the far edge of the pool.
Lehman stared at me.
Gretchen said, "Mr. Lehman is very busy, perhaps you could tell us exactly what you had in mind?"
"And why you think a recommendation from Tony Marcus means a piss hole in the snow to me?" Lehman said.
"Ah, the lilt of your imagery, Perry."
Lehman flicked a glance at the big black man.
"If Gunga Din assaults me, Perry, you'll never find out what I want and the place will get all messy."
He glanced at the Rolex watch on his left wrist.
"You got one minute from now," he said, "to tell me what you want." He drank the rest of the champagne, pulled the bottle from the bucket and carefully poured some more.
"I'm backtracking a kid named Ginger Buckey. Art Floyd picked her up at a massage parlor in Portland, Maine, and brought her down here and put her in your club. I want to know where she went from here."
"I don't know any Art Floyd, or Ginger whatever."
"And you, Ms. Coolidge?" I said.
"I'm afraid I can't help either."
I turned my head and looked at the black man. He stared at me without expression. "Et tu, Brutus," I said.
"Any other questions?" Lehman said.
"You haven't run across a woman named April Kyle, have you?"
Lehman shook his head. Gretchen shook her head. Brutus simply gazed at me.
"I thought this was a palace of pleasure," I aid. "I'm not having any fun here at all."
Lehman drank more of his champagne. "That's 'cause you're not asking for the right things, cowboy." He put the champagne glass down, picked up his cigar and puffed on it. I thought a duck might come down from the ceiling but nothing happened. "And because you're just talking, you follow my meaning? You're not giving me anything."
"What would you like?" I said.
Lehman shrugged and took the cigar out of üs mouth and looked at the end of it and smiled.
"Hey," he said. "I'm easy. How about your name, for instance? How about your connecion with Marcus? How 'bout why you want o know all this shit? Stuff like that." He had wother swig of the champagne and put the cigar back in his mouth and puffed on it and shifted in his seat and folded his hands on his small belly. Behind him against the far wall here was a bright red and blue parrot in a big gold cage. The parrot was eating a sunflower seed.
I fished a business card out of my shirt pocket and held it out. Gretchen took it and put it on Lehman's desk. He didn't look at it.
"It's a nice card," I said. "New design. Crossed blackjacks."
Lehman didn't change expression. "Name's Spenser," I said. "With an's. I'm a private detective and I'm doing two things. I'm looking for a kid named April Kyle, and I'm investigating the murder, in New York, of a kid named Ginger Buckey. I think they're connected."
"And why come to me?" Lehman said. "And what's this Tony Marcus shit."
"I came to you because I know Ginger Buckey ended up working downstairs, and the Tony Marcus"-I looked at Gretchen-"ah, doo doo, is because I figured his clout would get me in."
"Marcus got no clout with me," Lehman said. "I got the clout."
"Sure," I said. "But here I am."
"And how do you know that Ginger Fuckey or whatever her name is ended up here?"
"Buckey," I said. I winked at Gretchen Coolidge. "I have my sources," I said, Gretchen seemed frozen. She sat with her hands folded, her knees together, reading a spot about halfway between me and Lehman.
"I want to know," Lehman said.
"So here we are," I said. "I know something you want to know, and you know something I want to know."
"Maybe I'll just have Brutus shake it out of you," Lehman said.
"Maybe Brutus can't," I said.
I could hear Gretchen Coolidge breathing a little fast next to me. Lehman smoked his cigar and drank some champagne and smoked his cigar some more. There was a short furrow between his eyebrows. Probably trying to think. He looked at Brutus again. Immobile by the pool, still half shadowed by the palm fronds. He looked back at me.
"Okay," he said. "I can deal. Ginger Buckey worked for me for a while
Lehman stared at me.
Gretchen said, "Mr. Lehman is very busy, perhaps you could tell us exactly what you had in mind?"
"And why you think a recommendation from Tony Marcus means a piss hole in the snow to me?" Lehman said.
"Ah, the lilt of your imagery, Perry."
Lehman flicked a glance at the big black man.
"If Gunga Din assaults me, Perry, you'll never find out what I want and the place will get all messy."
He glanced at the Rolex watch on his left wrist.
"You got one minute from now," he said, "to tell me what you want." He drank the rest of the champagne, pulled the bottle from the bucket and carefully poured some more.
"I'm backtracking a kid named Ginger Buckey. Art Floyd picked her up at a massage parlor in Portland, Maine, and brought her down here and put her in your club. I want to know where she went from here."
"I don't know any Art Floyd, or Ginger whatever."
"And you, Ms. Coolidge?" I said.
"I'm afraid I can't help either."
I turned my head and looked at the black man. He stared at me without expression. "Et tu, Brutus," I said.
"Any other questions?" Lehman said.
"You haven't run across a woman named April Kyle, have you?"
Lehman shook his head. Gretchen shook her head. Brutus simply gazed at me.
"I thought this was a palace of pleasure," I aid. "I'm not having any fun here at all."
Lehman drank more of his champagne. "That's 'cause you're not asking for the right things, cowboy." He put the champagne glass down, picked up his cigar and puffed on it. I thought a duck might come down from the ceiling but nothing happened. "And because you're just talking, you follow my meaning? You're not giving me anything."
"What would you like?" I said.
Lehman shrugged and took the cigar out of üs mouth and looked at the end of it and smiled.
"Hey," he said. "I'm easy. How about your name, for instance? How about your connecion with Marcus? How 'bout why you want o know all this shit? Stuff like that." He had wother swig of the champagne and put the cigar back in his mouth and puffed on it and shifted in his seat and folded his hands on his small belly. Behind him against the far wall here was a bright red and blue parrot in a big gold cage. The parrot was eating a sunflower seed.
I fished a business card out of my shirt pocket and held it out. Gretchen took it and put it on Lehman's desk. He didn't look at it.
"It's a nice card," I said. "New design. Crossed blackjacks."
Lehman didn't change expression. "Name's Spenser," I said. "With an's. I'm a private detective and I'm doing two things. I'm looking for a kid named April Kyle, and I'm investigating the murder, in New York, of a kid named Ginger Buckey. I think they're connected."
"And why come to me?" Lehman said. "And what's this Tony Marcus shit."
"I came to you because I know Ginger Buckey ended up working downstairs, and the Tony Marcus"-I looked at Gretchen-"ah, doo doo, is because I figured his clout would get me in."
"Marcus got no clout with me," Lehman said. "I got the clout."
"Sure," I said. "But here I am."
"And how do you know that Ginger Fuckey or whatever her name is ended up here?"
"Buckey," I said. I winked at Gretchen Coolidge. "I have my sources," I said, Gretchen seemed frozen. She sat with her hands folded, her knees together, reading a spot about halfway between me and Lehman.
"I want to know," Lehman said.
"So here we are," I said. "I know something you want to know, and you know something I want to know."
"Maybe I'll just have Brutus shake it out of you," Lehman said.
"Maybe Brutus can't," I said.
I could hear Gretchen Coolidge breathing a little fast next to me. Lehman smoked his cigar and drank some champagne and smoked his cigar some more. There was a short furrow between his eyebrows. Probably trying to think. He looked at Brutus again. Immobile by the pool, still half shadowed by the palm fronds. He looked back at me.
"Okay," he said. "I can deal. Ginger Buckey worked for me for a while
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