Death Of A Dream Maker (20 page)

Galvano was not surprised that Auntie Lil knew about
V.J. Productions. He had already figured out that she had been on
the phone in the bookkeeper's office when he had mentioned V.J. the
other day. Just the same, he looked about as innocent as an altar
boy heaving a rock through a stained-glass window in the middle of
Communion. “V.J.? That's nothing,” he assured her. “Just a little
problem we're trying to untangle.”

“We?” she asked, eyebrows raised. “It seems I've been
dragged into your little problem somehow.”

“Look, I had nothing to do with your name being on
the papers,” he said smoothly.

Then how had he heard about it at all?
she
wondered.

“I was only interested in the company's financial
health,” he said. “Max Rose Fashions had to be in tip-top shape
financially, books perfectly in order, if it was going to go
public.”

“Why wouldn't the financal records be in order?” she
asked.

He sighed. “You make this very difficult for me,” he
pointed out. “This was to be a friendly lunch, I thought.”

“What's unfriendly about wanting to know why you were
poking around in Max's books?” Auntie Lil asked. “He was my friend.
You're not a company owner. Why were you going through his
books?”

“Joyce said there was a problem.”

“Joyce Carruthers, the bookkeeper?” Auntie Lil
refused to call her the “comptroller.” She considered Joyce a
glorified bookkeeper and nothing more.

“That's right. She and I have been friends for
several years.”

I bet, Auntie Lil thought wryly. The two of you are
perfect for each other. Like two iguanas in a tub of frogs.

“She keeps an eye on things for me,” he
explained.

“And in return, you keep an eye on her?” Auntie Lil
asked. She couldn't help it. She should have known twenty-five
years ago that Joyce Carruthers would turn out to be a traitor.
Selling Max out to this cheap bum after all those years. It made
her sick.

“She's a lonely lady.” Galvano shrugged. “But a good
comptroller. She'd noticed this extra account during her internal
audit this year. V.J. Productions, Inc. She couldn't figure out who
it was, said the accounts receivable fellow was signing the checks
on the authorization of Davy. I am just as interested as you in
finding out whoever is behind V.J. Productions. And where the money
paid to them goes. And who tried to drag you into this.”

She didn't believe any of it. But she'd let it pass.
What she really wanted to know was why Joseph Galvano had Joyce
keeping tabs in the first place. Did he not trust Davy? Was there
some other situation she was not aware of?

“Do you know Max's widow, Sabrina?” she asked. Auntie
Lil was nearing the end of her capacity to eat, a feat that was
seldom achieved. She pushed her plate away and the hostess scurried
to clear their table.

“I know of her,” Galvano said casually. “Never met
the lady, though.”

Apparently not, Auntie Lil thought. Or he would not
have referred to her as a lady. She sighed. “I guess it's my turn,
then. Tit for tat.” She plunged in, telling him some of what she
knew about Max's family situation and the rumored circumstances
surrounding Davy's death. Everything she said had been cleared in
advance by Agent O'Conner and she did her best to pad the meager
facts with conjecture and useless details.

“Bunch of moochers,” Galvano said when she was
finished. “I could tell whenever I met a new one of them they were
all moochers. Max made all the money and they always had their
hands out. Believe me, I know what that's like.” He patted his
pockets and smiled. “And now, Miss Hubbert, I have a personal favor
to ask of you.”

Uh-oh. Here it came. She smelled trouble. “What kind
of favor?” she asked.

“It's not safe for you to continue poking around,” he
told her pleasantly. “I worry for your health. And safety. I got a
soft spot for old ladies. I admit it. I don't want to see you get
hurt.”

“You worry for my health?” she asked skeptically.

“Look, Miss Hubbert. No disrespect intended. But you
are kinda old. You're vulnerable. You should be home knitting.
Whoever did kill Max and his nephew, they weren't kidding. I think
it's best you stay out of it. Concentrate on Max's business. You're
a wealthy woman now. You and I, we could make a lot of money
together. Going public's not a bad idea, you know.”

“You want me to do business with you?” she asked
incredulously.

He held up a palm. “No. That's not what I'm asking.
It's too soon. I understand you need time to grieve. I'm respecting
your need for personal space.”

She wanted to throw up the two pounds of Italian food
she'd just eaten. How could this man talk about respecting personal
space when his specialty was killing people?

“We'll talk later,” Galvano decreed. “Today, I want
you to butt out. That's all. I'm going to find out who did this and
I'll let you know. But, for now, butt out.”

That did it. No one told Auntie Lil what to do.
“Don't you tell me to butt out, young man,” she said. His
condescending tone had been as irritating as his words. “Max was
the finest man I ever knew. He had dreams and he made those dreams
come true. And he never hurt a single person along the way. He was
a good man and an honest man. He would want me to find out the
truth. Which, I assure you, I am going to do. And pardon me if I
say that I can hardly believe in my heart that you are the proper
person to carry the banner of truth forward from this mess.”

“Nice talk from an old lady,” he said grimly. He took
a tiny sip from his wine, his small eyes hardening into glittering
beads. “Come to think of it, I never did like my old auntie. She
was too damn bossy for her own good.”

“Just because you've met me doesn't give you the
right to order me around, Mr. Galvano,” she said indignantly. His
phony politeness, his presumptuousness, his silky voice and smooth
style of dressing — she'd had enough.

“I've never been afraid of anyone or anything in my
life,” she told him. “At least, not for long. And I won't be
intimidated by you.” She threw her napkin on the floor. “This will
not be Max's legacy. You understand? He doesn't deserve murder, he
doesn't deserve the rumors swirling around his greedy family. He
doesn't deserve to be buried with the taint of... of organized
crime all around him. And most of all, he doesn't deserve having
his name uttered in the same breath as yours. Do you understand me,
Mr. Snake?”

His face flushed with anger. The skeletal smile faded
as his face became a death mask. “You misunderstand me,” he told
her coldly. “I'm not asking for your cooperation. I'm telling you
to drop it. Walk away with your millions and don't look back, Miss
Hubbert. You don't belong in this. Get out while you can.”

“
While I can?”
she asked, enraged. “Are you
threatening me, Mr. Snake?”

“I am not the type to threaten anyone,” Galvano said
quietly. “I don't need to waste the energy. But I don't like people
getting in the way of my business, understand?”

Auntie Lil was too angry to be prudent. “Yes, I
understand. You'll bury me beside Mr. Hoffa if I don't butt
out.”

His skeletal smile was back. “You flatter me, Miss
Hubbert. But Jimmy Hofîa was a little before my time. Besides, I
don't bury people. I crush them.” He placed a small round of garlic
toast on the table and ground it into crumbs with the heel of his
hand. “I crush them like the junk they are. Now you see them. Now
you don't.” He brushed the crumbs onto the floor and scattered them
with a well-shined shoe. “Easy come. Easy go.”

Before she could retort, one of Galvano’s thugs
approached with a portable telephone in hand. Galvano tried to wave
it away, but the goon persisted. “Fat Eddie,” the goon explained
with an apologetic shrug. “Got a problem down at the yard. You
better talk to him.”

“Well, speak of the devil,” Galvano told Auntie Lil
with an appropriately satanic smile. “What?” he growled into the
phone, his temper aroused by his uncooperative lunch companion. He
listened intently and his scowl deepened. “I'll be there in an
hour. Hold off until then.” He jammed the antenna of the phone
savagely back in place and handed it to his bodyguard. “Bring the
car around. You guys follow. I need someone to drop this lady off
and pick up Little Tony. We're going to have to deal with a
situation in person.”

“I am perfectly capable of hailing a taxicab,” Auntie
Lil said firmly. There was no way on God's green earth that she was
getting into a car with that crowd of thugs. They looked like
refugees from the World Wrestling Association.

Galvano sighed heavily. “Miss Hubbert, Miss Hubbert,
Miss Hubbert.” He shook his head sadly. “I fear that we may meet
again. And it may not be pleasant.”

“I hope you have told me the truth today,” Auntie Lil
answered. “If not, I intend to find the truth out.”

The hostess was approaching slowly, wringing her
hands. Perhaps the lunch had displeased him. Galvano dismissed her
with an arrogant wave, then rose abruptly. He bowed his head in
farewell, running his fingers through his hair to restore the
meticulous cut. “It's been a pleasure,” he lied as he hurried out
the front door, carefully brushing his suit free from crumbs. The
herd of beefy bodyguards stampeded dutifully after him.

Auntie Lil wanted to run out the door herself. She
knew the lunch bill would be no problem. Galvano probably owned the
joint and no payment was needed. She just wanted to make contact
with Herbert immediately. It was the same urge she felt when she
got dirt on her hands. She wanted to wash them clean as soon as
possible.

She waited until Galvano's limousine had passed from
view and the hostess had scurried back into the kitchen. “Did you
hear all that?” she muttered out of the side of her mouth as she
stared out the front windows of the restaurant.

“I did,” Herbert replied. “You were foolish. But
brave.”

“Do you think he killed Max?” she asked Herbert.

“No, Lillian,” he answered, shaking his head firmly.
“I do not think he did.”

Herbert and Auntie Lil left the restaurant separately
and took different routes eastward through Little Italy and
Chinatown. Wary of a tail, Auntie Lil cut through three fish
markets and a handful of souvenir shops on the way. Herbert simply
disappeared in the crowd. Twenty minutes later they re-met on Pearl
Street.

“There's something I need to say,” Auntie Lil told
him. “Before we meet the others again. I could not have done it
without knowing you were there. I have had many fine friends in my
life. But never one as wonderful as you.”

Herbert colored. “It is the great pleasure of my life
to be your friend, Lillian,” he said with a bow. “You have my
undying loyalty.”

Embarrassed by their display of affection, they
busied themselves looking for a cab. Before they could hail one, a
Con Ed van roared up to the curb. The back door opened and T.S.
gestured frantically for them to climb inside.

“Hold on to your shorts, Theodore,” Auntie Lil
assured him. “If anyone was tailing me, I lost him in the fish
market.” She hiked up her pantsuit and executed a ladylike scoot on
board.

“We had an awful time following you,” T.S. said. “You
took ten years off my life.”

“It was very exciting,” Auntie Lil declared. She
noticed Agent O'Conner. “Don't you look green around the
gills.”

“It was a little too exciting,” Agent O'Conner
mumbled. “The only good news is that Bobby picked Galvano up in his
car after lunch. He's called his men off you for the time being.
That was clever of you to say that you were under suspicion and
being followed by the cops. It will keep him away from you. At
least for a while.”

O'Conner looked miserable. His plan had failed. He'd
stuck his neck out getting the task force to agree to the scheme in
the first place. Now the day was a waste of time. They had
nothing.

Auntie Lil crawled into the cramped quarters and the
blue feather on her gigantic hat smacked Bobby, the technician, in
the face. He pushed it aside with a scowl. Civilians irritated him.
He busied himself moving equipment to the far end of the truck.

“AKG. Why, that's German equipment! The best in the
world for precision,” Auntie Lil exclaimed. She squinted at the
digital recording devices against the wall. “And, of course, those
must be Sony. Mine is just plain old American.” She unpinned her
hat and extracted the microcassette from the lining, using a long
hat pin to pick the stitches free. “Still, it may have recorded
something.”

Agent O'Conner stared at her, speechless.

“Won't be as good as yours, of course,” Auntie Lil
admitted.

“We didn't get anything,” O'Conner stammered.

“You didn't get anything? You mean you didn't hear
him threaten me?” Auntie Lil was indignant. She looked at her tape
recorder and punched a button. It worked fine. “Wait until you hear
what he said.”

“You taped it?” Agent O'Conner interrupted. His voice
was as high-pitched as a ten-year-old girl's. Hope flickered in his
eyes. No, it was too much to expect. But... had she really? Was it
possible? Why that wonderful old broad...

“Of course I taped it.” Auntie Lil colored slightly.
“Not that I didn't trust you, of course, but I wanted to have my
own record in case you refused to—”

Agent O'Conner snatched the tape recorder from her
hand. He re-wound it quickly, sending tiny squeals through the
van.

Bobby scrutinized the recorder with a professional's
eyes. “If the quality is poor, it could be enhanced,” he said,
locking eyes with O'Conner. He, too, looked hopeful.

“That was dangerous,” T.S. admonished his aunt. “Not
to mention foolish.”

“I had Herbert to protect me,” she replied sharply,
with an accusatory glance at O'Conner.