Tony Partly Cloudy (31 page)

SARAH STUCK HER HEAD INTO FLETCHER’S OFFICE. “That thing at the mayor’s office got canceled, so I’m going to call it a day. See you tomorrow.”

As Sarah turned to leave, Fletcher said, “What about the paperclip thing?”

“I handed that off to Lisa. She’s happy to get any camera time she can, so she was thrilled.”

“What – you didn’t want to cover the world’s largest paperclip collection?” Fletcher asked, smiling.

Sarah grimaced. “No,” she said, “I decided to give up that career-making opportunity. I guess I’m just not cut out for the big time.”

Fletcher laughed. “See you tomorrow.”

Sarah left with a wave.

Fletcher’s smiled faded. Despite the fact that she was an excellent reporter, and a very attractive woman, something about Sarah bugged him. Well, he knew what that something was: her boyfriend.

Tony Partly Cloudy. The young weatherman who should have been Fletcher’s cash cow, but who had turned tail and taken another offer without a moment’s hesitation. This, after Fletcher had been the one who gave him his big break. How was that for gratitude? How was that for loyalty? Ungrateful bastard. And now the big goon had it all: money, fame, and a great piece of ass to come home to. Some guys had all the luck.

Tony Partly Cloudy. Who would have been a nobody if it hadn’t been for Fletcher. And for that Godfather wannabe, Jimmy Carbone. Another guy who had all the luck. Another guy he’d love to see brought down a peg or two.

Which was why Fletcher had been delighted by the phone call he had received earlier that day. From a Ben Ramsey, or maybe Ramsdale – something like that. Some young reporter from Las Vegas, eager to get a scoop. The kid said there had been several mob-related killings in Las Vegas over the past several days, and that word on the street was that they might be somehow tied to some unusually heavy betting on forecasts by a weatherman in Chicago.

“They take bets on weather forecasts?” Fletcher asked in disbelief.

“This is Las Vegas,” Ben said. “They take bets on anything and everything. Tony Partly Cloudy has been big on the betting boards here for months now.”

“Amazing. I had no idea,” Fletcher said.

Ben went on. “What I’m looking for is any evidence of a connection between these killings and some very heavy losses some gamblers took last week. Specifically, on the night Tony predicted that freak tornado in downtown Chicago. Beyond that, I’m also looking for any connection between Tony and anybody associated with organized crime. I understand that you worked with Tony when his career was in its early stages.”

“Early stages?” Fletcher sputtered. “Try from the very beginning!” Fueled with righteous indignation, Fletcher’s oratorical momentum grew.

“I gave him his start. I gave that man a break, when nobody else would. I was the one who saw the kind of potential he had. Nobody else.”

Savvy reporter that he was, Ben fed the fire. “That showed a lot of insight, Mr. Fletcher. You’re clearly a man who sees the big picture.”

“Well, I like to think so,” Fletcher said, basking in the reporter’s recognition of his keen foresight and incisive judgment.

Ben pressed forward. “So, with a man with your insight, I’m thinking that if Tony had any sort of ties to the Mafia, you’d have been aware of it. That’s why I’m calling. I was wondering if you had ever noticed anything about Tony that might suggest some...
involvement
with the sort of people I’m talking about.” Then Ben set the hook. “I mean, if anybody knew Tony, you did. At least if my instincts about you are on target.”

Fletcher leaned back in his chair with a smile, his free hand running through his hair, preening. It was nice to finally meet somebody who had an appreciation for his sharply honed powers of perception.

Then he thought about Tony. Dumb, lucky Tony.

And Jimmy Carbone. Smarmy, arrogant Jimmy.

Fletcher’s smile grew icy. “Ben, I think you’d be both surprised and pleased by some of the insights I could share with you vis-à-vis Mr. Bartolicotti and his possible involvement with organized crime. Very pleased indeed.”

Savoring the moment, Fletcher decided to milk some additional drama out of the situation. He adopted his most serious tone of voice.

“But I must say, I really think this sort of thing is best not discussed over the telephone, if you get my meaning.”

Ben hesitated. He’d been hoping to handle this over the phone, not yet having pitched the story idea to his editor. Finally he said, “Well, Mr. Fletcher, if the information you have to offer me is substantial enough, I suppose I could make the trip out to Rockford to discuss this further.”

“Oh, I think you’ll find this quite substantial,” Fletcher said.

“You understand, I would need facts, not allegations. You know, names, dates – that sort of thing.”

“Oh, I’ll be naming names,” Fletcher said. “One name in particular. A name you’ll recognize.”

“Excellent,” Ben said. “I’ll start making flight arrangements, and will call you either this evening or first thing tomorrow to set up an interview time. Will you have any free time tomorrow afternoon?”

Without consulting his calendar, Fletcher said, “Absolutely. For this, I’ll make time.”

♠ ♥ ♣ ♦

Arriving home from work the next night, Tony approached his apartment cautiously. He looked around nervously while he fumbled with the key, but saw nobody lurking nearby. At the last minute he remembered to check the door, and saw that the match he had stuck between the door and the frame was still there, meaning nobody had opened the door in his absence.

Relieved, he stepped inside, closed and latched the door, and turned to flip on the lights.

Standing in front of him was Eric, his head nearly touching the ceiling of the entryway.

“Hi, Tony,” he said softly.

“Holy shit!”

“Shhhh! Tony – keep it down!” The voice came from behind Eric, who backed away to reveal Jimmy Carbone, seated in Tony’s recliner.

“Jimmy!” Tony said. “What are you... I mean, how did you... I mean—”

“Relax, Tony,” Jimmy said, holding his hands up in a calming gesture. “Keep it down, okay? It’s late, and these apartments have freakin’ tissue paper for walls, am I right?”

Jimmy beckoned to Tony. “Now, come on in. Take your coat off. Sit down.” Jimmy leaned forward in his chair. “We gotta talk.”

Tony did as he was told, while Eric took up sentry at the door, his face impassive as always.

As Tony sat down in a couch facing Jimmy, he made a point of lowering his voice. “How did you get in here? I had a match stuck in the door, and it was right where I left it.”

“What am I, an amateur?” Jimmy asked, holding out his hands. “Listen, Tony – sorry about surprising you like this. But we didn’t want to be seen lingering around outside, know what I mean? Not with things, you know, kinda heated up like they are right now.”

“Yeah,” Tony said. “I’m real sorry things got all screwed up like this.”

Jimmy shrugged. “Hey, you did what you had to do, am I right? I mean, first and foremost, you’re a weatherman. You picked up on a tornado nobody else knew anything about, and you warned everybody.” Jimmy allowed himself a grim smile. “And in so doing, you cost some Vegas pricks a lot of money.”

“That’s not how I meant for it to go down,” Tony protested. His curiosity getting the best of him, he asked, “What do you mean by a lot of money?”

“Near as we can tell, a little over four mill.”

“Four million dollars? Jesus Freakin’ Christ!”

“Yeah,” Jimmy said, “it’s safe to say they were pretty pissed off. Kept going on about how you guys had an agreement.” Jimmy leaned closer to Tony. “Did you agree to tank a forecast?”

“Yeah, I told them I would,” Tony said with a shrug. “But I did like you said – I made them a counter-proposal. I said I’d only do it once.”

Tony stood up and started pacing. “How the hell was I supposed to know the day they want me to do it, we’d get the first tornado downtown Chicago has seen in thirty-some years? I mean, money is money, but this was people’s
lives
I was dealing with.”

Jimmy nodded sympathetically. “I’m proud of you, Tony. You did the right thing.”

Tony laughed – a bitter, humorless laugh. “Yeah, and see where it got me.”

Jimmy was silent, looking appraisingly at Tony.

After a long moment of this, Tony finally said, “What?”

Jimmy narrowed his eyes, continuing to examine Tony’s face. “Be honest, Tony. If there hadn’t been a tornado, would you have tanked the forecast?”

Again Tony shrugged. “I made a deal with those guys, you know?”

“That’s not what I asked you.” Jimmy’s eyes were unblinking.

With a heavy sigh, Tony sank back down on the couch. “I don’t know. Probably not. I mean, I had the fake forecast all ready, and I’d already figured out how I’d justify it to the guys at the station.” Tony shook his head. “But when I try to picture myself actually going through with it, I don’t know. I kinda can’t see it, you know what I mean?”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Jimmy said, “because I know
you
. I didn’t think you’d do it either. You have this tendency to make plans to go with the flow, but when push comes to shove, you gotta be yourself. Like you did the first time you were on TV.
I call ‘em like I see ‘em
– I think that’s what you said.”

Tony chuckled. “Yeah, I got a tendency to do that, don’t I?” He leaned forward to look at Jimmy. “Look, Jimmy. You know I never meant to be a problem for you...”

Jimmy waved the notion away. Tony continued.

“And when I first called you about this, you told me that meaning what you say was the way to be, even if it wasn’t always the easiest way.”

Jimmy said, “It’s never the easiest way.”

“Yeah, I’m figuring that out.”

“Is that why you wouldn’t tank the forecast?”

Tony nodded. “That was part of it. But to tell you the truth, that wasn’t the only thing. I talked to my old man about it, and his advice helped, too. But actually it was something somebody else said that really kind of clinched it for me. She said I had a gift, and that to not use that gift was... well, she said it was an affront to God.”

Jimmy’s eyebrows went up. “That’s some heavy stuff, Tony. But you know, I think she’s probably right on the money with that. Who said that? That nice young lady I met – Sarah?”

“No, it wasn’t her,” Tony said, shaking his head. “She doesn’t know anything about this. She’s terrific, but I didn’t want to burden her with this.”

Jimmy frowned. “Who are we talking about, then? Somebody at the station?”

“Hell, no,” Tony scoffed. “All they care about there is ratings. They’d sell their souls to get a few more viewers. No, it was actually Nona Maria – that’s my grandmother. When the guys from Vegas called me to give me the go-ahead, I called her and talked to her. She’s always helped me figure out what to do, and when to do it.”

Jimmy nodded gravely. “I know her. Or, I should say, I know about her. Gypsy lady, am I right? About two hundred years old if she’s a day?”

Tony smiled. “That’s her, all right. Nobody knows how old she is, and we’re not really sure about all that Gypsy stuff...” Tony stopped, frowning. “Wait a minute,” he said. “How do you know Nona Maria?” Jeez, was there anything or anybody Jimmy didn’t know?

“Tony, we’re related, remember? She’s part of my family, too, although I don’t know the exact connection. But I’ve heard about her – I think I even met her once, when I was a little boy back in Palermo. She was an old lady even then. Kinda scary, if I remember her right.”

Tony laughed. “Yeah, all my friends growing up were afraid of her. I guess she’s kinda spooky if you don’t know her. But to me, she’s just my Nona. I will say this, though: I learned to take the things she says
very
seriously.”

Now Jimmy was smiling. He said, “So, in the long run, this tornado...”

Tony finished the statement. “It gave me a good excuse to do what I probably would have done anyway.”

“Like I said,” Jimmy concluded, “you did what you had to do.” His face grew serious. “Now I gotta do what I have to do.”

Tony decided he didn’t like the sound of that. He waited for Jimmy to elaborate.

Finally Jimmy spoke, his voice soft and measured. “Tony – that’s why I’m here. We need to talk business.”

“What kind of business?”

“You’re a smart kid. I think you know.”

Tony’s chest felt heavy. He leaned back in the couch, hoping it would absorb some of the weight he felt. It didn’t.

“Now you want me to throw a forecast for you,” Tony said quietly, more a statement than a question.

Jimmy’s gaze was fixed on Tony. “Actually,” he said, “I’m interested in more than just a forecast, Tony. I want to come up with an
arrangement
. Something more... long-term. Something smart, but subtle. Not like those Vegas pricks, who wouldn’t know subtle if you hit them over the head with it.”

“What kind of arrangement are we talking about here?”

“Like I said, something subtle. No big bets, so we don’t attract too much attention. We’d spread things out, using lots of smaller bets coming from seemingly unrelated sources.”