Gold Coast Blues (21 page)

Spike winced—a sign of weakness that wouldn’t serve him well in the mob world. “I don’t know. I can’t see it—but I don’t know.”

“I bet Tanya stayed in touch with Cooper.”

“She didn’t talk to me about Cooper.”

“How about you tell me why Tanya tipped you off on Margot being a good mark.”

Spike’s grin exuded unyielding admiration of a self-acknowledged shrewdness. “I was working for Doug and Margot when she inherited the wine. Doug had told Tanya he thought it might be worth some money. Tanya mentioned it to me, so I talked to Jeremy. When Jeremy told me its true value, I told Doug, but Doug acted like he already knew.”

“But what brought Tanya to Chicago in the first place?”

“Who knows? She’s not a dumb broad, that’s for sure. We’re all businessmen—”

“Cooper is a goddamn criminal. What did he say that prompted Tanya to leave New Jersey and dump Eddie in the process?”

“I don’t fucking know! Why are you such a prick?”

“Dude, you gave it all away as soon as you admitted Tanya fingered Margot.”

Spike cursed loudly then dropped his feet back to the floor. “I want to find out what happened to her. That’s why I’m still sitting here instead of telling you to fuck off. But I gotta think of my future.”

“You’re afraid Cooper will cut you off if you start asking questions about Tanya?” Spike didn’t answer. “Okay, I’ll shut up. But your relationship with Doug Daley. How did you end up working for him?”

Spike stood, stretched his back, shoulders, neck, then plopped back down in his chair. “I always pictured a bar as a place that would be my hangout—for my crew, you know? Like they all have a place to chill, talk business. And I wanted to know how to run a business like that. I was already Doug and Margot’s little helper. I liked this neighborhood and when Doug opened the bar, he hired me. I don’t know why, I guess I bullshitted him pretty good, told him how I wanted to learn and all that crap people like to hear from guys my age.”

“I have a hard time picturing you serving people.”

“Yeah, well, Cooper gave me some money to help convince Doug to let me be like—his assistant. And he was okay with it and he kind of got off on knowing what I was up to, that I had connections to guys like Cooper and all that. I thought Doug’s blood-and-guts magic tricks were cool. He was pretty good at them. We got to be friends. Then Tanya shows up.” Spike leaned on his elbows, head resting in hands.

I said, “Did it seem strange she would suddenly leave New Jersey?”

Spike waited a few seconds. “Cooper said he wanted her to help me start my business. Doug got another little payout for hiring her. To be honest, I thought Cooper wanted her to spy on me and that pissed me off, but she turned out to be cool. I don’t think she gave a shit about business. I think she was just happy to be out of Jersey.”

“So you became good friends? More?”

“When I make a lot of money, I’ll get babes like her. But I knew about Eddie, so I wasn’t gonna mess with that. I just really liked Tanya. And she seemed comfortable around me. She never talked about Eddie. She got really nervous whenever I mentioned him. She didn’t want to talk about Cooper neither. I knew she had secrets but I didn’t care. Then Cooper called me, said he wanted to fly me out there to talk about some kind of new business opportunity.”

“You met with Cooper, who told you about making fake grape juice.”

“Doug was pissed about Margot banging Jeremy. I told Doug we should heist Margot’s wine. I’ll even do the stealing, I told him.”

“Of course you did. Did Doug go for your plan right away?”

“He wanted to think about it.”

“Meanwhile, Doug has been hitting on Tanya.”

Spike groaned. “Yeah. That was tough to watch.”

“Doug and Tanya take off together.”

“That pissed me off. I never saw her again. A few weeks later Doug calls me to talk more about the wine. Now he’s really hot to steal it. I talk him into sending me the access card and password to the wine storage place.”

“You think the wine is the only reason Tanya stayed with Doug?”

“I don’t know. Didn’t matter. I was still pissed he took off with her like that.”

“And you taught him a lesson by getting Margot’s wine and keeping it.”

“Something like that.”

“Remind me when the heist went down.”

“January.”

“And where have you been stashing Margot’s stolen wine all this time? Or am I to believe you already sold it to some Gold Coast chump?”

“I’ll keep that card facedown for now.”

“Speaking of cards, you got a business card, businessman?” Spike handed me a card with “Secondhand Furniture Dealer” over his name and phone number. I laughed. “You’ll go far in this business. But what was the plan? Where were you supposed to meet Doug after you stole his wife’s wine?”

“I don’t remember, somewhere in the city. But I told him Margot had moved the wine somewhere else. He figured out later that I screwed him over.”

Something seemed off. When you run away with a lover, it’s usually far away. Spike read my mind. “You think maybe he never went to New Mexico?”

“Yeah,” I said, handing one of my cards to Spike. “Something like that.”

Chapter 32

Driving to my office, I thought of one more question that needed answering. Brenda picked up on the first ring. She sounded harried.

“I’m getting a large delivery,” she said. “What’s up?”

“Do you remember Doug ever asking you about the value of a Mouton vintage?”

Brenda laughed. “Oh, yeah, a 1945 vintage. I told him to forget about it, although he picked a good year. Costs hundreds of thousands just for one case. Why?”

“You helped me close a circle,” I said and told her I would explain later.

—

The office door pushed into three days of bulk mail lying on the floor. I imagined a device automatically pushing the recycling box under the mail slot whenever I left the office.

With the footrest extended, I sat eating from a bag of Chilean grapes and pondered the state of my investigation. There was a disconnect between people I had assumed were inextricably connected. Apart from having Cooper and Tanya in common, Spike and Eddie had no link to each other that included a connection to bogus wine and Tanya’s current whereabouts. Clearly, Cooper was juggling Tanya and the two junior gangsters, but to what end? Men dropped like flies around Tanya. Spike’s concern for her well-being exposed a flaw in his hoodlum ambitions—cold-blooded bastards like Cooper had no humanity. Finding Tanya required exploiting this flaw.
Things that held their value.
I popped a few more grapes into my mouth, then reclined the backrest about ten degrees. Paintings. Precious stones. Fender guitars. Fermented grapes. I guessed valuing wine had to do with taste bud arrangement or something. My buds didn’t know Mouton from Manischewitz. My cellphone vibrated with Kalijero’s name. A bad taste from our last conversation still lingered. “Landau Investigations.”

“Still in New Jersey?”

“Who’s calling, please?”

“Let me guess. You’re pouting. Is that it, Landau? Someone talks a little rough and you get hurt like a little boy?”

“I’m sensitive, so what?”

“Sensitive people don’t belong in this business. That’s so what.”

“Well, I’ve been sensitive in this business for ten years including two solved—”

“Murder investigations. Good for you.”

“What do you want, Jimmy?”

“You back in town?”

“Yes.”

“That was quick.”

“I can learn a lot in two days.”

“You want to share what you learned?”

“All of a sudden you’re interested?”

“I’ve always been interested. And I need the money.”

“What money?”

“You forgot the deal we made a week ago? I’m your
consultant
.”

“That’s right. I forgot. You work for me. Why shouldn’t I fire you for being an asshole?”

“Because I’m valuable. I was a cop—”

“For forty years. Of course.”

Silence. “Well?”

“I stumbled across Cooper’s operation. A high-tech still churning out phony wine and fake labels of legendary vintages to sell to rich folks.”

“And Eddie’s here to find rich suckers?”

“He’s here to find Tanya.”

“You still think that’s the
only
reason he’s here?”

“I’m not sure about wine scamming—Eddie told me he doesn’t know anything about
stealing
wine. The thing is, Cooper’s protégé is the son he abandoned, Spike. And it was Spike’s idea to boost Margot’s wine and sell it back to her. He’s the same kid who led me into the ambush down at the Oriental Theatre.”

“You’re saying Eddie and Spike
aren’t
working together?”

“They’ve never met. They’re only peripherally aware of each other.”

Kalijero mulled this over. I pictured him staring into the distance, fiddling with his gold Parthenon pendant necklace. He said, “That Cooper is a crafty son of a bitch. A smart son of a bitch. Knows how to play all angles. And he’s dangerous. Right?”

My turn to mull—particularly the duplicitous tone of Kalijero’s
Right?

“How would I know if he’s dangerous?”

“You said you spent two days in Irvington.”

“It’s a dangerous town. I knew that before I left.”

“Yeah, but you said Cooper runs this dangerous town—”

“You asked if I was back from New Jersey. That was bullshit. You knew I was back.”

“Oh, did I? C’mon—”

“Goddamn it, Jimmy! We talked about this. You said you were looking into connections Cooper had in Chicago. I thought probably a cop or ex-cop. Don’t play games with me. What do you know?”

“I know you disappeared then reemerged with your face looking like ground beef. I didn’t know this before but—”

“Who is it? Who’s the contact?”

“I don’t know names, only acknowledgment that there’s a lot going on behind the scenes, Landau—”

“Tell me what you know—”

“Shut the fuck up and listen! My contact says the Feds are all over Cooper. And he also knows they don’t give a shit about some smart-ass private investigator. They’ll watch everything you do, take what they can use, then shrug when your bloody corpse shows up in the trunk of an abandoned vehicle.”

I pressed the speaker button, laid the phone on the desk, then closed my eyes. I thought of Spike’s disbelief that Cooper and his pals hurt people. Maybe a G-man could take him aside and straighten him out about that.

“Landau? You still there?”

“Why aren’t the Feds working with Irvington or Newark police?”

Kalijero either cleared his throat or laughed. “Corruption too deep-rooted. Not worth taking on. Easier to nab him for interstate fraud.”

“Capone got popped for tax evasion.”

“Exactly. And you should assume Cooper told Eddie about your Irvington trip.”

“Thanks, Detective. Can’t wait to see how much you’ll charge me for that brilliant piece of insight.”

“Your sarcasm is bullshit.”

“I can’t help it.”

“You ever thought about talking to someone?”

The question sounded extraterrestrial coming from Jimmy’s mouth. “Have I thought about what?”

“Talking to someone.”

“Talking about what?”

“About why you’re so damn sarcastic! Sarcasm masks depression.”

Suddenly, I’m having tea with the March Hare. “I’ve never been happier! Look in the mirror, Jimmy, and give advice to that weather-beaten puss.”

“You know how damn reckless you are! You got a death wish, Landau. It’s not normal.”

“Normal people don’t become private investigators. So what?”

Kalijero shouted,
“Vlaka!”
which I didn’t take as a Greek compliment, and then the call dropped.

Chapter 33

“Eddie can’t come to the phone,” said a woman’s voice, flattening the letter “a” into authentic working-class drawl.

“Who is this answering Eddie’s phone?”

“Gina.”

“Okay, Gina, can you ask him to call Jules Landau right away?”

“Yeah, sure.”

A woman answering Eddie’s phone unsettled me. Scenarios of Eddie’s relationships with women came to mind. Despite the evidence of Tanya bedding down with Doug and James, I had only pictured Eddie with Tanya, as if they belonged together through some grand cosmic plan. Call me a romantic. I recognized my prejudice. Frownie had warned me about emotional appeal.
Schmaltzy sentimentalism,
Frownie liked to say,
distorts your thinkin’ and can get you dead
. Frownie knew best, but my gut told me the underlying motivation that put me on this case was a Jersey boy seeking reconciliation with his Jersey girl.

An hour later I called back. The same woman said, “I dunno when he’s comin’ back. He’s over near the printers’.”

“The what?”

“He said somethin’ about meetin’ friends at the printers’. They was gonna get dinner.”

I hung up, thought awhile about her babbling, then drove to South Dearborn Street, a neighborhood of enduring brick structures that once housed Chicago’s printing industry but now provided lofts for an eclectic mix of professionals and artists. Persevering through the decades of change were restaurants and bars whose adherents boasted of eating or drinking at places called Blackie’s or Louie’s sometime in Chicago’s storied past. And it was in one of those venerable eateries that I spotted Eddie sitting alone in a booth, a waitress having just set a plate of food before him. He positioned his hands around an enormous sandwich. When he lifted it off the plate, I slid into the opposite side of the booth and said, “How the hell are you?”

“Oh, hey,” he said. He put the sandwich down without taking a bite. It looked like shredded pork.

I said, “How’s it going?”

Eddie’s half-smile looked forced. “Yeah, it’s going okay. I mean, I was hopin’ to hear from you. But I didn’t wanna keep buggin’ you or nothin’.” He repositioned his hands around the sandwich and took a bite.

“Who’s that chick answering your phone?”

Eddie grinned. “Nobody special.”

“You let nobody special answer your phone?”

“I forgot to bring it with me. She answered it.”