The Apostrophe Thief (10 page)

Marian studied him, evaluating. “What if I sweetened the pot a little? How would you like an introduction to a big Broadway director? A private introduction, no other people around.”

He was openly skeptical. “How big a director? Who?”

“John Reddick.”

He laughed scornfully. “You know John Reddick? Sure you do.”

“She does know him,” Augie said with a grin. “She's writing a book about him.”

That stopped the laugh. Rocky looked at Marian uncertainly.

“I told you I was a writer,” she purred. “And what I'm writing right now is an authorized biography of John Reddick. That's
authorized
, Rocky. He's cooperating. Put me in touch with your friend who has the script, and I'll take you to the Broadhurst and introduce you to Reddick in his own office.”

Rocky was torn; he licked his lips and shifted his weight. Finally, self-interest won over caution. “All right, I'll try. But this guy … he's kind of peculiar. Let me talk to him, see what he says.”

“Well … okay. But how do I get in touch with you?”

That required a moment's thought. “Meet me here tomorrow. And I'll want to see a bankbook or something. To prove you can pay.” Rocky looked pleased with himself for having thought of that.

“Fine. Say, four o'clock?”

“Uh, make it six. I work out Friday afternoons.”

“Work,” Holland said, “out. Are you an athlete?”

“Yeah.” Smug. “I'm an athlete.”

“Gold medal in Velcro jumping?”

“Six o'clock,” Marian said hurriedly. “What if you can't get the script? Will you still show up?”

“Yeah, yeah—I'll show. Now, let me out, willya? I gotta get moving.”

Marian slid from the booth to let him get out. He walked away without another word.

Holland watched the younger man's departure with a frown. “You're letting him go?”

Marian sat back down. “Loose rein for a while, I think.” She grinned. “Besides, while you were getting the beer, he told me his name and address.”

“He did?” Augie said.

“What about you, Augie? Can you make it tomorrow?”

“Sure.” He cleared his throat. “You know those prices I quoted are off the wall, don't you? I thought you'd want some bargaining room.”

“I was wondering about that,” Marian said. “Thanks for thinking of it.”

Augie looked from Marian to Holland and back again. “Are you sure you're a writer? The way you led that guy to right where you wanted him …”

Holland laughed. “Isn't that what all writers do? Or try to.” He stood up. “We seem to be finished here—shall we go?”

Marian nodded and said, “Six o'clock.”

“I'll be here,” Augie promised.

Friday morning Marian called CBS to find out which advertising agency had made the Vitalo Sunscreen commercial. Then she called the agency to get the name of the actor who'd shinnied up the mast of the sailboat. The agency had a name but no address for him; they'd gotten him through a talent agency.

Marian went to the talent agency in person, and the display of her badge got her the address. She asked for and was given one of Rocky's publicity photos. Her next stop was the Broadhurst Theatre, where she caught the cleaning crew just as they were getting ready to leave. Every one of them enthusiastically identified Rocky as the hunk they'd seen in the Broadhurst Tuesday morning.

“His name's Kevin Kirby,” Marian told Lieutenant Overbrook, “or at least that's the name he's using for his career. He shares an apartment with two other Mel Gibson wannabes at 1066 Hastings Street. He doesn't have a record—I checked. Evidently he's been living on residuals from a commercial he made and is just looking to pick up a little change wherever he can until another acting job comes along.”

“Like helping to burglarize the Broadhurst,” Overbrook said.

“Yep. I got a positive ID from the cleaning crew—Kirby was one of them, all right. And I'd say that makes it a dead certainty that Ernie Nordstrom and Vasquez, first name unknown, were the other two. Kirby is going to be contacting Nordstrom today.” She told him about the meeting in the bar and everything that was said there. “We're meeting again at six.”

“And he'll be bringing the script then?”

Marian hesitated. “I'd say no. Kirby's none too bright, but that doesn't mean Ernie Nordstrom is equally slow on the uptake. Look how cautious he is about keeping his place of residence hidden. I'd guess that today we'll either be told the deal is off or that Nordstrom wants a meeting.
If
Kirby shows up. But we won't be winding it up today,” she finished apologetically.

Lieutenant Overbrook laughed. “I forgive you. Frankly, Sergeant, when you first came in here I didn't think you had a chance in hell of getting a line on these boys. But Captain Murtaugh's going to be pleased to hear how far you've gotten. What are the chances of getting the costumes back?”

“Pretty good, I'd say. My guess is that Ernie Nordstrom hasn't disposed of them yet—too risky, for one thing. For another, they'll appreciate in value the longer he holds on to them. All we're missing to nail this thing down is his address.”

“Okay, so what do you need?”

“I'll need a bankbook in my name showing over twenty thousand dollars—to convince Kevin Kirby I'm serious about buying what he has for sale. Make it twenty-three thousand.”

“You got it. What else?”

“Lieutenant, I'd like to pay Augie Silver a consultant's fee. He thinks he's in this for a percentage, and it was his connections that led me to Kirby in the first place.”

“How much?”

“Couple of hundred should do it.”

“Make out the requisition and I'll sign it. Anything else?”

“Can't think of anything.”

Overbrook loosened his tie and ran a finger around inside his collar. “Your meeting's at six? That's after your shift, so you'll be on overtime—and carrying your weapon. I know, Kirby has no history of violence, but what if he shows up with Ernie Nordstrom, hm? That guy is a b-i-i-i-g question mark. I don't want you taking any chances.”

“All right, Lieutenant, but it's a low-risk situation. I rather doubt the secretive Mr. Nordstrom is going to put in an appearance at this point.”

They'd said all there was to say, so Marian got up and left. She was rather surprised at the time and attention Midtown South was giving to such a low-priority crime; in the Ninth Precinct, it would have been recorded and forgotten. Of course, Midtown had a “free” investigator—her. But Lieutenant Overbrook was giving her all the support she asked for, and she didn't even have to fight to get it.

What a
pleasant
change.

7

Holland had said he might drop by Huey's, just for kicks; but he wasn't there when Marian showed up at six on the dot. Neither was Kevin Kirby, a.k.a. Rocky the Bodybuilder. Augie Silver was in the same booth they'd occupied the night before … and one of the Zingone brothers was sitting across from him.

“Where's the iceberg?” Augie greeted her.

It took her a second to realize he meant Holland. “He's coming later.” Marian sat down next to him. “Or not.”

Augie gave her a querulous look. “You two fighting?”

“No.” She didn't elaborate. The Zingone brother across from her wasn't wearing glasses; not Matthew, then. “Mark?”

“Luke. I hope you don't mind,” he drawled, “but we thought that if this muscle man you're calling Rocky does have a pipeline to the Broadhurst loot, one of us ought to check it out. I won't queer your deal, I promise.”

Marian glanced at Augie, who ducked his head. So he'd worked out something with the Zingones; deals within deals. “I get first claim on the scripts—any and all of them,” she insisted, mostly because Luke seemed to be waiting for her to say something.

“Okay,” Luke agreed. “Ernie Nordstrom knows us. I can ease the way a little.”

“Good.”

Augie cleared his throat. “You really going to buy all that Kelly Ingram stuff? Just to get to Ernie?”

“I'm hoping I won't have to,” Marian said. “If Rocky can put me in touch with Nordstrom, maybe I can cut through the bullshit and tell him what I really want.”
Which is a nice, clean collar
.

Augie made a face. “Seems awfully roundabout.”

But Luke was nodding knowingly. “Any hook in a storm.”

Oh,
that
Zingone. Luke's presence made it clear that he and his siblings were none too particular about how their items-for-sale came to be for sale in the first place. No telling how much of their inventory was bootleg. Marian wondered just how big a business the collectibles racket was; obviously more was going on than she'd suspected.

Marian found she was expected to buy the beer. No waiters appeared to be in evidence, so she went to the bar. Still no sign of Holland. The bartender gave her a tray to carry everything back to the booth.

When they'd all had their first swallow, Marian took out the two hundred dollars Lieutenant Overbrook had approved for payment to Augie as a “consultant” fee. She pushed the money toward him and said, “Augie, I want to put you on retainer.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Why?”

“You know your way around the collectibles game and I don't. I need a guide. And if I'm going to take up your time, I want to pay for it.”

“Well, all right!” He scooped up the money and grinned.

Luke looked annoyed, probably thinking he or one of the other Zingones should have been the one she retained. To distract him, she said, “Luke, that Tony statuette you have in your shop—where'd you get that?”

“Pawnshop on the East Side,” he said. “We check 'em out regularly—you can find all sorts of things in those places. I just picked up an Elvis wall clock for Harley Wingfield today.”

Marian groaned. “Harley Wingfield again! Who
is
this guy?”

“Oh, Harley's a good old boy from Tennessee,” Luke said. “When he's not at home, he's in Vegas or Hollywood—digging up roots, you know? He doesn't come to New York more than a couple of times a year, but everybody knows Harley.”

“Is he an ‘Elvis lives!' freak?”

Augie snorted. “Those are the ones he
sells
to.”

Suddenly Kevin Kirby was standing by the booth, startling Marian with his noiseless approach; she hadn't even seen him come in. The new arrival stared at Luke. “You're one of those four in that shop, the Zingone place. What are you doing here?”

“I'm Luke,” Luke said pleasantly. “I'm always on the q.t. for theater items, so I thought I'd come along with Augie … in case you have anything more than a hairbrush for sale. Do you mind? I'll leave, if you want. I don't believe in pushing in where you're not wanted.”

Kirby was silent a moment, probably trying to figure out what Luke meant, but then said, “Naw, that's all right.” He sat down and looked pointedly at an unopened bottle of beer Marian had bought. She pushed it toward him and watched as he twisted off the top.

Augie cleared his throat. “So, Rocky. Have you seen Vasquez lately?”

Marian clenched her teeth and wished she'd never told Augie he'd make a good detective. Kirby hesitated, and then asked, “You tight with Vasquez?”

“Barely know the dude,” Augie answered breezily. “Friend of mine is looking for him and I said I'd ask around.”

Kirby frowned. “I haven't seen him for coupla days. But he has a gig at The Esophagus next week.”

Luke made a noise of surprise. “Vasquez is a musician?”

“Isn't everybody?” Augie asked dryly.

Kirby said, “He's with some new shock-rock group—can't remember their name.”

“Shock rock?” Marian asked.

“Yeah, you know. A more pissed-off sound than even speed metal. Wholly salient.”

Salient, huh?
“Sounds, ah, cool.”

“Yeah.”

So Vasquez was connected to the rock scene; Marian would have liked to know more but was afraid of making Kirby suspicious. She took out the faked bankbook Lieutenant Overbrook had gotten her and opened it so Kirby could read the balance. “Don't you have something to tell me about a playscript?”

He glanced at the bankbook balance but then looked uncomfortable. “There's gonna be a slight delay.”

“What do you mean, a slight delay? What's wrong?”

“Nothing's wrong—it's just that this guy, the one who has the script? He's gone to California.”

The other three sighed heavily. “When's he coming back?” Augie asked.

“Don't know. Depends on how long it takes him to, uh, to do what he went to California to do.”

Marian smiled. “And what's that? Or is it a secret?”

“Naw, no secret. He just got a line on the hairy-spider scene from
King Kong
.”

Both Augie and Luke hooted. Kevin Kirby grinned and shrugged. Marian stared at the three of them. “What hairy-spider scene? I don't remember any hairy spider in
King Kong
.”

“Because there never was one,” Augie said.

“Yes, there was,” Luke contradicted. “But the print was destroyed years ago. It'd be worth a mint—anything to do with
Kong
means money. An original lobby poster sold for fifty-seven thou a couple years back. But the spider scene was shot.”

“Bull,” said Augie.

“What are you talking about?” Marian demanded.

Luke explained. “Remember the part on Skull Island where Kong has just taken Fay Wray … and the men from the ship are following them through the jungle? They come to this gorge or gullet or something, and the only way across is this huge old dead tree that's fallen over the opening. Do you know what I'm talking about?”

“I'm with you—go on.”