His eyebrows rose. “What shiners?”
“Pete...”
He swallowed. We’d been keeping it sotto voce already, but now he whispered. “The Mazzini kid did that. They’re seeing each other. I think... I think they live together in the Village.”
“Which one’s worked here the longest?”
“Miss Ryan.” He leaned toward me. “Mike, Sheila’s been here for four or five years — you know that.”
“I guess I do. Where’s she from?”
Pete shrugged. “Midwest somewhere. Minnesota, Michigan, Wisconsin, one of those. She came to the city to be an actress and it didn’t work out, at least not yet. She’s tops, Mike. Everybody loves her.”
“Sounds like that includes Colby and Mazzini.”
A palm came up. “I don’t generally get involved with my employees’ private lives.”
I ignored that. “What’s the story with her and the rich kid? How often does Colby come around to the Chophouse?”
“He’s a good customer,” Pete said vaguely.
“Did Sheila already know him? Or did they meet here? Was he maybe taken with her? She’s an attractive woman.”
Velda said, “An understatement.”
The restauranteur sighed. “I believe they met here. They became friendly. They sometimes talk. They obviously like each other. They have good, what-do-you-call-it... chemistry.”
I said, “What kind of experiments do you think they’re conducting?”
Pete shifted in his seat. “Please, Mike. This really makes me uncomfortable. You’re asking me to talk trash about two good employees and, if that weren’t enough, a customer who spends money like it’s paper. You should talk to them, not me.”
“Excellent idea. How about sending Sheila over?”
He frowned. “She’s my hostess, Mike. If somebody comes in...”
“I’ll shoo her over. Come on, Pete. I’m a customer, too, you know.”
He pulled air in and let it out through as sickly a smile as I’d seen in a while. “Fine, Mike. Anything you say.”
Pete slid out of the booth and went over to the hostess podium and spoke a few words, gesturing toward us; Sheila frowned, not a deep frown but a troubled look, and decidedly put-upon. But she came over, striding now, not her usual glide.
She stood before us with her chin up and her eyes down; she might have been a cop who came upon Velda and me playing hide the salami in some Central Park bushes. “Something you wanted, Mr. Hammer?”
I gestured. “You remember my secretary — Velda Sterling?”
“Of course.” Sheila nodded. “Ms. Sterling.”
Velda nodded back, said, “Ms. Ryan,” and I said, “Will you join us for a few moments?”
The hostess’s smile was strained. “Could it wait for another time? I am working.”
“It’s not busy, and your boss sent you over. We’ll understand if a patron enters and needs your attention. Please.”
Like Pete, she chose to slide in on Velda’s side.
“Sheila,” I said, “I’m working for Vincent Colby’s father, looking into the hit-and-run that put his son in the hospital. Where you and I last spoke.”
She said nothing.
“The police aren’t getting anywhere,” I said, “but of course they aren’t aware of certain things.”
She said nothing.
“I’m hoping you’ll be frank with me,” I said, “and confirm, or convincingly deny, that you and Colby are seeing each other... behind your other boy friend’s back. And perhaps you can substantiate that this other boy friend found out about it, and wasn’t happy.”
She said nothing.
Velda gave it a try, saying, “One of your two admirers gave you that black eye. The second in a couple of weeks. That’s quite a collection you’re racking up there, Ms. Ryan.”
She said nothing.
I asked, “Was it your friend behind the bar?”
Gino’s eyes were on us, burning like coals.
She said nothing.
I said, “Or maybe Colby did it. Maybe you’re not seeing him, but he’s been hounding you, even stalking you, and you confronted him and he lost his head, demanding you break it off with Mazzini. Colby’s a regular Jekyll and Hyde these days, thanks to that ‘accident.’”
She glared and me and clenched teeth parted only enough for her to get out a few bitter words: “I thought you were smart. You’re the famous Mike Hammer, big detective.”
“Famous enough,” I said with a shrug. “Big enough, too, maybe. But you imply I’m also not smart enough — smart enough for what?”
The words came quick. “Vincent hadn’t been hit by that car yet when you saw me with a black eye. These... outbursts of his were caused by that concussion, which hadn’t even fucking happened yet!”
I grinned. “So you two are an item.”
Even with her features tightened up in anger, she was a beauty. “I told you before — we’re just friends.”
“I’ve seen the way he looks at you, honey, and it’s not the way you look at a friend. More like a famished man views a meal.”
She huffed a feminine grunt. “Believe what you like.”
Velda touched the young woman’s arm. “Ms. Ryan, Sheila — please understand. All we’re trying to do is help Vincent Colby.”
She shook her head, seeming more frustrated than angry. “What does it matter who hit Vincent in what car? How does that help him? He’s... he’s been hurt... he’s... having a terrible time of it. He might have died.” She choked back emotion. “All right. All right! I’ve been seeing him. At first, I... he pressed so hard, he was so insistent, it made me uncomfortable. And I was seeing someone else...”
“Gino,” Velda said.
Sheila nodded. “Yes, but Vincent was so attentive, so tender, so... it sounds silly, but... adoring.” Her eyes went to Velda, beseechingly. “You probably know what that feels like, Ms. Sterling. You’re a lovely woman, a stunning woman. You’ve had men adore you, haven’t you?’
I said, “She has one right now.”
Sheila actually smiled a little. “I’ve broken it off with Gino. We’re through. He knows that.”
Velda said, “He gave you that eye.”
She nodded. “But I’ve moved out on him. We were sharing an apartment in the Village. I’m with a girl friend now. Gino is past history. But it’s just... tricky. It’s hard. To still work where he does.”
“Must be,” I said.
Velda said, “Here’s the thing, Ms. Ryan. We’re not just trying to find the hit-and-run driver. We’re trying to determine if it was a hired job — if your Gino or someone else in Vincent’s life tried to have him killed in what would be written off as an accident.”
“That’s silly,” Sheila said. “I told you — Gino could never afford that. He doesn’t have money or friends with money, either.”
I said, “On the other hand, Colby works in the world of high finance. He may have enemies in those same rarefied circles. And we don’t know yet who in his social circles, which are also pretty damn rarefied, might have a deadly grudge against him. We’ll be looking into that.”
“Another, larger investigative firm,” Velda said, “is exploring the financial world aspects. Someone with Vincent’s wealth, his family’s fortune and standing, can be a target for all sorts of things, for all sorts of reasons.”
The young woman thought about it. Neither Velda nor I pushed her any further. Our case had been made.
Finally Sheila said, “Gino gave me both black eyes. I think you’ve probably already come to that conclusion yourselves. But it’s ridiculous to think he might have hired someone to drive that sports car and try to kill or, what, frighten Vincent off? I hope you’re not assuming, because of his last name, that Gino has Mafia connections or any such foolishness. He’s like me — he came to New York from a small town to be an actor, and he’s still trying to be one, but just like I wound up a waitress, he became a bartender.”