Death Of A Dream Maker (16 page)

It was tempting. He had been so emotionally isolated
from others during the first fifty-five years of his life that
everything he did with Lilah had an intoxicating newness. Two weeks
together would be a tonic for the sadness that overwhelmed the
Rosenbloom mess. He could use Lilah's calm support, especially
after the strain of watching Aunt Lil struggle over Max's
death.

Aunt Lil. He could not possibly leave her to face the
police or the Rosenblooms alone.

“I can't,” he told Lilah reluctantly. “Aunt Lil needs
me. In fact, she's downtown being questioned now, with her new
lawyer. Prescott recommended a criminal defense specialist. I'm
supposed to meet her in an hour.”

“Oh, Theodore. Please promise me that you'll be
careful.”

“I promise.”

“I don't trust you. I'm sending Grady to keep an eye
on you.” Grady was her chauffeur, a huge Irishman of indeterminate
criminal background. He had reformed after a tumultuous youth on
Manhattan's West Side and a cooling-off stint in Ireland. He was
now zealously loyal to Lilah. T.S. wasn't so sure that this loyalty
extended to him.

“I don't need a chauffeur to look after me,” he
protested.

“You need Grady,” she overruled him. “He can be there
in an hour. He's at the Connecticut house right now.”

T.S. did not argue. Lilah was right about one thing:
he and Auntie Lil were in over their heads. They could use all the
help they could get.

 “Why would someone go to the trouble of putting
your name on a dummy corporation?” Agent O'Conner asked Auntie Lil.
“We've traced the filings. Someone was in a hurry. It was all done
over the past week. It started right after Max's death. There were
payoffs to backdate the documents. Who would want to hurt you?”

“I don't know,” Auntie Lil admitted.

“It had to be someone at Max Rose who was setting you
up to take the fall for them. What did you have to do with Max Rose
Fashions?”

“Nothing,” Auntie Lil said. “Nothing at all.”

Agent O'Conner extracted a black-and-white photograph
from his briefcase and slid it across the table to her.

“That's me,” Auntie Lil exclaimed, examining the
glossy image. It showed her leaving Max Rose Fashions several days
before. She was clutching her hat to her head and peering up at the
sky.

“It certainly is you. We've been watching his offices
off and on for six months now. We picked you up as you were leaving
it on Tuesday. Know that guy?” O'Conner pointed out a stocky guy in
a windbreaker leaning against the front window of the deli two
doors down.

“No.”

“You should. He's been tailing you since the day
after the funeral. Him or a buddy.”

“What?” Sadie Schwartz glared at the agent. “My
client's life has been in danger and you've been letting it
happen?”

Irritation flickered across O'Conner’s face, then
disappeared, banished under a supremely trained degree of
self-control. “How would I know he was following her, unless we
were following him? She was well protected at all times.”

O'Conner tapped the man's face and Auntie Lil pulled
it toward her for a closer look. The man had a broad face with
thick features and a nose that had clearly been broken. His thick
head of hair stuck out in a halo of frizzy curls.

“Bad perm,” Auntie Lil observed.

“Bad guy,” the agent answered.

“What else do you know involving my client?” Sadie
demanded. “I will advise her to withhold all cooperation from you
until you tell us what's going on.”

“This man works for Joseph Galvano,” Frank O'Conner
said, running a thumb over the frizzy-haired image in the
photograph. “Ever heard of him?”

Auntie Lil shook her head. Sadie frowned.

Herbert looked stricken. “Joey 'the Snake' Galvano,”
he muttered quietly.

“Correct. The Romeo of organized crime. Can't keep
his hands off the ladies, especially when they're married to
someone else. But that is not your problem here.” O'Conner watched
Auntie Lil carefully. “I don't want to alarm you, Miss Hubbert, but
we've had taps on Galvano's phone lines for some time now. That's
all I can tell you. Someone who works for him has been calling you
over the past few days at your apartment. Maybe to see if you're
home. Maybe just to scare you. Who knows? The point is—if they have
your number and have been following you, they know where you
live.”

“They're going to harm me?” Auntie Lil asked.

The agent shrugged. “I certainly think that they will
try to make contact with you.”

“Why?” Sadie asked.

“Why?” Agent O'Conner stared hard at Auntie Lil. “Ask
Miss Hubbert here.”

“I have absolutely no idea,” Auntie Lil
protested.

Agent O'Conner was quiet for a moment, then spoke
directly to Auntie Lil. “Maybe you really don't know anything about
Max Rosenbloom and his business. Frankly, neither do we. At least
not much—and we've been watching him on and off for a long time
now. Ever since he testified two years ago. He may be clean. But
someone at that company isn't. We've followed Galvano's men to the
factory many times. That's how we picked you up. The point is that
it sure seems to us, and probably to Galvano, as if you do know
something. And that could be very dangerous.”

“Why would they think that Lillian knows something?”
Herbert asked.

The agent shrugged. “Why did the lieutenant who was
here earlier suspect you?” he asked reasonably.

“Because I discovered the body of Max’s nephew at the
bottom of the grave, I suppose,” Auntie Lil answered. “When no one
else would have noticed. Because Max was on his way to see me when
he died. So it looked as if he had something very important to tell
me. Because Max left me his money, making it seem as if we had been
much closer in recent years than we had.” She hesitated, then
continued: “And maybe because I... visited his house and that of
his brother. Under the cover of darkness, shall we say.”

“As if you were looking for something,” Agent
O'Conner pointed out.

“But I didn't know what I was looking for,” she
protested.

“You know that. I know that, if I give you the
benefit of the doubt. But Galvano doesn't know that. All he knows
is that Max may have told you something you shouldn't have heard.
And that you've been snooping around Max's office and home ever
since.”

“How could he know I was snooping in Max's offices?
All he knows is I went inside the building,” Auntie Lil said. “I
could have been expressing my condolences to the staff.”

The agent pulled a small tape recorder from his
briefcase and placed it in the center of the table. “Remember
this?” He pressed a button and the tinny sounds of a recorded
telephone conversation filled the room.

“What?” a crabby voice asked after picking up the
telephone. Auntie Lil recognized the voice as her own.

“I'm going to be a few minutes late,” a male voice
answered gruffly.

“That's Joey Galvano,” the agent interjected. “That's
how he knows you were snooping.”

“Listen, I need to know right now if they asked about
V.J. Productions,” Galvano continued on the tape.

“What?” Auntie Lil snarled back on the tape,
following it with a cough to disguise her voice.

“Don't get cute,” Galvano warned. “Did they ask about
V.J. or not?”

“No!” Auntie Lil yelled back. The thud of a phone
being slammed down ended the recorded conversation.

“I had no idea who was calling or why. I was just
fishing,” she explained. “I was snooping in the comptroller’s
office, because I could, the phone rang and I answered it.”

The agent nodded toward the tape. “Unfortunately, you
forgot to tell Mr. Galvano that you were just fishing. The truck
incident this morning may have been an accident. Or it may have
been a misguided attempt by one of his men to take care of the
problem for him. I tend to think it was the latter.”

“What are you saying?” Sadie Schwartz demanded.

“I'm saying that whether or not Miss Hubbert here is
suspected by the cops isn't important. What's important is that
she's suspected by Galvano and his men. And that's what you should
be worried about.”

Casey followed T.S. into the bedroom and threw
herself across his bed. She had grown increasingly agitated since
their trip to the motel the day before. Now she seemed positively
possessed by the Rosenbloom case. “We're missing something,” she
said, picking at the textured surface of his hand-loomed Irish
bedspread.

“Casey—please. I'm trying to concentrate.” T.S.
scrutinized his tie rack, his annoyance mounting. He hated Lilah
not coming. He hated the thought of being responsible for all of
Max's money. Most of all, he hated having his routine interrupted.
Already he was late meeting Aunt Lil, and now Casey had barged in
after flirting her way past Mahmoud. And where the hell was Lilah’s
chauffeur, Grady, anyway? He'd never meet up with Aunt Lil if this
kept up. He might as well face the truth. He was under siege, his
orderly life turned upside down by a useless doorman, a criminally
inclined chauffeur, and an overexcited private detective.

“Don't you see the significance of it?” Casey
insisted. She hopped up from the bed and, too late, modestly
smoothed her dress down over her generous thighs.

Good Lord. T.S. took a minute to examine her outfit.
How could he have missed it before? She was wearing a tight green
dress accented along the bottom hem with fake leopard fur. She wore
a leopard-skin pillbox hat that matched the trim.

“Like it?” Casey asked, whirling around to give him
the full effect. “Belonged to a neighbor who died a couple weeks
ago. I had to clean up the place. Yuk. But there was some cool
stuff in the closet. It's the real thing, you know. Not a
reproduction. From about 1964, I'd say.”

“Just don't let Auntie Lil see it,” T.S. warned
wearily. “She dresses strangely enough as it is.” He finally
selected a conservative tie to complement his conservative suit,
which matched his conservative shoes. The perfect outfit for
crossing your fingers and hoping your aunt doesn't get
indicted.

“Just listen to me,” Casey insisted again, back to
business. “Our job is to take a closer look at the family. Let the
cops take a look at the Mob.”

“Why's that?” He'd had enough of looking at
Rosenblooms.

“I don't know why yet. That's why I'm here. I thought
you could help.”

“Can't help. You'll have to get in line. Auntie Lil
has dibs on me. She's at the police station right now.”

“Great. I'll go with you.”

He suppressed a groan. His apartment had been invaded
by this sleazily exotic woman and there was nothing he could do
about it. Worst of all, his cats inexplicably loved her. Brenda and
Eddie crept out from beneath the bed to sashay about Casey's
ankles. They stood on their hind legs and sniffed anxiously at the
fur trim of her dress.

“Ugh,” Casey said. “I hate cats.”

“That explains it,” T.S. said aloud. He picked up
both pets and marched them into the living room.

 “He's going to try to set up a meeting to talk
to you,” Agent O'Conner explained.

“How do you know?” Sadie demanded.

The special agent shrugged wearily. “Because we have
him bugged out the wazoo, okay? Enough said. I personally heard his
voice saying not two hours ago that his men should hold off on 'any
action' until he has a chance to talk to you.”

“Any action?” Herbert said. “That sounds
ominous.”

“I'm glad at least one of you grasps the seriousness
of the situation.” Agent O'Conner snapped his briefcase shut
grumpily. He had expected the old lady to cooperate, but she was
turning into a handful at a time when he already had his hands
full.

“My client is not wearing a wire,” Sadie said firmly.
“It’s far too dangerous.”

“I'm not asking your client to wear a wire,” O'Conner
said. “We're not in the habit of forcing little old ladies to
entrap criminals, okay?”

“There's no need to get excited, young man,” Auntie
Lil retorted. “Or to call me a little old lady.”

“My apologies.” The agent paused. “I want this man
very badly, Miss Hubbert. Everyone in this city seems to think he's
some sort of benevolent godfather, a colorful character who pays
for great fireworks on the Fourth of July. The truth is that Joseph
Galvano is an amoral, selfish, dangerous sociopath. He floods the
city with drugs and could care less if grammar-school children buy
them, so long as they're not his children. He kills whenever the
whim strikes him, extorts money from hardworking businessmen, and
makes fun of his supporters behind their backs. I am taking this
creep down if it is the last thing I do on this earth. And, believe
me, that's a very real possibility.”

Auntie Lil decided she liked Agent Frank O'Conner
very much indeed. “What exactly do you want me to do?” she
asked.

“I want you to meet with him if he asks. In his car
in a very public place. We have his car bugged. We'll be just a few
feet away from you at all times. You won't be in any danger, I can
promise you that. We've covered every contingency.”

“Then why even bother to tell me?” Auntie Lil asked.
“It might have been better if I hadn't even known.”

The agent stared at Auntie Lil. “I'm telling you so
that you'll agree to meet with him. Are you telling me that you
would have agreed to meet Joey Galvano without police protection or
knowing what it was that he wanted?”

“Maybe,” Auntie Lil admitted.

“You'll do it, then?” Agent O'Conner asked. “We
expect him to try to set something up within a day or two.”

“Of course,” Auntie Lil said, but even her loud voice
was drowned out by her lawyer's objections.

“Maybe she'll do it,” Sadie said. “But I don't like
this car idea.”