Lion and lamb, p.22
Lion & Lamb, page 22
While waiting for her boss, Janie sat at the raw bar and ordered a dozen assorted oysters from up and down the East Coast. Wellfleets from Cape Cod; Glidden Points from Maine; stormy bays and sugar shacks from Jersey. And a double shrimp cocktail.
This was just for starters.
The food was its own reward, but Janie also enjoyed knowing that her reporter’s instincts were still strong. When something nagged at her, it was the reporter inside her brain urging her to follow up, ask another question, keep pushing.
The ring. Like a Tolkien fantasy novel, it all came down to the ring. In this case, the missing Super Bowl ring.
It bothered Janie and fit none of the narratives Veena had been entertaining (professional hit man, personal grudges). A stolen ring made no sense with any of those. Why would a hit man take a Super Bowl ring when that would serve as a blinking red arrow pointed right at him? Maybe someone with a grudge would take the ring as a trophy, but again, to what end? The moment someone discovered it, the killer was as good as exposed.
No. A stolen ring meant a robbery.
As her boss and Cooper Lamb took a trip down to the shore, Janie called up one of the useful individuals in her life, this one from about five years ago.
The name he’d given Janie was Travis, but she knew it was fake. Travis was a kind of dark alternative-universe version of Cooper Lamb—a fellow shamus, but completely amoral and perfectly at home in the underworld. (Janie did enjoy the occasional bad boy.)
She had been writing a piece on high-profile art heists on the Main Line, and her reporting led her to Travis, a private eye who specialized in recovering stolen goods (for a steep fee), as long as the police were kept out of it. Only one of his quotes—on background—made it into the piece, but Janie and Travis had ended up downing more than a few martinis at the Continental over the years.
Which was where they’d met up the night before.
“Tell me who would try to fence a stolen Super Bowl ring,” Janie said.
“Somebody really stupid,” Travis replied.
And she would have left it at that if Travis had not followed it up with “You know, it’s funny you say that. Last week I had some idiot reach out through one of my associates trying to sell Archie Hughes’s ring. Even if it was real, the ring is radioactive. I can’t imagine who would buy it. If someone is selling it, it’ll be on the street, for crackhead prices.”
A noise next to Janie snapped her out of her reverie—the legs of the next stool over scraping against the tile floor.
“Did you start with a dozen oysters or did you order only three?” Veena asked.
“When you hear what I’ve got, you’re going to buy me another dozen,” said Janie. “And a chilled lobster tail.”
Chapter 112
JANIE SLID the slip of notebook paper to her employer. Veena lifted it from the counter, unfolded it, read the name and address Janie had scribbled on it.
“Who’s this?”
“Quite possibly the guy who killed Archie Hughes.”
“Some random guy from Kensington is now our lead suspect?”
Janie walked Veena through her conversation with Travis, the recovery specialist from the previous night. It had taken another two martinis, but Travis finally agreed to give Janie the name and address of the moron who claimed he had Archie Hughes’s Super Bowl ring and wallet.
Travis was convinced this was a dead lead; a man smart enough to evade every surveillance camera in the Museum of Art area wouldn’t go shooting his mouth off about having the missing ring.
“But the guy might not know there is footage,” Veena said.
“Exactly,” Janie replied. “Which made me think, what if this was just a carjacking gone wrong?”
Veena started riffing. “This guy thinks he’s just boosting a fancy car but then sees who he’s robbing, freaks out, and shoots him.”
“He doesn’t want to go away empty-handed, so he takes what he can carry.”
“Archie’s wallet. And his Super Bowl ring.”
“It’s possible, right?”
“Only one way to find out.”
Veena pushed her stool back and prepared to leave. Janie grabbed her arm. “Wait.”
“Don’t worry, just put the tab on the company card,” Veena said. “Good work.”
“No, it’s not that. I don’t think you want to be going up to this guy’s apartment alone. That neighborhood is rough—I covered crime up there for two years. And with your painted nails, fancy shades, and expensive shoes, you’re kind of a target.”
Veena smiled. “Yesterday I shot and killed a professional hit man. I also threatened to put a bullet in an elderly man’s face. I don’t think I’ll have a problem.”
Janie started to laugh, but the sound died in her throat as she clocked Veena’s expression and realized she wasn’t joking. Before she could form a follow-up question—she had several—Veena was adjusting her shades and heading out the door.
Chapter 113
WHEN CRAZY Percy Marshall had woken up this morning, he hadn’t thought he’d open his front door and find a gun pointed at his heart that afternoon. For one thing, he didn’t know that anyone knew (or cared) where he lived. Big difference from a week ago, when he thought his luck had changed. But now, as Crazy Percy looked at the pretty lady holding the tiny gun, he realized it was worse than ever. He sighed.
Transcript of conversation between Veena Lion and Percy Marshall
VEENA LION: May I come inside, Mr. Marshall?
PERCY MARSHALL: Can I just say no?
LION: No.
MARSHALL: Then, sure, make yourself at home. Want a beer?
LION: No, thank you. I’d like you to give me the Super Bowl ring and the wallet.
MARSHALL: Yeah, yeah. Figured that’s why you were here. Why didn’t Bernstein come down here himself? Hey, wait—you didn’t show me your badge. I don’t think that’s legal. You’re supposed to show me your badge.
LION: The ring?
MARSHALL: Okay, okay.
(Long pause as Marshall leaves, pulls open a kitchen drawer, returns.)
LION: Tell me how you got these.
MARSHALL: You know how I got these.
LION: Tell me anyway.
MARSHALL: I was walking, minding my own business, when I saw this crazy-ass car just sitting in front of the art museum. I got closer and realized who was inside it. I figured he was passed out or something, in which case I would have called for help. But no—he was shot, man. Someone killed him! I didn’t want any part of that.
LION: But before you ran away, you helped yourself to his Super Bowl ring and wallet.
MARSHALL: But I just gave them back to you! So it’s kind of like I borrowed them, right? Or held on to them for safekeeping?
LION: And you have no idea who killed Archie.
MARSHALL: Oh, I didn’t say that.
LION: Excuse me?
MARSHALL: Yeah, I know who killed the quarterback. And for the right price, I’ll tell ya.
LION: For a price, huh? Okay. How much is your life worth to you?
MARSHALL: What do you m—? Hey, come on, now, you don’t have to point that friggin’ thing at me!
LION: Let me repeat: How much. Is your life. Worth to you? Because to me, it’s worth absolutely nothing.
MARSHALL: You’re no cop.
LION: Never said I was.
MARSHALL: I want that ring and wallet back, missy.
LION: Never going to happen. Now tell me who killed Archie Hughes.
MARSHALL: Fuck you.
LION: I’m not a cop, but I am working for the district attorney. And I have zero problem explaining to them that I found a shot-up corpse in possession of a dead man’s ring and wallet. Who do you think they’re going to believe? Oh, that’s right, they’ll have to believe me, because you won’t be able to say a expletive word.
MARSHALL: Man. This week keeps circling the drain.
LION: Tell me who killed Archie.
MARSHALL: I can’t.
LION: What did I just say?
MARSHALL: No, no, no! I can’t tell you because I don’t know their names. But I can show you. It’s right here on my phone.
Chapter 114
Transcript of encrypted phone conversation between Veena Lion and Cooper Lamb
VEENA LION: Where are you? What are you doing?
COOPER LAMB: I’m looking at vintage screenshots of high-priced Atlantic City call girls. How about you?
LION: I’m about to catch the Frankford El. Can you meet me at Thirtieth Street Station in twenty-five minutes?
LAMB: You know, I’m pretty wrapped up in this research at the moment.
LION: I’m sure you are.
LAMB: Our friend Maya Rain? She used to be one of Atlantic City’s finest escorts. And, even better, she used to work for Roz Cline.
LION: Incredible.
LAMB: Also, I discovered that Mickey Bernstein moonlights for the Atlantic City Mob, which runs all of the escorts in town. So it’s not a huge leap to assume that Mickey and Maya go way back.
LION: Nice work, Cooper. But I can do you one better.
LAMB: Ha! No, you can’t.
LION: Yes, I can.
LAMB: Impossible. There’s no way you can top this. I’m like one baby step away from figuring out this whole sordid story. I just have to sort out why the Mob wanted Archie dead a week before the championship game. I’m thinking it was some kind of—
LION: Cooper.
LAMB: What.
LION: I have a video clip on my phone showing Archie’s killers leaving the scene of the crime.
LAMB: I’m sorry, you have what, now?
LION: I’m also wearing his Super Bowl ring on my middle finger.
LAMB: No, you’re not.
LION: Yes, I am.
LAMB: No, what I mean is, you should absolutely not ride the Frankford El wearing Archie Hughes’s Super Bowl ring. Someone will knife you for it. Hell, I’d knife you for it.
LION: So you can sell it for crackhead prices?
LAMB: What?
LION: Never mind. Okay, okay, it’s in my pocket now. Are you going to say it?
LAMB: Say what?
LION: Are you going to say, “Veena, how on earth did you manage to solve this case all by yourself?”
LAMB: No. I figure you’ll tell me all about it when I pick you up from Thirtieth Street Station in twenty-four minutes.
LION: Perfect. Oh, and bring your gun. And leave Lupe at home.
Chapter 115
AN HOUR later, Cooper Lamb and Veena Lion knocked on the front door of the Hughes estate and were met by a monster.
“You two need to leave right now,” Jimmy Tua said, practically growling the words. “Francine doesn’t want to see you.”
“She’s my client,” Cooper protested.
“Well, consider yourself fired. Goodbye.”
Tua slammed the front door in their faces. Tried to, anyway. Cooper threw out his palm and stopped the door a few inches from closing. Tua pushed. Cooper held firm, but he knew he couldn’t do this forever. Maybe not even for another few seconds.
Tua let up for a moment, but only to ask a couple of questions. “Are you insane? Or do you want to leave here with a broken arm?”
“Look, man, I know you mean well and you have the family’s best interests at heart. But the future of this family depends on us speaking with Francine right now.”
“Get the hell out of here.”
“We’re not leaving.”
“Now.”
Cooper turned to Veena. You want to give me a hand here? is what he started to say, but all he got out was “You want to” before Jimmy Tua launched an atomic bomb against the side of Cooper’s skull.
Actually, it was Jimmy’s fist. But the effect was the same.
Cooper’s conscious self lagged a few seconds behind his physical body, which was doing a clumsy tap dance down the Hugheses’ walkway. He couldn’t blame his legs. They were trying their best. But ultimately, their best wasn’t good enough.
Chapter 116
EVENTS USUALLY happened in threes.
Veena firmly believed that. And since she had pointed her derringer at three different people in a twenty-hour period, she assumed she was done with gun incidents.
But Jimmy Tua had disproven that axiom when he knocked Cooper Lamb on his ass, forcing Veena to draw her weapon and point it at a living human being a fourth time.
Tua was not impressed with the gun. Not in the least. Where he’d grown up, people were always sticking guns in each other’s faces. “You’re not gonna shoot me.”
A chunk of the wooden doorframe directly above Tua exploded. Splinters showered down on his head. The tight end flinched, then locked eyes with Veena. She knew she looked like a madwoman capable of pretty much anything. He hadn’t seen that often where he’d grown up, especially not in a woman’s eyes.
“That was me missing,” Veena said. “Next time I won’t.”
Jimmy Tua seemed undecided about what to do next. Backing down wasn’t in his DNA, but this crazy lady with the derringer seemed serious. He was saved by a voice calling out from inside the house, “Jimmy, it’s okay.”
Francine Pearl Hughes appeared behind the massive athlete. She reached up and touched his shoulders, encouraging him to look at her. Tua seemed reluctant to take his eyes off Veena—what if this lady opened fire on both of them? Francine was gently insistent. Tua turned to face her.
Cooper Lamb, meanwhile, had gotten to his feet, but he looked confused. Veena wondered if he knew what year it was. “You alive over there?” Veena asked.
“I’m just quietly applauding myself,” Cooper said, “for not pursuing a career in the NFL.”
Okay, Cooper was fine. Jimmy Tua, however, looked like he was on the verge of tears. This was a little boy in a big man’s body, a boy who had tried his best but let down his friend. Francine stood on her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around him. Tua settled into the hug, relieved. Maybe he hadn’t failed her and the children after all.
“I love you,” she whispered. “So, so much.” Her voice was barely audible, but Veena heard her.
Then, slightly louder, she said, “Let me talk to these good people now. I’ll call you later, sweetheart.”
Jimmy Tua nodded in agreement and left without another word and without looking either Veena or Cooper in the eye. Which was okay. If the rule of threes held up, they’d see Jimmy again soon.
Chapter 117
“IT’S NOT what you think,” Francine said.
“Okay,” said Cooper, following Francine up the hallway. “Tell me what you think I think.”
“That Jimmy and me are a thing. I mean, I know how you private eyes like to collect salacious gossip.”
Francine was slurring her words a little, possibly due to alcohol or a couple of Xanax or just plain exhaustion. Cooper watched her walk, preparing to catch her if he had to. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that. Cooper was sure he was wobbling a bit after that hurricane-force punch from the Eagles’ star tight end.
“Well, that’s not the case. We’re not. For one thing, Jimmy is gay.”
“Yes, we know,” Veena said.
“We know pretty much everything,” Cooper said.
If she had been slightly drunk, Francine Pearl Hughes sobered up instantly. “Come into the parlor.”
Chapter 118
MAYA RAIN was sitting there, although the children weren’t around. Maybe they were busy elsewhere in the house or out with friends. But Veena was pretty sure that Francine and Maya had sent them to their rooms the moment she and Cooper knocked on the door.
“I have something for you,” Veena said. She reached into her pocket, pulled out Archie’s Super Bowl ring, and held it out to Francine, who stared at it unbelievingly. She hesitated to take it, as if Veena were trying to hand her a cursed talisman.
“How on earth did you find—”
“That’s what we’re here to discuss,” Veena said.
“Francine, we don’t have to do this now,” Maya said, rising from her chair. “In fact, I’m going to insist that we don’t do this now. Let me call your attorney and have her arrange a proper meeting.”
“Have a seat, Vanessa,” Cooper said.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” There was no anger in her voice. On the contrary, Maya seemed amused.
“I saw a bunch of your old escort ads, Vanessa. You were beautiful then, but I like your current look a lot more. What I’m wondering is, which name is real, Vanessa or Maya? Or is it something else entirely? Am I talking to a Wanda June?”
Maya smiled. “I still like you, Cooper. Even though you say the cruelest things sometimes.”
Francine’s confusion seemed genuine. “Will someone explain to me what’s going on?”
“Happily,” Veena said, giving Cooper a look that said Please stop taunting the potential murder suspect.
Chapter 119
“WE HAVE proof that both of you were at the scene of the murder,” Veena explained. “I have a video clip on my phone that shows your car, Francine, and the figures of two women who look like you and Maya. It won’t take much digital forensic work to positively match both of you to those women.”
Maya smiled. “It was the guy in the hoodie, right? I thought he was snapping a photo of Archie’s car.”
Veena was puzzled. “So you admit you were there?”
Maya shrugged. “Go on.”
“Obviously, one of you drove Archie there in his own car with the other following in Francine’s burgundy Bentley, the only other car you had available on such short notice. Which means that Archie was shot and killed elsewhere, and his body was left in his car at Eakins Oval so that it would look like a carjacking gone wrong.”
“No,” Francine said quietly. “It was a message.”
Cooper’s jaw dropped. “I’m sorry—what did you say?”
