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

“Good for him,” AJ said. “And no trouble, right?”

I hesitated, and she caught it.

“What? What aren’t you telling me?”

I wasn’t hiding anything, but I felt the tension in her words, in the way she asked the question. I wanted to be careful, to edit my comments. We were having fun. I didn’t want to lose it.

I gave her a condensed version.

“So you’ll check out the two guys? You and Henri, I mean.”“Best lead we’ve had since the Cavendish Company president lied about his father being alive long after he was killed in prison.”

“At least you won’t go charging over there alone.”

“AJ, I told you I wouldn’t do that. Henri went along to see DeMio, and to the Cavendish Company. He’ll be there this time, too.”

I probably should have kept my mouth shut, but there it was, right there on the beach, in the park, by the water.

“Don’t get pissed at me again, Russo. I don’t like it.”

“I have a job to do, AJ. We’ve … we’ve done this before.” I rolled up the rest of my sandwich in the wrapping. “You’re worried about me, Henri thinks I don’t pay attention to the job …”

“Are you blaming me for that?”

I shook my head. “No, but … Henri says I don’t focus on my job when I’m worrying about you, and that’s dangerous.”

“Henri’s right, Michael.”

“Did you talk to him?”

“I didn’t have to.” AJ folded up her half-eaten sandwich and shoved it back in the paper sack.

“Is it that obvious?” I said.

“Just do your goddamn job, Russo. Just do your job. I’ll be here when you’re done. I’ll figure it out.”

39

I woke up early. The sun had crept its way through the blinds, putting rows of light on the opposite wall. Dinner on the beach ended well enough. But AJ went one way, me another, neither of us at peace — or comfortable.

Do my job, AJ said. I tossed the covers back and sat on the side of the bed. Time to meet Martin Fleener at Don Hendricks’ office.

I put water and coffee in the machine, punched the button, and headed for the shower. It was time to focus, as Henri would say. By the time I sat at the kitchen table with an English muffin, fresh raspberries and coffee, I had not made much headway with focusing.

I took a lightweight cotton blazer to cover the hip holster. I cut through the parking lot behind the Perry Hotel and went up Bay Street to the rear entrance of the County building.

“Morning, Sherry,” I said. Sherry Merkel was assistant to Emmet County Prosecutor Donald Hendricks, and chief protector of his privacy.

“Mr. Russo,” she said. “They’re waiting for you.”

I went through the door behind Merkel’s desk.

“Morning, Russo,” the prosecutor said. Donald Hendricks was in his third term, duly elected by the county’s voters. In his fifties, the slightly overweight Hendricks looked rumpled no matter the time of day. Tie loose, collar open, shirt sleeves pushed up. “Take a seat,” he said.

I did, and a tough decision it was between three worn-out metal chairs. At least they matched the faded institutional green of Hendricks’ desk.

“Good morning, Marty,” I said to Captain Fleener, who occupied his usual chair under a huge map of Emmet County.

“Morning,” Fleener said.

“You’ve got the floor, Marty,” Hendricks said.

Fleener flipped open a reporter’s notebook.

“Ah, before we start,” I said. “Mind if I ask why we’re meeting here?”

“You don’t like my office?” Hendricks said. The prosecutor was not known for his sense of humor, but he tried every so often.

“Just curious, Don,” I said. “Didn’t think a background check on gang activity would interest you much.”

Hendricks leaned forward, elbows on the desk. “Everything in this county interests me, Russo.” So much for humor.

“If there is a gang,” I said.

“That’s my cue,” Fleener said, leafing through a few notebook pages. “When the idea of gang activity first came up, I paid attention, but nothing you said rang a bell. That’s why I wanted to talk with my guy in Lansing.”

“The one on the task force, right?”

“Yeah.” Fleener hesitated, glancing at Hendricks. “Don, you want this one?”

Hendricks cleared his throat. “Some of our gang people, sometimes they work off the books.”

They waited, letting that sink in.

I glanced at Fleener, then back to Hendricks. “They don’t have, shall I say, proper authorization?”

“Something like that,” Hendricks said, sounding purposefully vague. “They’re not exactly dealing with conventional crooks …”

“Not like the Joey DeMios of the criminal world.”

Hendricks nodded. “Nobody would use the word ‘organized’ to describe their activity. They’re not very bright, their movements are too random.” Hendricks shrugged. “They don’t lend themselves to conventional means.”

“So, you spy when you need to?”

“Marty,” Hendricks said, ducking my question. “Give Russo what you know.”

Fleener glanced at his notebook.

“Four men, white, late teens or early twenties. Oldest is twenty-four. Two work, two unemployed. Only one, a Samuel Dexter, graduated high school.”

Fleener looked up from his notes. “By the way, the unemployed guys do not draw unemployment from the state.”

“That’s comforting,” I said.

“All four have had run-ins with the law, small-shit stuff nobody cares about. No felony charges or arrests.”

“Does this gang have a name?” I said.

Fleener shook his head and grinned. “It’s a stretch to suggest they’re anything more than four guys who drink too much and get in trouble together.”

“Okay,” I said, “then how did they get on your radar in the first place?”

“Wondered how long it would take you to ask,” Fleener said.

“Well?”

“Dumb luck,” Fleener said. “One of the guys, a Benjamin Jarvis, beat up his girlfriend. She filed a complaint, later withdrawn …”

“Of course, it was,” I said.

“ … in Mackinaw City. The girlfriend called Jarvis a drug dealer, so Mac City cops alerted SANE.”

SANE, an acronym for Straits Area Narcotics Enforcement, covers drug activity in Emmet, Cheboygan, and Otsego Counties.

“If they have drugs at all,” Fleener said, “they sell them to their buddies for change. We didn’t charge them for dealing.”

“Why is it you think this is the bunch threatening Lenny Stern?”

“Dumb luck, again,” Fleener said. “I was