Crang Plays the Ace by Jack Batten Page B

boss?” I said. “Charles Grimaldi is no stranger to shady stuff.”
    â€œYou’ve gone way too far, Mr. Crang,” Alice Brackley said. Her eyes became very wide. “Charles Grimaldi is a respected businessman and I’m not going to tolerate another word of your insinuation and slander.”
    â€œCharlie knows how to turn a profit,” I said. “I’ll give him that.”
    Ms. Brackley took another cigarette from her package. Before she raised it to her lips, I had a match lit. She looked at me and blew out the match. So much for gracious gestures. She snicked a light from the gold Hermès.
    â€œLet me ask the questions, Mr. Crang,” she said. “Who retained you to approach me with these insults?”
    â€œThat’s confidential,” I said, “but it’s not someone who wishes you harm.”
    Alice Brackley gave her first smile since she sat down in the bar. It wasn’t bad even with the thin lips.
    â€œYou know, Mr. Crang,” she said, “I could make a few educated guesses about your client and his motivations.”
    â€œI’d be delighted to hear them.”
    â€œAnd you’re not entirely unknown to me yourself.”
    â€œI didn’t imagine I was.”
    Ms. Brackley dropped the smile.
    She said, “What do you mean by that?”
    â€œNothing special,” I said. “Just that it wasn’t difficult for me to make an appointment with you.”
    â€œPerhaps I was curious.”
    â€œPerhaps you heard my name around the office.”
    Alice Brackley’s head lifted. Her expression flashed surprise and a touch of alarm before she got her composure back in order. She was looking over my shoulder. I turned in my chair.
    â€œWhy, Charles,” she said. “How nice.”
    The man approaching our table was all teeth and suit. Both were white and gleaming. He was handsome, if your taste is for Latin lounge lizards. The suit was linen and double-breasted and came with white shirt, tie, and shoes. The teeth were all his and blinded everything in their path. His skin was naturally bronzed and he had hair as sleek as Remington Steele’s.
    â€œI’m Charles Grimaldi,” he said. He stuck his hand out and grabbed mine in the forthright manner that my grandfather used to call a good Presbyterian handshake. Miriam appeared behind Grimaldi and moved a chair into place. Grimaldi ordered a gin and bitter lemon. Alice Brackley fussed.
    â€œI thought you’d gone home from the office, Charles,” she said to Grimaldi. To me she said, “Charles has a wonderful house out in the Kingsway, one of the old Gooderham places.”
    Grimaldi paid no attention to Alice Brackley’s chatter. He focused on me.
    â€œAnd you’re the busy Mr. Crang,” he said.
    â€œYou mean I don’t have to introduce myself?” I said.
    Alice Brackley spoke quickly. “I’m forgetting my manners. Charles, Mr. Crang is a lawyer.”
    â€œA criminal lawyer,” Grimaldi said.
    â€œYou recognized my style,” I said. “Very flattering.”
    Grimaldi said, “You’ve been calling on my associates, Mr. Crang.”
    â€œNot exactly,” I said. “Some of them initiated the get-togethers.”
    â€œAlice didn’t,” Grimaldi said. He turned his smile and all those radiant choppers on Ms. Brackley. She put out her cigarette and went into the Vantage package for another. Grimaldi picked up the Hermès and flicked it into action. Alice accepted the light with a smile. Wansborough might have been right about Alice’s feelings for Grimaldi passing beyond a business connection, but I couldn’t tell much from what was going on in front of me. Miriam arrived with Grimaldi’s drink. I asked for another martini mixed just like the first. Sometimes there was virtue in vermouth.
    â€œYou’re right,” I said to Grimaldi. “I invited Ms. Brackley for a