Polkacide (16 page)

"
Zebras
." She hissed the word through
clenched teeth. "I'll show
him
zebras."

I stared at her, struck by
the strangeness of the scene. I'd never seen her like this before,
bursting with white hot anger, almost out of control. She'd always
come across as goofy and annoying, clownish and shallow, incapable
of being outraged or dangerous. But she wasn't that way at all, not
shallow or any of the rest of it.

For the first time, I was starting to
get a full picture of her.

Not that it would matter if she ran
the car off the road into a tree and killed us both. "Like I was
saying." I cleared my throat and raised my voice. "Now we know what
we need to do next."

Peg just kept the hammer
down. "If he'd called me
Margaret
one more time, I'd've kicked his family jewels
to
kingdom come
."

I raised my voice again. "We
need to talk to Eddie Jr."

That got her. "Don't you
mean Eddie Sr.?"

"Eddie Jr. first," I said.
"Maybe we can find something out without tipping off his father
right away."

Peg sighed and let off the
gas a little...which was good, since we'd just run three stop signs
and were coming up on a traffic signal. "Seems like that's our only
lead right now."

"Maybe Eddie Jr. knows
something." I relaxed as she slowed to a stop at the signal. "He's
a nosy enough guy, that's for sure."

Peg grunted. "Maybe we'll
have better luck with
your
ex than we did with
mine
."

*****

When we marched into Polka
Central, Eddie Jr. was on his way out. He rushed toward us, looking
harried, no smile in sight, which wasn't like him.

"What's going on?" Peg let
the door fall shut and stood in front of it.

Eddie stopped and shook his
head. "I've gotta go find my dad."

I frowned. "Pick him up at the
doctor's, you mean?"

"I mean
find
him." Eddie threw his hands up
in exasperation. "He never called me to pick him up. According to
the doctor's receptionist, his appointment was done three hours
ago."

"He probably went to the
Falcons for a drink," said Peg.

"Nope." Eddie rubbed the
fine line of his stubbly sidemusgoat from ear to chin. "I already
called there."

"One of his buddies probably
picked him up." Peg hiked a thumb over her shoulder. "Maybe took
him to Stush's Diner or the American Legion."

Eddie Jr. shook his head.
"Not there, either. I don't know. I can't just sit here." Reaching
into his shirt pocket, he pulled out a pale yellow sticky note with
something written on it in blue ink. "By the way, there's a
problem."

Peg took the note, read it,
then handed it over to me. "It's all yours, Lottie."

"What's the problem?" All I
saw on the sticky note were the words "Father Nowakowski" and a
local phone number. "What am I supposed to do?"

"The annual
ring-around-the-rosie." Eddie Jr. spun a finger in the air. "He
keeps asking for more, we keep telling him no, he keeps asking for
more, and around and around we go."

Peg sighed. "Father
Nowakowski wants a bigger cut of food and beverage sales for St.
Casimir's."

"Or he won't let us use the
parish festival grounds for Polkapourri," said Eddie. "The man
plays hard ball."

"We always give up a
percentage point or two," said Peg, "but not
this
year. It's up to you to hold the
line."

I frowned. "Why are we holding the
line all of a sudden?"

"Time for a fresh start."
Peg's eyes narrowed behind her massive lenses. "I'm tired of being
pushed around."

"'Scuse me." Eddie Jr.
bumped Peg on his way to the door. "Gotta go find my dad, remember?
I'll make up the time tomorrow."

Peg stepped aside. "Call and
tell us when you find him, Ed."

"Will do." Eddie scooted
outside, leaving the door standing open behind him.

She pulled it shut, then turned to me
and shrugged.

I shrugged back. "So much
for talking to Eddie Jr. about Eddie Sr."

"We'll catch up with him
later." Peg started across the gym floor toward the stage. "Back to
Polkapourri business in the meantime."

I took another look at the
sticky note as I fell into step behind her. "Maybe it would be
better if you called the priest yourself, huh?"

"Why would I do that," said
Peg, "when I've got a nightclub owner fresh from Los Angeles ready
to play extreme hardball with him?" She looked back over her
shoulder and winked at me. "You're an unknown quantity, Lottie. I'm
calling you The Intimidator."

"Thanks, I guess." She
didn't know my L.A. business was failing, and of course I wasn't
going to tell her.

Peg bounded up the steps to
the stage. "While you're doing that, I've got my own battle to
fight...and it stinks worse than yours."

I climbed the steps behind
her. "Who do you have to fight?"

"The sewage bureau." Peg
laughed as she whisked through the gray curtain and disappeared
into the office area.

Chapter 25

Father Nowakowski played
hard-to-get. I made three calls to the St. Casimir rectory without
reaching him. Each time, his secretary suggested I call back soon,
since Father Speedy (as she called him) was nearly done meeting
with the Holy Name Society.

On the fourth and fifth
calls, no one answered the phone. Call number six was picked up by
Sister Alphonsus, an old woman with a high-pitched voice and
Italian accent. Yes, she said. Father Speedy was done with his
meeting, and she'd just seen him walk past. Please hold, and I'll
bring him to you.

But the only thing the good
Sister brought me was a dial tone.

Peg was working at the desk
next-door and seemed to get the picture. "How're you making out
there, hon?" Her voice was tinged with sarcasm and
amusement.

I gave her the sweetest smile I could
muster. "Just fine, thanks." Then, I dialed again.

This time, I got the
answering machine. Same again on the next two calls.

Then, the secretary
returned. "He'll be right back, dear. He's on the other line with
the bishop."

I kept my voice calm and pleasant,
though my irritation level was soaring. "Can you have him call me
back, please?"

"Oh, certainly. What's your number,
did you say?"

I gave her the number twice,
and she promised he'd call back within minutes. Forty-five minutes
later, he still hadn't called.

"Hey, Peg." It was time for
some sarcasm of my own. "If they call this guy
Speedy
, why's he so
slow
returning a
damned
phone call
?"

Peg grinned and waved her
phone receiver at me. "Turn it to your advantage! He's no match
for
The Intimidator
."

I stopped in the middle of
dialing and hung up. She was absolutely right.

Father Speedy Nowakowski was
trying to make me sweat. He probably wanted to make me come to him,
so he could face me down with a home field advantage.

So fine. I decided to give him what he
wanted.

Scooping up my car keys and
butterscotch purse, I sprang from the chair. "I'll be back." I said
it like a killer cyborg from the movies as I headed for the gray
curtains. "Just as soon as I run an errand."

"Give my regards to Father
Speedy," said Peg. "Not really."

I marched through the
curtains without asking how she knew where I was going. Because I
guessed it was pretty obvious.

*****

St. Casimir Church was in
the same part of town, just three blocks away from Polka
Central...but I still drove. No way did I want to be out of breath
when I got there.

The church's twin spires
jutted high above the working class neighborhood, turquoise peaks
bathed in the late afternoon sunlight. The pale gray stone façade
hunched up into the deep blue sky, an enormous rose window
dominating its center like a great cyclopean eye.

Driving past all that, I
parked along the curb in front of the adjacent rectory. I took a
moment in the car to think it over and prep myself--then got out
and started walking.

The rectory was a
rectangular two-story building with dark brick walls swaddled in
ivy. It huddled in the shadow of the pale gray church, a dark
contrast that suited the priest who was turning the screws on
Polkapourri.

As I walked up the front steps, I
wondered how long it would take him to come to the door. Would he
even deign to see me at all? Chances were good he'd let me stew;
unfortunately for him, I wasn't the type to get psyched out by head
games. I wasn't about to give him any ground in this
negotiation.

I
was
surprised, however, when the door
swung open before my knuckles could knock on the wood. There he
was, the elusive Father Speedy, gaping out at me.

He was a handsome guy for
his age, which I guessed was late fifties or early sixties. I'd
seen him at Mass now and then on my few trips home from L.A., so I
recognized him...though communion was the extent of our
acquaintance. What I
did
know was that the ladies had a thing for
him.

Father Speedy was like their
own personal movie star. "Hello, Lottie." His voice was deep and
resonant. He was on the short side but tanned and fit. His thick,
wavy hair was shot through with gray, and his bright, white smile
flashed like a double row of flashbulbs.

I nodded coolly. "Father."
He'd caught me off guard, but I was back in control.

"How are you doing?" Father
Speedy took my hand and gave it a squeeze. "My prayers are with you
in this difficult time. Such a terrible loss."

"Yes, it is." I slid my hand
from his grip, determined not to let him steer the conversation. It
was time for a curve ball of my own. "I only wish my father had
lived to see Polkapourri in its new venue."

Father Speedy raised an
eyebrow. "What new venue is that, my child?" There was a twinkle in
his eye; I think he already knew I was playing him.

"Twice the space at half the
price." I widened my eyes excitedly. "Plus, it'll be closer to
Pittsburgh. I think Polkapourri could really
explode
this year."

"Are you talking about the
ski resort?" He folded his arms over his chest. "Has Valhalla made
an offer?"

I scrunched up my nose. "I don't want
to jinx it."

"I see." He rocked on the balls of his
feet. "And they can provide the authentic Polish food?"

"Let me just say this." I leaned
forward and smiled conspiratorially. "Food, not a problem. Alcohol,
got it covered."

"Uh huh." He tipped his head
back and stared at me through narrowed eyes. "You do know that
lying to a man of the cloth is a sin, don't you?"

"Not that it matters, but
I'm a
lapsed
Catholic." I shrugged. "Fifteen years in Los Angeles,
right?"

Father Speedy laughed. "I suppose you
could be persuaded to keep Polkapourri at the parish festival
grounds if we asked for less of an increase in our cut?"

"You mean if you
reduced
your
cut?"

He shook his head. "Reduced
the
increase
we've
requested."

"I'm sorry." I smiled
sweetly. "I thought you were suggesting taking a
decrease
instead of
an
increase
."

Father Speedy laughed again
and leaned against the doorjamb. "Now wouldn't
that
be something?"

I laughed, too. "Too bad it's
impossible, huh? What with the new venue being practically a done
deal and all."

"What a shame." He wagged his head.
"Well, this is splendid news for us at St. Casimir's. Another group
wanted to use the grounds for a festival that very same
weekend."

"Won't they be happy!" My
fake grin just wouldn't let up. Father Speedy and I knew we were
both bluffing, but we had to keep up the act to the bitter end.
"I'm so glad I could help."

"It's all for the best, I
suppose." Father Speedy stared past me, off into space. "Lou and I
had a--
challenging
--relationship."

"Is that so?" It was the
first I'd heard there were issues between them.

"He tried to get me
fired
," said Father
Speedy.

My smile slipped into a
frown. I couldn't help it. This was all news to
me...
if
it was
true. "Why would he do that?"