Deadline for Lenny Stern by Peter Marabell (beautiful books to read TXT) 📕

about a couple of floaters, you come to me? You think I dumped the bodies in Lake Michigan?”

“The bodies were wiseguys from Chicago, Joey. Scores were settled, public officials were bribed. Lot of killing in those days. You know that.”

“What’s that have to do with me?”

“You were part of it, Joey. Not you exactly, but your family. Carmine ran the family then.”

Joey flinched just a bit at the mention of his father’s name.

“Stern used to write about us. When I was growing up. They’d drink Anisette, Stern and my father, and talk. Then Stern would go and write it all down.”

Lenny knew the Chicago crime families in those days — DeMio, Lampone, Fanucci — and wrote about them, but I never suspected he was on drinking terms with Carmine DeMio. Damn sure I’m going to ask him about that.

“Stern wrote about the Lampones, too,” he said, gesturing in the direction of Roberta Lampone, still standing at the bar with Jimmy Erwin. “And about old man Genco and the Fanucci family.”

“Are you seriously suggesting Mr. DeMio is responsible for this woman’s death?” Harper said. “Because she’s connected to Stern’s book?”

I ignored Harper, who seemed more agitated than Joey about this discussion.

“Joey, you’re the only guy I know travels with gunslingers. You’re the only guy I know wrapped up in the business of the Chicago families who knew the politicians Lenny wrote about.”

Silence.

I turned and looked toward the front of the restaurant.

“Where are Rosato and Cicci? You never go anywhere without your gunmen.”

“Our employees are of no concern to you, Mr. Russo,” Harper said.

He was easy to ignore, so I did, again.

“You hiring younger gunslingers these days, Joey?”

He offered a response somewhere between a grin and a smirk.

“My father feels more comfortable with familiar people. They can’t be two places at once, so we brought in some new people.”

Maybe Joey had given me an opening …

“Next thing you know you’ll be hiring teenage boys to do your dirty work.”

“Do I look that stupid?” Joey said.

“When you gonna send a couple of kids to gun down Lenny Stern?”

“That’s enough,” Harper said.

“Like you did Kate Hubbell.”

“You’re done here.”

I glared at him.

“Harper, ever think I might not be talking to you?”

“Shut up, Russo,” Joey said. “He’s right, your time’s up. You walk in here, accuse me of murder, you’re done.” With that, Joey made a small movement with his hand. Erwin and Lampone quickly moved to stand just inches behind my chair.

“Escort the gentleman to the door,” Harper said.

18

“You went in there alone, without a gun, and accused Don Joey of murder?” Sandy said. We sat in the front office, Sandy at her desk, Henri and I in chairs by the Lake Street windows.

“He wanted to do it easy,” Henri said, gesturing at me with his thumb, hitchhiker-style.

“What do you mean, easy?” Sandy said. “You’re not supposed to let him do stupid shit like that.”

“I was all set to run in when the shooting started,” Henri said.

I laughed.

“Be quiet, both of you,” Sandy said. “You sound like frat boys again. This isn’t some college prank after the big game.”

“I didn’t really accuse Joey …”

“Close enough,” Sandy said. “These are dangerous people you’re messing with.”

“Henri doesn’t think Joey’s people killed Kate Hubbell.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Sandy said, sounding exasperated. “DeMio’s always dangerous. I need another job.”

“Thought you liked this one?” I said, trying to be serious.

“I do like this one. But I’d like you to live long enough to sign my next paycheck.” Sandy’s voice trailed off as she shook her head.

I had no witty response, no humor to minimize the violent people we’d been dealing with.

“Much as I hate to admit it,” I said, “you’re right. I thought I was being careful, but …”

“And we’re back at it tomorrow,” Sandy said.

I looked up. “Tomorrow?”

“The Harbor Springs bookstore? Stop number two on the tour? Jesus, boss, get your head in the game, will you?”

We were quiet. I stood and looked out the window. The late afternoon sun put one side of Lake Street in the shade — to the appreciation of the tourists, I was sure.

“Russo?” Henri said.

“Yeah?”

“How ‘bout I run over there and have a look?”

“To Harbor?”

Henri nodded. “Look at the layout, the bookstore, the street.”

“Good idea,” I said. “The threats, even Lenny getting beaten up …”

“Then Kate was killed,” Henri said.

“It’s a different game now,” I said.

“I hope both of you remember that,” Sandy said.

“Where will you be in a couple of hours?” Henri said.

“Not sure. Probably with AJ. Text me when you’re done in Harbor.”

“Speaking of done,” Sandy said, “you have anything else for me, boss?”

I shook my head. “See you in the morning.”

Sandy turned off her computer screen, gathered up her shoulder bag and went for the door. We heard her go down the steps.

“One thing’s bothering me,” I said.

“Only one?” Henri said.

“Maybe two things. Something Joey said when I accused him of hiring teenage boys.”

“Which you did intentionally.”

“Of course, to get a reaction. So Joey says, ‘Do I look that stupid?’ Something like that.”

“He was insulted by the question.”

I nodded. “Right. It came off the top of his head.”

Henri sat forward, elbows on his knees. “You think Joey really didn’t know what you were talking about?”

I shrugged. “Well, he knew Kate had been killed, he said so …”

“But after that, you lost him.”

“Maybe I was too quick to blame Joey for this. We seem to do that when anything bad happens around here.”

“They’ve made themselves easy targets, don’t forget that. Joey’s people do bad things. He’s at the top of Fleener’s list, too, and he’s a good cop.”

My phone buzzed, and I took a look. “AJ’s leaving for Chandler’s.”

“That’s my cue,” Henri said. “Off to beautiful downtown Harbor Springs.”

I dialed back the air conditioning, and we left the building. The shade on my side of the street was welcome for the short walk up Lake Street.

Chandler’s is a comfortable restaurant tucked into a small courtyard behind Symon’s General Store. The main room was a long rectangle, a bar