Gold Coast Blues (25 page)

As we continued northbound, it dawned on me that I didn’t know what Cooper thought of Spike’s million-dollar wine scam or even if Cooper was aware of his protégé’s newly acquired assets. Cooper would be quite angry if Spike did not plan to share the spoils with his mentor-daddy.

I called Spike. “Cooper knows about your big score, right?”

“Huh? He knows I’m in the game.”

“Does he know you ripped off a fortune of wine?”

“Why should he? It’s my business—”

“Blood is untouchable. Is that it? Daddy feels guilty for abandoning you? He won’t care if you go rogue? If you really think Cooper won’t expect a piece of that action, you’re a fool who won’t last long in this
game
.”

Spike’s laugh sounded forced. “What do you want, Landau?”

“Sergeant Blake’s in town. And he’s not in a good mood. I’m following him northbound on Lincoln. We’re almost at Argyle. Any chance we’re headed in your direction?”

Silence. “So Sergeant Blake is in town. I was in that area—”

“He just pulled over. He’s calling someone. Or maybe he’s answering the phone.”

“What block are you in?” Spike said.

I looked around but couldn’t see a number. “I don’t know.”

“Is there a building at the corner with a red awning?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah, I guess he might be looking for me. I was just there.”

“Where are you now?”

“Jeremy’s office at the Vin Bar.”

“Stay there!”

Front wheels spitting gravel, I pulled a tight U-turn. Four-cylinder Honda versus eight-cylinder sedan. Did Sergeant Blake realize how far west we had angled on Lincoln? I cut over to Western and headed south to Clybourn, which slanted directly to Brenda’s pâtisserie. I parked across the street from the Auvergnat Vin Bar, arriving with time to spare, thanks to my masterful navigation.

Since the tables had not been set up with bottles, glasses, and menus, I assumed a tasting had not been planned for that evening, although Jeremy stood at the bar, flawlessly attired in black apron, black jacket, gold stickpin of grapes, and silver saucer hanging around his neck. He was preoccupied with a piece of paper he held in one hand while staring at the wine racks behind the bar. I absconded to his office where Spike sat behind the desk in a steno chair, feet up, looking cocky as ever. A quick appraisal of the room deflated my spirits. “No closet?”

Spike dropped his feet to the floor. “Just throw your jacket on the couch.”

“I’m looking for a place to hide. I want to hear what Sergeant Blake has to say when he shows up.”

“I’ll tell you what he says.”

The desk’s modesty panel reached almost to the floor. “Don’t take this personally,” I said as I pushed Spike backward in his chair. “But I don’t really trust you.” I crawled under the desk and sat, hugging my knees against my chest.

Spike stared at me. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I’m surprised Jeremy still lets you hang around.”

Spike chuckled and rolled the chair closer to the desk. “You should’ve figured out by now that I own a stake in this place.”

“You or Cooper?”

“Doesn’t matter. Jeremy can’t stand me. But then he thought about it awhile—”

“And visions of dollar signs on Mouton Rothschild bottles started dancing in his head.”

“Remember, he knows where the wine is,” said Spike.

I let go of my legs to see if they could rest comfortably on their own. They couldn’t. “That doesn’t worry you?” I asked.

His face lit up. “It’s the ‘keep-your-friends-close-but-keep-your-enemies-closer’ thing.” Spike turned his attention out the door. We heard Sergeant Blake’s voice, then Jeremy asking questions. They spoke casually.

“They know each other?” I said.

Spike didn’t respond. He walked to the door and shouted, “Hey, Blakie-baby!” before sitting back down and pulling himself to the desk, his knees now inches from my head.

“Have a seat,” Spike said. Sergeant Blake closed the door but chose to stand directly in front of the desk. He wore the traditional wingtip shoe.

“Has Eddie been to see you?” Sergeant Blake said.

“Eddie’s here to find Tanya.”

“So you
did
talk to Eddie?” the cop asked.

“Eddie’s looking for Tanya. Trust me.”

Sergeant Blake shuffled his feet. “Eddie’s head seems to be in a different place. If he talks to you about Tanya, you need to tell me what he says. He was supposed to get together with you—”

“Yeah, I know. We were gonna team up, but guess what? He wants to find Tanya first.”

“I want to find her too. But your father gave Eddie a lot of money to come here and help you start setting up the business. If he has some other plans—well, that’s not good. And don’t let him influence you.”

“Influence me? I don’t need Eddie. Cooper could’ve sent me that money to get the business going. And don’t call Cooper my father. Yeah, we’re blood but he didn’t raise me.”

“If you want him to trust you with money, you can’t have secrets. You didn’t think we’d find out about the wine you scammed? There’s a lot of money in wine. But if you go cutting deals behind our backs—”

“Yes! I
hate
secrets. Why did Tanya take off? What did you and Cooper do to her?”

“Goddamn it!” Sergeant Blake shouted, stepped away a moment, then reversed path. “I don’t have that kind of involvement with her. You’ll have to ask your father if something happened between them.”

“Tell me the truth. Cooper was hitting on Tanya, and that’s why she’s running?”

“I don’t know anything about that.”

“Sure you don’t. Just give me a hint.”

“Tanya asked for some more challenging work. Cooper asked if she wanted to come here and help you start the wine operation. You know that.”

“Yeah, but she wasn’t into it. She was just happy to get away.”

“Do you want to be a part of your father’s organization or not?”

“Just because we’re blood-related doesn’t make him my father! He had nothing to do with me growing up.”

Sergeant Blake stepped away again. He paced a bit then said passionately, “Spike! Wake up! You’re in the catbird seat! Just go along with being Cooper’s son if it makes him happy! That’s called
ambition
. You could be at the top one day if you just go along with things—and don’t make secret deals.”

Silence. I imagined the two locked in a staring contest. “Jesus!” Spike said. “You’re really pussy-whipped on Cooper, aren’t you?”

Poor Sergeant Blake. Did he ever imagine verbal abuse by a mobster’s son would be part of the job description? I heard the door open. “You know how to get in touch with me,” Sergeant Blake said. “If you find out anything about where Tanya might be, I need to know immediately.”

Chapter 40

“Move!” I said. Spike pushed back his chair. I emerged from under the desk. Spike stared at the floor. I said, “Does Jeremy know Sergeant Blake?”

“That lying bitch.”

“Did you hear me?”

“Sergeant Blake likes wine. He and Jeremy bullshit about wine.”

“Sergeant Blake seems pretty invested in you. How long has he been around?”

“Always. He’s Irvington.”

“You don’t think he’s here to
kill
Tanya, do you?”

“He’s here to check up on me and Eddie, idiot!”

I had become completely desensitized to Spike’s blindness. “But what if Tanya knows too much? She was
working
for Cooper while Eddie was in prison.”

“Sergeant Blake’s not a killer, and he’s too close to Cooper. They would contract out for something like that.”

Spike had not seen Sergeant Blake’s inhospitable side, but he was probably right. “You wouldn’t know anything about him, being the teacher’s pet. He acts like your guardian. I bet keeping you on the wide and crooked path is part of his assignment. That whole catbird speech. He was trying to tell you not to let pride get in the way of ambition.”

“I don’t need a goddamn father.”

“You’re missing the point. Cooper could have called you himself and said all that shit Sergeant Blake said. Sending a messenger is Cooper’s way of emphasizing the opportunity you have. The way I see it, Eddie has a decision to make. If he runs away with Tanya, then you’re the number-one son.”

Spike walked to the couch and sat, letting his head fall back over the top of the sofa. I took the desk chair and put my feet up. Spike said, “So what do you think Eddie’s gonna do?”

“If he can, take the money and run away with Tanya.”

“What’s wrong with getting the hell out if that’s what he wants?”

“Because you don’t just
get the hell out
of this business. And if you don’t know that, your future is less than promising—blood relative or not.”

“You’re all caught up in the Mafia thing. That’s not us. Capone wasn’t Mafia, you know.”

“Oh, sure. Capone was just a businessman. If he had only paid his taxes on all that income, the Feds wouldn’t have given a damn. And if you had told Sergeant Blake about your plan to split the wine with Doug in exchange for Tanya’s whereabouts? I’m sure Cooper and Sergeant Blake also wouldn’t have given a damn.”

Spike put his hand over his forehead. I watched him awhile then stood to leave, purposely pushing the chair with the back of my knees so it bumped against the wall. Spike’s hand remained in place, as did the rest of his body.

—

Lincoln Avenue seemed more alive, now that the fog had given way to partly cloudy skies. Or maybe the mist had lifted from my brain. Either way, after driving past Argyle Avenue, the red awning of the two-story stone building at the end of the next block beckoned me. Across the canopy’s fringe, white capital letters spelled “LEGERDEMAIN,” and hung over a blackened window with the words “LEGERDEMAINIST SUPPLIES.” On the side of the building a wooden staircase led up to a second-floor apartment. Despite the fifty degrees of late March, an air conditioner in the transom above the apartment’s door hummed loudly.

The door opened to a comfy wood-paneled room lined with shelves of small, unidentifiable items. Labels such as “Fire Magic,” “Money Magic,” and “Stage Magic” revealed the store’s function. A smiling, white-bearded man with yellowish crooked front teeth walked through an open doorway behind the counter
.
It took a moment, but I recognized him as Blackstone from Pâtisserie Grenouille
.
Suddenly, the place reeked of cliché—an old wizard’s magic storefront, a back room where he donned a purple cone-shaped hat adorned with stars and moons and practiced the Black Arts. At any moment, I expected an owl to land on his shoulder.

“Greetings,” he said in a nasal voice, a bit higher than I anticipated. He leaned over the glass counter, resting on his elbows. “How may I assist you?”

“What does ‘Legerdemain’ mean?”

The smile vanished. “Literally, ‘light of hand.’ Today we know the word as ‘sleight of hand,’ or trickery.”

“I’ve never known the word.”

“Why would you?”

“Of course, it takes a legerdemainist to know a legerdemainist.” Blackstone didn’t respond. “Why not just call the place Magic Shop?” I asked.

Delayed response. “
We
know the word. Those that need me, find me. A curious passerby wastes my time.”

The brightness of his eyes suggested premature aging. “I’ll try not to waste your time. How long have you worked here?”

“I bought this place about a year ago.”

“I’m wondering if you know a guy. He liked special effects, bloody stuff.” I recalled Doug from Brenda’s description: six foot, fit, chiseled features, white-streaked grayish hair.

Taking it all in, the man stroked his beard just the way one expected a wizard to do. “Did he have a daughter?”

I took out a picture of Tanya. “This is what she looked like several years ago.”

A quick glance then, “They often came in together.”

“No kidding? When was the last time you saw them?”

“Hard to say.”

“Did you get to know him? What did you talk about?”

He looked me over. “What’re you, some kind of detective?”

I showed him my investigator’s license. “I’ve been hired to find the young woman.”

He seemed neither impressed or put off. “She’s missing, huh? Why would I know anything about that? Disappearing women is not part of my act.”

“I didn’t mean to imply—I’m just gathering information. Any little tip that might tell me something. Like, what kind of stuff did he buy?”

“As you said, he liked grisly illusions. Razor blade slicing bloody wounds, spike through tongue, needle through hand, knife through arm. Sometimes he bought, other times he just wanted pricing.”

“What about her? Did you talk to her?”

He shook his head. “Nope, she just waited for Dad.”

I suppressed my impulse to give a cursory explanation of their relationship, then remembered what brought me back to this neighborhood. “How about a young guy named Spike?” I described a skinny kid with slicked-back hair. “He’s friends with the other two. Did he ever come in here?”

“Lots of kids come in here looking like that.”

His answer surprised me. I thought Spike appeared atypical for his age group, but what did I know? I pretended to suddenly recognize him. “Hey, I know why you look familiar. From that French pâtisserie on Webster.”

Blackstone straightened up, walked out from behind the counter, then leaned back against the glass case. “You go there often?” he said, no longer looking very old or very wizardly.

“Occasionally. You’re friends with the owner?”

“No. You?”

“She also knew the man and—his daughter.”

“And now you’ve made a connection between the man, his daughter, Brenda Gallagher, and myself.”

“I’d say I discovered a coincidence—unless there’s something you’re not telling me.”

“I understand. A good investigator should always be suspicious. By the way, how did you happen to find my shop?”

“Yellow Pages.”

“Really? Among the dozens of display ads for magic stores, you chose to visit one with a simple listing.”

“And how do you know I hadn’t visited every store with a display ad before I came here?”

He grunted a laugh. “Hard to believe.”