potatoes, a slice of blueberry pie, and a cup of black
coffee. I waited. He surprised me by not arriving promptly at twelve, but when he did arrive, he was in a worriedrush. As soon as he saw me, he scowled and slowed his pace. I pretended to play with my mashed potatoes as he loomed over
me.
“I should have guessed it would be someone like you.”
I looked up, grinning. “Someone exactly like me. Me, myself, actually. Have a seat.”
The waiter was there almost immediately, but Carlson waved him off.
“Not hungry?” I asked. “I thought you ate here regularly.”
“I’ve already eaten.”
“Humble pie, right?”
“What exactly is this about, Mr….”
I pasted on a pretend frown. “How quickly you forgot! Lombardi. L-O-M-B-A-R-D-I.”
He stiffened. “What is this
about?”
“I bet you could tell
me.
You could use big words, like the ones they taught you at Harvard. I like big words myself, but they take so long to say.”
“I’m interrupting a busy schedule to come here, Mr. Lombardi, and even you must be able to see that I don’t welcome your humor
or your company. So get on with it, whatever it is.”
“How about a game?” I said, still playing with the mashed potatoes. “It’s called ‘Ten Guesses.’ It’s like ‘Twenty Questions,’
but shorter.”
Carlson didn’t answer, so I started playing “volcano” with my mound of mashed, scooping out the inside, filling it up with
mushroom sauce, breaching the sides with my spoon and watching mushroom lava ooze down into the plate.
“If you don’t mind, Mr. Lombardi…” He was goingbright scarlet in the face now. I liked that.
“Okay, we’ll play another game. It’s called ‘What if,’ as in, ‘What if your car wasn’t stolen from Flatbush like you said
it was?’”
His expression changed. A cross between fear and anger, and tipping toward fear.
“What if you lost it outside a place called Victory Wrecking, down on Stillwell?”
“All right,” he said. “Continue.”
“I knew you’d want to. This is a fun game, isn’t it? Okay, and what if you left your expensive leather briefcase, the one
with your initials in gold, on the seat? Was that real 24-karat gold? Nice buffed leather, too. Musta cost you.”
“Get to the point.”
“Sure. Let’s say
that’s
where your car got ‘jacked, by three teenagers—Pulaski and associates. They had a little problem, though. They had to toss
out the guy who was behind the wheel while you were inside the yard foreman’s shack paying for some pretty pictures.”
“You’re exceeding my worst expectations of you, Mr. Lombardi. You’re even more loathsome a creature than I imagined.”
“Every day in every way I’m getting better and better.”
“So what is it that you want?”
“Well, for openers, I want to know about the driver. I know his name’s Jorgenson, but what’s he to you?”
“Just a friend.”
“Close friend?”
“A friend.”
“How close? Kissing close?”
“Your mind is in the sewer, Mr. Lombardi. An appropriate place for it.”
“Okay, we’ll move on.”
“You said you had something I’d lost. A briefcase. Shall we get to that?”
“Sure, let’s.” I reached under the table, moved my coat onto the empty chair next to me and hefted the briefcase onto the
table. The sight of it unhinged him, but he recovered well.
“You’re willing to return it, then?”
“Sure. I’ve already got a briefcase. And these initials are all wrong.”
“So, how much do you want?”
“In money?”
“Yes.”
“Well, it
is
a real nice one, and those 24-karat gold initials, they gotta be worth
somethin’.
A small finder’s fee, maybe.”
“Five thousand,” he offered without so much as a blink. I’m the one who started blinking. I let out a whistle, too. Somehow,
he took the reaction to mean no. “All right,” he continued in a sanctimonious banker’s voice. “Ten.”
As soon as he made that jump, I knew there was
coffee. I waited. He surprised me by not arriving promptly at twelve, but when he did arrive, he was in a worriedrush. As soon as he saw me, he scowled and slowed his pace. I pretended to play with my mashed potatoes as he loomed over
me.
“I should have guessed it would be someone like you.”
I looked up, grinning. “Someone exactly like me. Me, myself, actually. Have a seat.”
The waiter was there almost immediately, but Carlson waved him off.
“Not hungry?” I asked. “I thought you ate here regularly.”
“I’ve already eaten.”
“Humble pie, right?”
“What exactly is this about, Mr….”
I pasted on a pretend frown. “How quickly you forgot! Lombardi. L-O-M-B-A-R-D-I.”
He stiffened. “What is this
about?”
“I bet you could tell
me.
You could use big words, like the ones they taught you at Harvard. I like big words myself, but they take so long to say.”
“I’m interrupting a busy schedule to come here, Mr. Lombardi, and even you must be able to see that I don’t welcome your humor
or your company. So get on with it, whatever it is.”
“How about a game?” I said, still playing with the mashed potatoes. “It’s called ‘Ten Guesses.’ It’s like ‘Twenty Questions,’
but shorter.”
Carlson didn’t answer, so I started playing “volcano” with my mound of mashed, scooping out the inside, filling it up with
mushroom sauce, breaching the sides with my spoon and watching mushroom lava ooze down into the plate.
“If you don’t mind, Mr. Lombardi…” He was goingbright scarlet in the face now. I liked that.
“Okay, we’ll play another game. It’s called ‘What if,’ as in, ‘What if your car wasn’t stolen from Flatbush like you said
it was?’”
His expression changed. A cross between fear and anger, and tipping toward fear.
“What if you lost it outside a place called Victory Wrecking, down on Stillwell?”
“All right,” he said. “Continue.”
“I knew you’d want to. This is a fun game, isn’t it? Okay, and what if you left your expensive leather briefcase, the one
with your initials in gold, on the seat? Was that real 24-karat gold? Nice buffed leather, too. Musta cost you.”
“Get to the point.”
“Sure. Let’s say
that’s
where your car got ‘jacked, by three teenagers—Pulaski and associates. They had a little problem, though. They had to toss
out the guy who was behind the wheel while you were inside the yard foreman’s shack paying for some pretty pictures.”
“You’re exceeding my worst expectations of you, Mr. Lombardi. You’re even more loathsome a creature than I imagined.”
“Every day in every way I’m getting better and better.”
“So what is it that you want?”
“Well, for openers, I want to know about the driver. I know his name’s Jorgenson, but what’s he to you?”
“Just a friend.”
“Close friend?”
“A friend.”
“How close? Kissing close?”
“Your mind is in the sewer, Mr. Lombardi. An appropriate place for it.”
“Okay, we’ll move on.”
“You said you had something I’d lost. A briefcase. Shall we get to that?”
“Sure, let’s.” I reached under the table, moved my coat onto the empty chair next to me and hefted the briefcase onto the
table. The sight of it unhinged him, but he recovered well.
“You’re willing to return it, then?”
“Sure. I’ve already got a briefcase. And these initials are all wrong.”
“So, how much do you want?”
“In money?”
“Yes.”
“Well, it
is
a real nice one, and those 24-karat gold initials, they gotta be worth
somethin’.
A small finder’s fee, maybe.”
“Five thousand,” he offered without so much as a blink. I’m the one who started blinking. I let out a whistle, too. Somehow,
he took the reaction to mean no. “All right,” he continued in a sanctimonious banker’s voice. “Ten.”
As soon as he made that jump, I knew there was
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