She hung up and looked at me.
“Being a hot broad has its advantages,” I said.
She spread her hands and gestured at the big office.
“How do you think I got here,” she said.
“By being the best criminal litigator in the Commonwealth,” I said.
“And beyond,” Rita said, “but a tight skirt don’t hoit.”
“It certainly don’t,” I said.
“And it doesn’t do any harm, either,” Rita said, “if people think I might discard it easily.”
“More easily maybe than you actually do,” I said.
Rita smiled.
“I’m pretty easy,” she said.
“We all use what we’ve got,” I said.
“Like you don’t? You know what you look like. You know perfectly well that half the women in the city would disrobe in a heartbeat if you simply glanced at them.”
“Now you tell me,” I said.
“I’ll sit in on this if I may,” Rita said.
“Glad to have you,” I said.
“How you want to play the opening moments?” Rita said.
“Margie will let him in,” I said. “You’ll be sitting on the edge of your desk with your legs crossed.”
“You like that,” Rita said.
“I do,” I said. “So will Jumbo. I’ll be behind the open door, and when Margie closes it behind him, I’ll step out and lean on it.”
“And then?” Rita said.
“We’ll improvise,” I said.
34
It was two o’clock in the afternoon, and through Rita’s big windows the harbor looked a lot bluer than I knew it to be, when Margie ushered Jumbo into the room and closed the door behind him. Jumbo had a box of candy. Probably kept a store of candy for occasions like this. He started into the room. Margie closed the door, and I stepped behind him and stood with my back against it. He looked at me.
“What the fuck?” he said.
“Ah, yes,” I said. “The ultimate question.”
Jumbo looked at Rita.
“What’s he doing here?” Jumbo said.
“We want to talk,” Rita said.
“You fucking got me down here to talk?” Jumbo said.
“I did,” Rita said.
“You lying bitch,” Jumbo said.
“Exactly,” she said. “Sit down.”
Jumbo looked at the door and me standing in front of it. He and I both knew he couldn’t get past me.
“You fucking people are digging yourself a fucking hole you’ll never get out of,” he said.
“I’ll agree,” Rita said, “that there’s a hole being dug.”
“I’m telling you right now, you got no idea the trouble you’re in,” Jumbo said.
Rita nodded.
“Sit down,” she said.
Her voice was imperative. No curing erectile dysfunction now. Maybe causing some. Jumbo sat. He held the box of candy in his lap. Rita stood and walked around her desk and sat.
“I’m not trying to put you in jail,” I said. “I’m just trying to find out what happened to Dawn Lopata.”
“You can talk to my fucking lawyer about that,” Jumbo said.
“You know Zebulon Sixkill is working for me now,” I said.
It wasn’t quite true. Henry had given him a job at the Harbor Health Club, handing out towels and bottles of water and checking people in. A condition of his employment being that he wear a tight white T-shirt. So I lied. It was nothing compared to the whopper Rita had recently told.
“I don’t care where he is or what he’s doing,” Jumbo said. “He’s a freaking loser.”
I nodded.
“I’m gonna give you a list of names,” I said. “Whenever you hear a name you know, tell me.”
“What, are we playing some fucking parlor game.”
“Elliot Silver,” I said.
Jumbo stared at me.
“Carson Ratoff,” I said.
“Whatever game you’re playing, pal,” Jumbo said, “I’m not fucking playing.”
“Alex and Augie,” I said.
Jumbo clamped his mouth shut.
“AABeau Film Partners,” I said.
Jumbo opened the box of candy in his lap and ate a chocolate.
“Alice DeLauria,” I said. “Your agent.”
Jumbo ate another chocolate.
“Nicky Fellscroft,” I said. “Your agent’s father.”
Jumbo seemed absorbed with his candy.
“Stephano DeLauria,” I said. “Your agent’s husband.”
Jumbo ate some more candy.
“You know any of those people?” I said.
“No.”
“Now, Jumbo,” I said. “Don’t be an idiot. One of them is your agent. You know Alice DeLauria?”
“Yeah, sure,” Jumbo said. “But I don’t know none of those other fuckers.”
“You have any idea what any of them do?”
Jumbo’s face attempted what might have been a sly look.
“Alice DeLauria is an agent,” he said.
I said, “Now we’re cooking, Jumbo. How about her father?”
Jumbo shook his head and chewed on a caramel.
“What’s Z doing for you?” Jumbo said.
“Z?” I said.
“You said he’s working for you,” Jumbo said. “He been telling you shit?”
Jumbo had gone through the top layer of chocolates in the box. He took the crinkly little sheet of divider paper out and dropped it on the floor.
“We talk,” I said.
Jumbo ate a candy.
“Well, he’s fulla shit,” Jumbo said.
“Lot of that going around,” I said.
“Well, it ain’t coming from me. I don’t know nothing ’bout any of those people, except Alice.”
I nodded.
“So how come Silver and Ratoff came to my office and spoke on your behalf.”
“I don’t know,” Jumbo said. “What’d they say.”
“They told me, sort of, to buzz off,” I said.
“Maybe you should listen to them,” Jumbo said.
He was unconsciously feeling the chocolates, apparently counting how many were left.
“That hole you mentioned that Ms. Fiore and I might end up in?” I said.
“Yeah?”
He ate a candy. Probably caramel, because it took some chewing.
“Who’s going to dig it?” I said.
“You’re digging your own hole,” Jumbo said.
“And who will push us into it?” I said. “And why?”
Jumbo shook his head.
“You’ll find out,” he said.
Rita had been watching quietly. Now she spoke.
“Jumbo,” Rita said. “The point is, he will. You don’t know him as I do. He’ll find out what happened to Dawn Lopata. He’ll find out why everyone he listed is so interested in you. Everything. Remember, we were originally hired to help you.”
“I don’t need no help.”
“Lemme tell you why you might,” I said.
Jumbo rolled his eyes and popped another chocolate.
“I ain’t got all day,” he said.
“Nicky Fellscroft in L.A. has a great deal of ill-gotten cash that he needs to launder,” I said. “So he takes the cash and invests it in AABeau Film Partners, which is run by Alex and Augie Beauregard, and retains Carson Ratoff as counsel, and Elliott Silver as a security consultant. AABeau invests the money in your pictures. They always make money. They are an ongoing franchise, and you can be reasonably expected to continue the franchise for a number of years.”
Jumbo looked sort of pleased that I recognized his value.
“I do okay,” he said.
“All of which makes you valuable, as long as the franchise keeps its nose clean. So somebody, probably Nicky Fellscroft, decides to give you a keeper, and his daughter becomes your agent.”
“She’s a good agent,” Jumbo said.
He ate the last piece of candy and dropped the box on the floor.
“Sure she is,” I said. “She’s got style, she seems smart, she’s got her daddy’s clout behind her, and Nicky trusts her.”