I went to my office. I ordered a tall skim latte. I distracted myself with the Times. I noticed it was Saturday. Well, crime is no respecter of the calendar. And anyway, what else did I have to do?
I pulled out my four-by-sixes. I couldn’t spread them out without asking two nursing mothers to move to other seats. I decided against that. I just paged through the cards. Pulled out a couple of the speculative ones. FitzGibbon. Hadn’t figured him out yet. A harmless liar? Cunning manipulator? Just a nut job?
Time to pay him another visit. Try to tease it out of him.
Dorita came in the door with a flourish. She was wearing a bright red jacket with gaudy brass buttons.
One thing you don’t have to worry about, I said, is attracting attention.
You’re too kind, she said. So, what happened with Raul?
Raul. Jesus. It seemed like a week ago I’d seen him. I had to think.
Sorry, I said, I’m a little foggy today.
Another night of drunken debauch at the Wolf’s Lair?
No. Not yesterday. Yesterday was the memorial service.
As I said it I realized with horror that I hadn’t even told her about it.
She raised her eyebrows.
Memorial service?
For Melissa.
Her eyebrows went up another notch.
I guess I didn’t invite you.
Yes, she said. That’s something I would be aware of.
And I don’t know why.
You don’t know why.
I don’t. It wasn’t a conscious thing.
It wasn’t.
No. I suppose that sounds even worse.
It does. Little old me never even occurred to you, is that it?
Well, in a way.
In a way.
Okay. Yes. I didn’t think of it. I can’t explain why. God, I’m just so tired and confused all the time.
Dorita stopped me right there.
I wouldn’t have gone anyway, she said. Tell me about Raul.
I told her as much as I could remember.
She was amused by my description. The velvet curtains. The more-than-plush sofa. The maid. Her cleavage.
That’s all? she said, when I was finished.
That’s all, babe. So shoot me.
My. I think I win this round.
I’ve already paid for it, I said. Thom, another cosmo for the lady, please.
We’re in Starbucks, Ricky.
Oh, right.
Nothing else, really?
Well, the best I can say is that I’ve convinced myself that these phone calls to FitzGibbon’s office from Jules’s phone are key. Now, if we could only get someone to tell us the truth about them…
Yes. You seem to have failed rather miserably at that.
You are too kind, as usual.
It’s just my nature.
Right. So what do you have, darling? A signed confession?
No, but a pretty good story.
I’m all ears.
I tracked Ramon down at a fashion show.
These boys do get around.
You’re telling me. Anyway, there he was, in the front row. Next to some overstuffed heiress. And FitzGibbon.
They really are glued together at the hip, aren’t they?
So it appears.
So how did you get close to him?
I had to call in a couple of favors. Get an invitation to the hospitality suite. They were pouring some decent wine. ’89 Cheval Blanc, actually.
Very nice.
It certainly was. It’s got a little age on it.
Okay, all right. Hints of honey-roasted salami, nose like Jimmy Durante. I know. I’m officially jealous. Did you get anything out of him?
I did.
I’m waiting.
Well. First thing is, they’re not identical.
I figured that out already.
Well, aren’t you a bright little boy, she said, taking an elegant sip of her herbal tea.
I figured that out already too. Can we get to the point?
Why do I need to tell you? You figured everything out already.
All right. You’re smarter than me. I admit it. And a better lawyer. Can we get on with it?
Now that you’ve finally admitted it, yes.
And?
Didn’t get a damn thing out of him. Except the fraternal twin thing.
You slay me.
Bad choice of words.
Yes. Sorry.
Say sorry to yourself.
I just did. You didn’t think that apology was directed at you, did you?
Of course not. How foolish of me.
Well, tell me about it anyway.
The guy never says a word.
I’ve noticed that.
It was very frustrating. I tried to insinuate myself. But he wasn’t having any of it.
Used all of your charms?
Well, not all of them. There’s a line even I won’t cross.
That’s good information to have. And?
Well, I finally had to just tell him who I was. Which was a little tricky. Since I’d been pretending to be someone else.
FitzGibbon didn’t recognize you?
Didn’t seem so. I’ve only met him a couple of times at parties. And he seemed distracted the whole time. A little out of it.
Well, he doesn’t strike me as a fashion show kind of guy.
Yes. It was a little weird that he was there at all.
So, you tell Mr. IQ who you really are…
Sort of. I said I was your assistant.
Like I said, who you really are.
Ramon didn’t seem too happy when he heard your name.
Ah, my charms have been wasted on him.
And he wouldn’t talk at all in the hospitality suite. He kept looking nervously at FitzGibbon. Like he was afraid Daddy wouldn’t approve.
So you took him to a nice motel in the neighborhood?
No. He took me into a private room in the back.
Same thing.
Not quite.
Lap dances, at least?
If I’d asked, I presume. Anyway, the guy’s not exactly a conversationalist. One-word answers. Yes. No. Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t recall.
I don’t recall?
Those are the words.
Sounds like I’d prepared him for his testimony.
Exactly. The guy was tighter than virgin pussy.
Jesus. I hope you don’t talk that way around Warwick.
Of course I do. He laps it up.
Speaking of poor choice of phrase.
I thought it was pretty good, actually.
All right. You’re funnier than me too. So?
Nothing. Nada. Not a thing. Less than zero. I asked him about Jules. Doesn’t know anything. No hostility. Barely knows the kid. Never heard of the victim. Loves Daddy. Works hard. Security detail. That’s what he’s doing right now. Has no outside interests. Except the Club. Loves the Club. Practically lives there.
That’s it?
Actually, I’ve extrapolated quite a bit. He said less than that.
Jesus. That sucks.
It does.
Well, I think it’s time to declare victory and go home.
You’re such a wimp, Ricky. We need a plan.
I thought I’d pay FitzGibbon a visit.
And?
That’s all.
That’s all?
Listen, doll, it’s all I can do to get out of bed in the morning.
Darling, you’ve got to get organized. What’s the use of all those index cards if you don’t have a plan?
Yes, well, I said. I was hoping you could help me with that. Can’t I have just one day off? I’m bereaved, remember?
Right. Now I remember, she said.
It’s okay, I said. You can be mad at me.
No, she said, I can’t, really. Or at least I won’t.