Five Points (11 page)
Authors: J. R. Roberts
“What about Bethany?”
“She's got talent, but she's not a natural like the kid.”
“Anything romantic between her and Appo?”
“No,” Delvecchio said. “He's only about ten years older than she is, but I don't think anything's goin' on between them. He's just her mentor.”
“So then she'll go to him for help?”
“I'm sure if she goes to anybody it'll be him.”
“Okay, good,” Clint said, “then you take me to see him, and maybe we can get him to tell her what we want her to hear.”
“What makes you think George Appo is gonna help you?” Delvecchio asked.
“He and I have a mutual friend who will vouch for me,” Clint said.
“Sorry, friend,” Delvecchio said, “but me and Appo are acquaintances, not friends.”
“I wasn't talking about you,” Clint said. “I was talking about Red.”
“The kid? He might be hard to find.”
“He told me to put the word out on the street and he'd hear about it.”
“Okay,” Delvecchio said. “I'll put the word out. Where should I say he can find you?”
“What's wrong with right here?”
Delvecchio looked down at his cup and said, “Well, for one, the coffee stinks.”
THIRTY
Two hours and a lot of cups of weak coffee later, the kid Red came sauntering in.
“So, now you need Red's help, huh?” he asked, looking at Clint and Delvecchio. “Hey, I know you.”
“Delvecchio.”
“Right, the private detective. You put the word out that Mr. Adams wanted me, right?”
“Right.”
Red looked at Clint.
“So what can I do for you, Mr. Gunsmith?”
“I want you to take me to see George Appo.”
“George? Why?”
“Because I think a girl named Bethany needs help, and I think she's going to go to him for it.”
“Whatsamatter with Bethany? Why don't she come to me for help? We're friends.”
“Then all the more reason you should take me to see George,” Clint said. “I want to help Bethany.”
Red looked at Delvecchio.
“Is he tellin' me straight?”
“Yeah, kid,” Delvecchio said. “He wants to help the girl.”
“Well, okay,” Red said. “I gotta talk to George first. Where will I find you?”
Clint looked down at his weak coffee.
“Right here.”
“Right,” Red said. “I'll be back in an hour.”
As Red left, Clint suddenly slapped his forehead with his palm.
“What?” Delvecchio asked.
“I was supposed to be picked up this morning by Captain Byrnes.”
“Oh, yeah. To go talk to those other fences. Well, now you don't have to do that.”
“I know,” Clint said, “but Byrnes doesn't know it.”
“So he probably went without you,” Delvecchio said. “It'll keep him busy.”
“It'll probably make him mad.”
“More coffee?”
“Do they serve beer here?”
“No.”
Clint shrugged.
“I'll have some more weak coffee.”
True to his word, Red was back in an hour.
“Okay,” he said. “George says he'll talk to you.”
“Not here, I hope,” Clint said.
“No,” Red said. “George has class. He wouldn't be caught dead in a place like this.”
“Where then?”
“The Metropole.”
“They have good coffee there,” Delvecchio said.
“Okay,” Clint said, standing up. “Let's go.”
“Not the detective,” Red said. “Just you.”
“See?” Delvecchio said. “I told you. Not friends.”
“I'll see you later,” Clint said to the private detective.
“I'll come by your hotel.”
“Lead on, little man,” Clint said.
“Hey, my name's Red.”
“Okay, Red,” Clint said. “No offense meant.”
The Metropole was indeed a classy place. Clint had been there once, years before, but it hadn't changed. He bet it still served the best steak in town.
“Come on,” Red said. “George is inside already, at his table.”
As they entered, they were stopped by a man in a tuxedo, but Red said, “Outta the way, we're here to see George.”
“Oh, no,” the man said, looking at Red, “it's you.” He wrinkled his nose, as if he smelled something badâand maybe he did.
“Yeah, I'm back.” Red turned to Clint. “George is this way.”
As he followed Red across the restaurant, Clint asked, “What's with you and the guy in the suit?”
“He don't think I'm clean enough to come to a joint like this,” Red said. “But if George says it's okay, it's okay.”
“George is a big man in this city, huh?”
“George is the biggest pickpocket in town,” Red said, “the king.”
Well, why not? Hadn't he already met the Queen of Fences?
Why not the King of Pickpockets?
THIRTY-ONE
As Clint and Red approached the table, a man stood up and extended his hand. His eyes were just slightly Asian, his hands slender, with tapered fingers. A pick-pocket's perfect hands, Clint assumed. The man himself was not very tall, was slender and probably not yet thirty. He was dressed extremely well.
“Mr. Adams? I'm George Appo.”
“Mr. Appo, it's a pleasure to meet you.”
“Have a seat,” Appo said. “Have you had lunch?”
“Actually, no,” Clint said. “I've been drinking bad coffee for the past few hours.”
“Well, we can fix that.”
The two men sat down, and Appo waved a waiter over.
“A pot of coffee, Lee,” Appo told the waiter. “Mind if I order for both of us?”
Clint said, “Be my guest.”
“Steaks, Lee,” Appo said. “With everything.”
Lee, the young waiter, looked at Red and asked, “Three?”
“Two,” Appo said. “Red, you better go.”
“Aw, George . . .”
“Go ahead,” Appo said. “Mr. Adams and I have to talk.”
“Grown-up talk,” Red said, nodding.
“That's right.”
“Aw, gee . . .” Red said, but he turned and left with a desultory slouch to his shoulders.
“Red likes you, Mr. Adams,” Appo said. “He doesn't usually take to strangers that quickly.”
“I'm flattered.”
“My point is, I wouldn't have agreed to see you unless Red vouched for you. Also, he said it had something to do with Bethany.”
“It does. Have you seen her lately?”
“By lately you meanâ”
“Today?”
“No. The last time I saw her was day before yesterday. It was right here, as a matter of fact. Has she gotten into trouble since then?”
“No,” Clint said. “I think she got into trouble way before thatâbut let's not go that far back. Let's just go to Denver.”
“She and Ben just got back from Denver.”
“Where Ma sent them, right?”
“You'd have to ask Bethany.”
“Lookâ” Clint said, stopping short when the waiter brought the coffeepot and two cups. He poured them full and then left.
“Taste it,” Appo said.
Clint did.
“Good?”
“Very good,” Clint said, “and miles better than what I've been drinking so far today.”
“You were saying something about Denver?”
“A woman was killed and her house was cleaned out,” Clint said. “I believe the goods are on their way here.”
“To Ma, to be fenced?”
“That's what I think.”
“Why does this put Bethany in trouble? She wouldn't kill anybody.”
“What about Ben?”
“That boy? I'll tell you the truth, Bethany has the nerve to kill if she had to, but not that boy. He just doesn't have it in him.”
“I don't think either one of them did it. I think it was a man named Willie O'Donnell.”
“Well, that makes more sense,” Appo said. “Willie's a born killer. He likes it.”
“Bethany came to me and told me Ben didn't do it, but she wouldn't tell me who did. But she's got to tell somebody.”
“Me?”
“You're her mentor, right?”
“Doesn't mean she'd put her head on the chopping block,” Appo said. “If she told anyone, Ma would have Willie kill her.”
“Really?”
“Ma Mandelbaum doesn't have it in her to love anybody but one person.”
“Who's that? Willie O'Donnell?”
“No.”
“Herself, then?”
“Wrong again. It's Ben.”
“Ben? But she treats himâ”
“Like dirt, I know,” Appo said. “She's trying to toughen him up.”
“And what about Bethany?”
“The truth?”
“I'd appreciate it.”
“She's jealous of Bethany.”
“Why?”
“Because she's smart,” Appo said, “and because she doesn't need her.”
The waiter returned with steaming plates of steak, potatoes, and other vegetables. Both men leaned back so he could put them down.
“She needs help, Mr. Appo,” Clint said, “and I'm willing to help her.”
“What does she have to do?”
“Tell you or me who killed the woman in Denver,” Clint said. “I'll make sure he can't hurt her.”
“And what about Ma?”
“If Willie goes away for killing Mrs. Wellington, I bet he'll take Ma with him.”
“He just might,” Appo said. “So you want me to get her to talk?”
“I want you to give her somebody to talk to. A friendly ear, some friendly advice, whatever it takes.”
Appo picked up his knife and fork, used the knife to point to Clint's plate.
“Why don't we eat our lunch,” he said, “and while we're doing that I'll think over your proposition.”
Clint picked up his own utensils and looked down at his plate.
“That's a proposition I can agree to right now,” he said.
THIRTY-TWO
The meal was the best Clint had had in a while. The waiter brought a second pot of coffee.
“Dessert?” Appo asked.
“You usually have dessert after lunch?”
“Lunch, supper, there's always room for dessert,” the pickpocket said.
“Not for me,” Clint said. “Thanks.”
“Okay, Lee, not today,” Appo said.
“Yes, sir.”
As the waiter walked away, Clint said, “So what do you say, George? You want to help save your girl's life?”
“You think it'll come to that?” Appo asked.
“Do you think she'll try to leave Ma eventually?” Clint asked.
“I've thought so for a long time,” Appo said. “The only thing holding her back is Ben.”
“What if she tried to take Ben with her?”
“Ma would kill 'er.”
“And if she gave Willie up?” Clint asked.
“Ma would kill 'er.”
“And if she tried to leave Ma on her own, even without Ben?”
“Okay, I get you,” Appo said. “No matter which way she goes, she's going to end up dead.”
“Unless we help her.”
“Okay,” Appo said. “I'll talk to her, but without you around. I don't want you pressuring the girl.”
“That's fine with me, George. I want two thingsâ the killer and to help Bethany.”
“Why would one of those things be as important to you as the other? You don't know the girl.”
“She came to me to plead for her brother,” Clint said. “I think she's loyal, and brave. And I met Ma Mandelbaum. I'd like to get Bethany away from her.”
“What about Ben?”
“Him, too.”
“Do you want to rescue them from a life of crime?” Appo asked. “It's been pretty good to me.”
“No,” Clint said. “Not from a life of crime. Just from death.”
On the steps outside the Metropole, Appo said, “I'll get word to you after I've talked to her.”
“Which way do you think she'll go?”
“I don't know,” Appo said. “Maybe to New Jersey. She's got a mind of her own.”
“I hope you can convince her,” Clint said. “I'll wait to hear from you.”
Clint started down the steps, Appo remaining at the top, watching him.
“Mr. Adams.”
At the bottom Clint turned and looked up.
“I want to thank you in advance.”
“For what?”
“For trying to help.”
“Trying,” Clint said, “takes so little effort, I wonder why more people don't do it.”
“Many try,” Appo said. “Few actually do.”
“Given the opportunity,” Clint said, “I can and will do a lot more than try.”
Appo nodded. “You just might get the opportunity, my new friend,” he said.
THIRTY-THREE
When Clint got back to his hotel, there was a uniformed policeman waiting for him in the lobby.
“Captain Byrnes would like to see you, sir,” the man said. “He sent me to fetch you.”
“What's your name?”
“Edwards, sir.”
“Well, Officer Edwards,” Clint said, “let's go. We don't want to keep the captain waiting.”
Edwards drove Clint to Mulberry Street in a buggy and dropped him out front.
Other books
Damned Good Show by Derek Robinson
The Invisible Code by Christopher Fowler
Felidae on the Road - Special U.S. Edition by Akif Pirincci
The Cases of Susan Dare by Mignon G. Eberhart
The Praetorians by Jean Larteguy
Resisting Her by Kendall Ryan
The Book of a Few by Rodgers, Austen
That Man Simon by Anne Weale
Greta's Game by K.C. Silkwood
Even In Darkness--An American Murder Mystery Thriller by Lynn Hightower
