was dissolved.”
“Into what?”
“What?”
“What happened to the pieces?”
“How should I know? Ask me about something that happened a month ago and I only know about part of that. Mr. Cooperman, the more I think about Mr. Geller and what he did …”
“I know, Rose. You think you know a guy and then …”
“Yeah, that’s right. Another thing is you realize that there’s a false wall in his life somewhere.”
“I like that. Yeah, he had a false wall all right. And what I’m trying to do is tap all the panels until one begins to sound different. Like in the movies. Have you heard anything in your tapping around?”
“Oh, Mr. Cooperman, he’d never leave anything in the office that could give him away. That would be like having the false wall behind a bookcase. You know, the first place the movie detective would look.”
“Where does this Irving Bernstein hang out these days?”
“He’s the senior partner in Bernstein, Carley, Grella and See.”
“See? See what?”
“That’s her name, Joyce See. Smart girl. She’s in charge of their properties, conveyancing and things like that.”
“Is she Chinese?”
“That’s right.”
“Then I’ve seen her down at the registry office when I’ve been doing some title-searching for my cousin. I sometimes try to turn an honest dollar. Thanks for your help, Rose. Speaking of my cousin, why don’t you call Melvyn Cooperman and tell him all about yourself.”
“Do you think that maybe …”
“Just call him. I’m not a crystal-ball gazer. Goodbye.”
I left word at Bernstein, Carley, Grella and See that I wanted a word with both Mr. Bernstein and Ms. See. The rabbi’s line was still busy when I tried it, but waiting for the two lawyers to call me back didn’t make me feel as idle as I had been feeling. When I hung up I was almost glad. But it didn’t last long enough to spoil my day. Irving Bernstein was on the line, his secretary announced. Once she was certain I had no plans to leave town, she put Irving on.
“Melvyn, I hope you aren’t going to break our racket-ball date. With me, Mel, three times and out …” I let him rattle on, mistaking me for my cousin. I didn’t interrupt until I thought I had the hook of embarrassment in as far as it would go.
“Oh, Benny Cooperman. Of course. Yes, I’m sure I’ve seen you around. What can I do for you?” I told him that I was looking into the Geller business for the Jewish community and that I had interviewed Larry’s family and was now starting on his old friends. “Yes, Larry Geller. That was a damn shame. Not only does it look terrible for the community, it gives every lawyer in town a black eye.”
“You used to be partners?”
“That’s right, we were, just after we came back to Grantham from Toronto. We did law in Toronto. I’d stayed on and worked as a junior in a big Toronto firm, and he’d just stuck around the law library for most of a year.”