“Yes, sir?”
“I’m here to see Mr. Steele. We have an appointment. My name is Dwight Handford. Is there a clubhouse, community house, here?”
“Straight ahead to the right.”
“Busy in there tonight?”
“Wouldn’t know for sure, but it’s Friday night and there’s almost always people playing cards, talking, having drinks or parties.”
“Good, will you tell Mr. Steele that I’ll be waiting for him in the clubhouse.”
She nodded and went back into the gatehouse. I watched her pick up the phone, hit some buttons and start talking. She looked over at me once and then talked some more. She hung up and came out.
“Mr. Steele will meet you in the clubhouse in a few minutes,” she said.
She went back in the gatehouse, did something, and the gate went up.
The clubhouse was easy to find and there were about thirty cars in front of it. I parked the Geo as far from the entrance as I could get.
Immediately through the doors I found myself in a large room full of couches, tables and chairs. Most of the chairs and couches were full. A few dumps of people were standing. There was a small bar to the right, behind which stood a small bartender in a white shirt and a red vest. The people of the manor were dressed casually, in simple dresses, skirts and blouses, slacks and short-sleeved shirts. The people of the manor were generally not young.
I found a vacant couch to the right of the door and sat.
Pirannes came in alone five minutes later. He was wearing slacks, a shirt, a tie and a lightweight tan jacket. He was overdressed and he didn’t look happy. He found me and sat down at my side without looking at me.
“You’re dead,” he said.
“How did you know I wasn’t Dwight Handford?”
“Handford’s dead,” he said. “I knew about it by noon. Besides, Angela described you.”
“Angela, at the gate. Is she Italian?”
“Her name’s Angela Conforti. And my name is Richard Steele and your name is mud. How did you find me? Who told you?”
“Your secret is safe with me, but I’ve got to tell you, about a third of the criminal population of this community knows about Mr. Steele’s manor retreat.”
“What the hell do you want, Fonesca?”
I looked at him.
“Did you kill Dwight Handford? Not that I care much. Just for my peace of mind. I can’t prove anything and it’s just between you and me. You can deny it later.”
“You’re wearing a wire, carrying a tape recorder,” he said.
“Get friendly. Check me out.”
“Let’s go in one of the private rooms,” he said.
“I might not walk out,” I said.
“I’m not going to kill you here. I’m not an idiot.”
I followed him through a lounge on the left, where people were playing cards at two tables. Beyond the lounge were two doors. We went through the one on the right. Pirannes turned on the lights, faced me and patted me down. He wasn’t gentle.
The room was small, had tastefully wallpapered walls, sconces with teardrop lightbulbs, furniture with the look of something old and French.
“I didn’t kill Handford,” he said. “And I didn’t kill Tony Spiltz. The kid lied about me being there. I’ll tell you something, Fonesca.”
He was starting to get worked up. That was not a good sign.
“I’ll tell you what I think,” he went on, pointing a finger at me. “I think Handford set me up. I think he came back to get the kid when I wasn’t there. I think he killed Tony. I think maybe she helped him. He told her the story about me being with her. I’ll tell you that if someone hadn’t killed Handford, I would have done it myself, personally. But I didn’t.”
“Leave Adele alone,” I said.
He laughed and shook his head. He even started to choke a little. I was being very funny.
“I wouldn’t…” he managed to get out and then paused to regain his voice and some of his anger. “I wouldn’t take her back. I wouldn’t go near her. She might kill a customer. She might kill me. But I tell you what I do want, what would keep her safe.”
“What?”
“The money I paid for her,” he said.
He ran his hand back over his hair and pulled himself completely together.
“How much?”
“She went cheap;” he said. “Eight thousand. Handford didn’t know what he could have gotten. I’ll take the eight thousand. I’ll be very nice. I won’t ask for any of the money I could have made on her.”
“You’re a man of principle,” I said.
“Sarcasm will get you killed,” he said.
“I thought I was already a dead man.”
“No. I like you. I’d offer you a job, but I don’t think you’d take it and I don’t think I could trust you. I get the eight thousand by tomorrow noon and you live and I leave the girl alone.”
“What have we got going here that tells me I should trust you?”
“Simple,” he said. “I’ve got no reason to lie. If I wanted you dead, I’d have my man waiting outside the door follow you to your little white car. He’d kill you quietly, pack you in the trunk-”
“I don’t think I’d fit. It’s a Metro.”
“Shove you on the floor in the back,” he said. “Drive you out of here smiling at Angela, and leave you somewhere quiet and peaceful.”
“How would he get back?”
“You always think like that?” Pirannes asked with a smile.
“Almost always. I can’t stop.”
“Another car would be following him, pick him up, bring my man somewhere else. Any more questions? I advise you not to get me mad.”
“Where do I deliver the eight thousand?”
“Main post office. Noon on the button. Woman in a white dress. Blonde. Young. Pretty. Cash in an envelope. If there’s anything traceable, marked, you die. You want to die for eight thousand dollars?”
“No,” I said.
“You have eight thousand dollars?”
“No, but I can get it.”
“I don’t need eight thousand dollars, you understand. But I have to have it.”
“The principle.”
“The principle. You walk out of here now. You never come back. You never look for me again. You forget you ever met me.”
“Met who?”
He smiled and put his right hand on the side of my neck and patted not too gently.
“Right question,” he said. “You’ve got three minutes to be back on Proctor Road.”
I left. I didn’t see anyone outside the doors of the clubhouse, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. I was on Proctor Road heading home in less than two minutes.
It was night. It wasn’t late. I drove to Flo’s. The lights were on. Her 1994 Jeep was probably in the garage.
She opened the door a few seconds after I rang. She had a drink in her hand.
“Lewis,” she said. “You here to check up on me?”
“No, Flo.”
“Smell this, taste it,” she said, holding the glass in front of my face.
I took the glass, smelled it, tasted it.
“Ginger ale,” I said.
“Seven-goddamn-Up,” she answered. “Come in.”
Flo was wearing a blue buttoned shirt and a denim skirt. A familiar voice was singing through the house.
He was singing something about the rose of San Antoine.
“Roy Rogers,” she said. “Underrated singer. Sons of the Pioneers backing him up. You’ve got news? You want a drink?”
“No drink, thanks.”
We sat in the kitchen. I had caught Flo in the middle of dinner. There was a plate on the table, knife and fork. Chicken, green beans.
“Mind if I eat while we talk?”
“No,” I said.
“Hungry?”
“No.”
She ate.
“Edna Stockbridge called me, said Adele had to stay put for a few days, said she had to clear the papers we worked on and get a judge to approve me. Said there wouldn’t be a problem. Hell, Lewis, I’m going to be a mother after all these years.”
“She won’t-”
“Be easy,” she finished for me. “Tell me something new.”
“Eight thousand dollars,” I said. “I need eight thousand dollars cash.”
She ate some chicken and said,
“When?”
“Tomorrow morning at the latest,” I said.