“She said our Bradley was partial to the nodino di vitello all’aglio.”
“What the hell’s that, Phil?”
“Veal chop in garlic.”
“And he’s probably sawing through one right this second. Fabulous. Now all we have to do is figure how to get in, listen to what they’re saying, and get it all on tape to use it against him in court. I assume you have a plan to do just that?”
“You assume wrong.”
“No plan?”
“No plan.”
“You always have a plan.”
“Not tonight, mate.”
“Then what good is all this?”
“I just thought you’d be interested.”
“But I won’t be able to use any of this in the Theresa Wellman case.”
“Well, maybe not directly.”
“What are you talking about, Phil?”
“Something else Jillian let slip. This was after the fourth martini, when she was trying quite hard not to fall off her stool.”
“Go ahead.”
Phil Skink stepped behind a large black SUV, and I did the same. He pointed across the street to the blue awning and quiet front entrance of an upscale, family-owned Italian joint with one of the best wine lists in the city. There was a limo parked out front and a plainclothes cop leaning against the entrance, looking at his nails.
“I happened to mention to Jillian some sort of federal investigation I had heard tale of, and she nodded. Like she knew what I was talking about. And then she put her finger up to her pretty lips, like it was a secret.”
“Like what was a secret?”
“You’re a smart cookie, you figure it out.”
I looked at Phil, looked at the restaurant and the plainclothes cop, who now was flicking a piece of lint off his lapel. I tried to put it all together, what he was getting at, and I flashed back again on pretty Jillian, her eyes lidded from drinking, leaning forward with that drunken sexiness as she puts her finger to her lips. Sssshhh, it says, that gesture. Don’t let anybody know. Know what? That someone is listening. To whom? To Jillian and Skink at the Continental? No way. The whole point of the Continental is to act so cool as to ignore everyone else.
A car was coming from the left. As it came at us, I ducked. Skink laughed. After it passed, I scanned the street, back and forth. To our left I spied a row of cars parked nose first, facing the river. I hadn’t given it much notice when I passed it before, but this time I gave it a good scan. And there I saw it. How could I have missed it?
A battered white van with a raw brown streak of rust on its side. A van I had seen before.
“Son of a bitch,” I said. “Someone is listening in for us.”
“You happen to know anyone in the Department of Justice who might give you a hand?”
“It just so happens I might at that, except she hates my guts.”
“Charm her, mate.”
“I’d have better luck with a cobra,” I said, “and probably a better time, too.”
32
“I don’t think it’s going to happen,” I said to Rhonda Harris over drinks at a swank pickup joint on South Street.
“That’s too bad,” she said with a rather saucy smile. “It would have been sensational.”
“Oh, I bet it would.”
We were sitting across from each other in a small booth upstairs at the Monaco Living Room, among swarms of the young and the beautiful looking for the quick and the nasty. It was a dark, intimate space with small tables, a mirrored dance floor, and a balcony set back from the main room for those private moments. Not my normal type of beer joint, but she had picked it, and I must say I liked the way the flame of the candle flickered in her green eyes.
“What’s the problem?” she said. “Is there anything I can do to make it happen?”
“Not really. We just don’t think it’s quite the right time for Charlie to talk.”
“Who doesn’t think that? Charlie?”
“I haven’t been in direct contact with my client lately.”
“So it’s someone else calling the shots.”
“In a way, yes. You want another round?”
She was drinking Cosmopolitans, which was very cosmopolitan of her. I was drinking my usual Sea Breeze, which was not. I spun my finger at the beautiful black-clad waitress, asking for another round. Truth was, if I wasn’t falling in love with Rhonda Harris, I would have been falling in love with the waitress.
“Doesn’t Charlie himself have a say?” she said. “Some people are thrilled to see their names in the newspaper.”
“Really?” I said. “I hadn’t heard that.”
“I could get your picture in the article along with his.”
“My good side?”
“Is there a bad one?”
“Now I know you’ll say anything to get the interview.”
“Busted. Are you going to give Charlie a chance to make up his own mind?”
“When the time’s right, maybe.” I lifted up my drink and snatched what was left of it just as the waitress came with our next round. They were quick with the drinks at the Monaco Living Room. I smiled like a buffoon at the waitress. She ignored me.
“Do you like being a lawyer, Victor?” said Rhonda as she swirled her rose-colored drink.
“Lawyers rank in job dissatisfaction second only to proctologists.”
“Well, then,” she said. “I guess things could always be worse.”
“But the rubber gloves are so cool, don’t you think? That’s why everyone uses them now. Lunch ladies, cops. Remember the good old days when dentists stuck their hands in your mouth after just a quick wash?”
“Do we have to talk about dentists?”
“So let’s talk about another despised profession, newspaper reporters.”
“Are we despised?”
“Oh, yes. More than lawyers, even.”
“I doubt that.”
“The things I’ve heard. Do you like writing?”
“Not writing, really. That’s the chore at the end of the chase. But I’m a very goal-oriented person and my job fits right in with that. When I need to find a story or get an interview, I usually find a way. Sometimes I ambush the target, sometimes I use my charm.”
“Like now.”
“I’m trying, although it doesn’t seem to be swaying you much.”
“Try harder.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” She dropped her hand casually on my forearm, looked at me straight with her captivating eyes. “But either way, Victor, know that I will get it done. I’ll find Charlie, with or without you, because it is what I do.”
“Take it easy, Rhonda. It’s just a story.”
“It’s more than that, Victor. People aren’t adjectives. You can think of yourself as kind and sweet and funny, but how you think of yourself doesn’t mean a thing. People are verbs.”
“What verb are you?”
“I eliminate. Distractions, obstacles, impediments to my success. I’m someone who gets what she’s after, no matter who or what gets in the way.”
“My God, you sound ruthless.”
“Does it excite you, Victor?”
“Oddly, yes. You seem so sure of things. No doubts?”
“What’s the point of doubt? You make a decision, go down a certain road, and there you are. You can whine and dither, or you can keep going and get it done. I’m not sure how I ended up here, but I’m not backtracking. Pick a path, do your job with neither fear nor hesitation, that’s the only way I know.”
“So if you never let anything get in your way, how come you’re still just a stringer?”
“I started late, switched careers in midstream.”
“What did you do before?”
“Animal control.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No, I’m not. Dogs and cats. Ferrets and snakes and squirrels. Lots of squirrels. You’d be surprised how dangerous they can be.”
“Squirrels?”
“After alcohol and lawyers, they’re the number one health threat in America.”