Falls the Shadow (16 page)

“You’re the lawyers representing François,” said Geoffrey Sunshine. He had heavy-lidded eyes and thin lips, and every word that slipped out of his mouth had an aura of corruption about it.

“That’s right,” I said.

“And you want to talk to me?”

“If your nanny doesn’t mind,” I said, directing my thumb at the T-bone in the black turtleneck.

The moment we had stepped up to the corner of the lounge where Sunshine was sitting, the bodyguard had interjected his massive frame between his boss and us, as if Sunshine was the president and our law firm’s name was Hinckley & Hinckley. We were talking now over the man’s broad shoulders as he restrained us with his outstretched arms, readying to bum-rush us out the door.

Sunshine took a couple of puffs from his absurdly long cigar as he eyed us and then said, “It’s okay, Sean.”

The bodyguard bared his upper teeth like a disappointed dog before letting us by.

“How does it look for François?” said Sunshine, eyeing his cigar and speaking as if he cared not a whit one way or the other. “Are you going to get him out of jail?”

“We got him a new trial,” said Beth. “Things are looking better than before.”

“Tell him there is always a place for him in my kitchen if you are successful.” He showed his little teeth in an approximation of a smile. Something about his ferret face looked strangely familiar. “I could really use him, especially with the way my current chef abuses the turmeric.”

“I’m sure François will be very grateful to hear it,” said Beth.

“Sit down, both of you,” said Sunshine, gesturing toward a couch set kitty-corner to his chair. There were two men in suits on the couch, overfed men with cigars, there to talk business with the mogul, but Sunshine gave them a brief nod and they jumped up with alacrity to give us the seats. It shouldn’t have, but it felt damn good to see them scamper.

“Now,” said Sunshine after we sat, “how can I help my good friend François?”

I took out the picture of Velma, passed it over. “Do you recognize this woman?”

He looked at it, squinted his beady eyes, looked at it again. I didn’t remember ever meeting him before, but something about his sneer of a personality struck a chord of memory.

“It might be Velma,” he said, “but she looks different somehow.”

“I think she had some surgery.”

“Well then, definitely Velma.” He sucked at his cigar. “Velma Wykowski, one of the famous Wykowski sisters.”

“I didn’t know she had a sister.”

“Leesa Cullen, I’m talking about,” he said. “That’s what we called them when they were both single, the famous Wykowski sisters. They didn’t look anything alike, and that was the joke. They used to hang out at the bar when I was just starting. They were often the evening’s entertainment.”

“Karaoke?”

“More like carry out the door. They drank too much, flirted too much.” His eyebrows rose obscenely. “They did everything too much. This was before they met up with François. He broke up the sister act. Marriage seems to take the fun out of people, don’t you think? Still, it was a tragedy what happened to Leesa.”

“Yes it was.”

“Whatever happened to Velma?”

“She got married,” I said. “You know, Mr. Sunshine, you look familiar.”

“Call me Geoffrey.”

“Sure, Geoffrey. Do I know you somehow?”

He sniffed loudly, rubbed his pointy nose. “I don’t think so.”

“Where’d you go to college?”

“Temple,” he said.

“Where’d you go to high school?”

“Abington.”

“What year?”

He stuck his cigar in his mouth, rolled it around with his tongue. “So you’re that Victor Carl.”

I snapped my finger. “Jerry Sonenshein. Son of a bitch, I knew I knew you.”

We each gave a couple loud “Hey”s and slapped each other on the shoulder and pretended we had been the best of friends in high school and could be the best of friends still.

“You’ve done all right by yourself, Jerry,” I said as we calmed down.

“And you became a lawyer,” he said, chuckling, as if by passing the bar I had fallen through an open manhole.

“Why’d you change your name?”

“In this business it helps to have a bright moniker. What could be brighter than Sunshine?”

“You were an AV guy, I remember, pushing projectors around the halls like you owned the place.”

“And you wrote those stupid editorials for the newspaper. What was it?”

“
The Abingtonian,
” I said. “And they were supposed to be funny.”

“They were stupid, Victor. Not funny. Stupid. All the AV guys were laughing at you.”

“And you were all so full of yourselves, as if you were on some higher plane because you could run the film projector.”

“We ruled the school.”

“Except when the greasers were flushing your heads down the toilet.”

“I don’t recall you being on the football team yourself.”

“You know what I also remember, Jerry?”

“The name’s Geoffrey, Vic.”

“I remember that I never liked you.”

We stared at each other for a long moment, two high-schoolers again, murder in our eyes, facing off in dodgeball. And then we gave each other a couple more loud “Hey”s and a couple “Ho”s and slapped each other again on the shoulder, maybe a little harder this time, and pretended that our high-school animosity had disappeared over the years.

“Cigar?” said Sunshine.

“Sure,” I said.

“Sean,” said Sunshine, “bring us a selection.”

It wasn’t long before we were sitting back in our seats, the three of us, puffing away, a noxious cloud of smoke obscuring our features as Sunshine talked about François Dubé and the famous Wykowski sisters. Beth had opted for an Arturo Fuente panatela, thin and spicy with the delicate scent of nuts and sweet woods. I went with a Joya Antano Gran Consul from Davidoff, the King Farouk of cigars, I was told, short, fat, and potent. Beth seemed to be enjoying herself. I tried to keep a smile on my face, but King Farouk was doing calisthenics in my stomach.

“How’d you meet my client, Jerry?” I said.

“Geoffrey,” said Sunshine.

“Whatever.”

He glared at me, then calmed, looked at his cigar as he spoke. “I heard from my saucier that François, then sous chef at Le Bec Fin, was planning to resign to head his own kitchen. I was having trouble in the restaurant and was looking for a new executive chef. François would have been perfect. So I invited him up to see if we could work out a business arrangement.”

Sunshine leaned over a small side table between chair and couch, tapped his cigar gently, and a roll of ash tipped into an ashtray. He looked absently at the single rose sitting in a black glass vase and then leaned back again.

“The famous Wykowski sisters were hanging around then, the absolute queens of the bar, scoring coke, flirting like mad, having sex in the bathrooms when it suited them, which it often did. They were out of control, but lovely, too, and frankly, they gave the place the kind of reputation that draws in a high-paying crowd. It was good to have them around. Fun, too.” He puffed, he leered, I tried not to throw up. “So when François was due to arrive, I asked them to be nice to my new friend. I thought once he tasted the charms of the Wykowski sisters, saw how much fun this place could be, we’d be able to work something out. It didn’t quite turn out as I had expected.”

“What happened?” said Beth.

“The end of an era, that’s what happened,” said Sunshine. “First I caught my very popular bartender pulling cash from the till. When I sacked him, a large part of my clientele went with him. Not good. Then the famous Wykowski sisters just disappeared.”

“Why?”

“They were a trio for a time, Leesa, Velma, and François. Then word was Velma got bored and she gave François to Leesa.”

“Gave him to her?”

“Something like that. And right after, all three simply disappeared from the club. I heard Leesa was marrying François. I heard François was starting his own place, with his name on the window. I heard Velma had found other fields to plow. That was the end of everything. Without my bartender or the two girls, suddenly my club wasn’t so hot. The nut on this place was killing me already, I had borrowed more for a redesign, and now I had a club that wasn’t making the kind of money it had before. It took me three years to climb out of the hole.”

“But it looks like you did,” I said.

He grinned, his cigar pinned in his teeth. “Oh, yes.”

“You ever see that Velma again?” I said. “She ever come back here?”

“No,” he said as his eyes shifted back to that flower. “Leesa neither. I figured they were sort of embarrassed the way they behaved. What happened to Leesa I could follow in the paper, but Velma Wykowski, it was like she fell off the face of the earth. Who’d she marry anyway?”

“You don’t know?”

“No. I never learned.”

“Just some guy,” I said. “Thanks for your help, Jerry.”

“Whatever I can do for François, you let me know. He was a great chef. And I was serious about having a place for him.”

“Thanks,” I said. I took another puff, and suddenly I felt my stomach flip. One too many Sea Breezes, one too many cigars.

“What’s the matter with your face there, Victor?” said Geoffrey Sunshine. “Suddenly, pal, you don’t look so good.”

I held my Joya Antano Gran Consul in front of me as the nausea sliced like a dull knife into my brain. “If you’ll excuse me,” I said as I smashed my cigar in the ashtray and stood weakly. “I need to find the bathroom.”

Freaking King Farouk. The only good news was that none of it got onto my tie.

In preparation for my bridge, Dr. Bob was grinding two of my healthy teeth into nubby posts. He seemed to be enjoying his work. One could even say he was grinding with a certain gusto, which, while admirable in a stripper, is somewhat disconcerting in a dentist wielding a router in your mouth.

“So that must be the famous tie,” said Dr. Bob over the whine of the diamond bur as it attacked my teeth. “Carol does have excellent taste. She just needs to lower her standards a tad. When we seek perfection, we always end up disappointed, but that’s why you will be so good for her. We don’t have to worry about perfection in your case, do we, Victor?”

“Aahohuu,” I said.

“Shift over a bit and open your mouth a little wider. And stop your whimpering. I shot enough Novocain in you to stun a horse. If you don’t calm down, I’ll have to call in Tilda to assist.”

I halted my squealing immediately. He changed the bur on his tool, delved back into my mouth.

“But you must be doing something right. She seems so happy. You look puzzled. Of course, Carol and I talk. The doctor-patient relationship can be more than a simple business transaction. I take a personal interest in all my patients. We are, all of us in this practice, something like a family. Move your head this way, please. Yes, very good. I’m quite shocked, actually, Victor, but this is going smoothly. Rinse and spit, please.”

I rinsed and spat. A white grit from my expectoration stuck to the edges of the porcelain bowl. I waxed nostalgic over what moments before had been my tooth.

He shifted the light above my head, peered into his tiny mirror to get a better view of the destruction, fired up the grinding tool once more. It sounded like a slot-car racer on steroids.

“Aahayyyaaaaeio?” I said.

“Of course you can ask a question. Is it dental in nature? Excellent. Then I might even be able to answer.”

“Owioraaayayee?”

“Baby teeth? Very important. But you don’t have to worry about that. Oh, you’re not asking about yourself, are you?”

“Aiiah.”

“A client. Interesting. How old?”

“Ooou. IoohiOhohoh.”

“Four? And you represent him pro bono? I’m so very impressed. I think, in many ways, we are more alike than one would expect. Hold on while I grind out this ridge. So this is a four-year-old child with serious dental issues. Why don’t you show me which teeth.”

I rubbed my tongue all along my upper row.

“Ah, yes. Now that can be serious. Does he still use a bottle? Do his parents let him suckle himself to sleep with it?”

I nodded. He shook his head.

“I can’t tell for certain without examining the boy, but it sounds like he is suffering from something called BBTD, or baby bottle tooth decay. Ooops. Sorry about that. When you keep fighting me by clenching your teeth, it makes it that much more difficult to get this right. Nothing serious, but suddenly there’s a lot of blood. Rinse, please.”

My God, it was Guérnica in the spit sink.

“Just a bit more and we’re done. BBTD. A bacterium called
Streptococcus mutans
is feeding on the sugars in the milk or juice from the bottle, and its toxins are eating away at the teeth. If it progresses far enough, it can cause a serious infection that can enter the bone and permanently damage the adult teeth forming beneath the surface. This child should be immediately examined and treated by a qualified dentist.”

“Aahilleyoo?”

“The standard treatment is to go into the affected teeth, excavate the decay, and then, in effect, mummify the damaged nerves. Caps are placed upon the teeth, which restore the primary teeth and allow the permanent teeth to come in without any additional problems. All very necessary. I hope the parents have insurance.”

“Ayhaaahi.”

“Nothing? That is a problem. You better rinse again, Victor. The flow of blood is stanching, but it’s still pretty heavy.”

Swirl, swirl, swirl, splat.

“Let me take another quick peek.” He sprayed my teeth with warm water.

“How do they look?” I said. With his hands out of my mouth, I was finally able to pronounce consonants. I suppose consonants are like lower-right molars, we only really appreciate them when they are gone.

“Beautiful,” said Dr. Bob, “round and even and beautiful. I could have been a sculptor, Victor. I could have been David Smith. I had the talent and the vision, but being locked away all day in a studio, the loneliness broken only by the occasional nude model, that wasn’t for me. Instead I have the best, most noble job in the world.”

He lifted up his diamond bur as if it were a torch of liberty and let it whir.

“Who knows what evil lurks in the teeth of men?” he proclaimed. “The dentist knows.”

“You ever read comic books as a kid?” I said.

“Voraciously.”

“You maybe take them a little too seriously?”

“Of course not. They were so unrealistic. Superman was a newspaper reporter; Batman, some millionaire socialite; Daredevil, a lawyer. Those are heroes? Please. Spider-Man, the part-time photographer; Iron Man, the industrialist; Green Lantern, the architect; Silver Surfer, some sort of Zen wanderer. Oooh, I’m impressed, Zen wanderer. Captain Marvel was a paperboy, for God’s sake.”

“But no dentists, is that it?”

“Tilda will take an impression for the lab, then I’ll set temporary crowns on what’s left of your teeth. When the full bridge comes back from the lab, I’ll give you a call. Everything is going swimmingly, Victor. You should be greatly encouraged.”

“Oh, I am,” I said, rubbing my tongue along my lifeless gum. “One more thing. I was just wondering if…”

“The boy, is that it?” he said.

“Yes.”

“I was curious as to when you would get around to asking. What is his name?”

“Daniel. Daniel Rose.”

“Have Daniel’s mother call me and set up an appointment. I’ll do what I can. Pro bono. Just like you. You see, Victor, it is important for you to understand my mission in life. It is important for you to know what kind of person I really am.”

“Why is it important what I think?”

“We are all one family. We should all understand one another. Tilda,” he called.

She was in the doorway quick as the Flash. “Yes, Doctor.”

“Let’s finish up with Victor, shall we?”

She pressed a massive fist into her palm until the knuckles cracked. “With pleasure.”