Death Of A Dream Maker (36 page)

“Of course,” O'Conner said.

“He still didn't come through.” There was a long
silence before Shanahan continued. “I was forced to take matters
into my own hands, you understand.”

“I do,” O'Conner said solemnly.

“I called the kid again. He said he was going to get
the money from someplace else. I believed him. I guess I'm just a
trusting sort of guy. I met him in some motel out on Long Island
where he was supposed to hand over the bucks. Except he's broke so
we're right back to where we started. Whoever was going to give him
the money to give to me didn't come through.”

“What did you do then?” O'Conner asked.

“I called the brother. You know—the fat one. Worked
with Davy. The one who was supposed to advance some of his
inheritance.”

“Jacob Rosenbloom.”

“Yeah, Jake. Told him that if he and his brother
didn't come up with the money, I'd have to do something
drastic.”

“Like?”

“Something drastic. Let's just leave it at that.”

“Okay. What did the brother say?”

“To go ahead and off the kid, he didn’t care. Can you
believe it?” Frankie sounded indignant. “His own brother and this
guy is telling me to off him. ‘If this gets around, your
reputation's shot,’ he says to me. I could hardly believe his
nerve. Here's some fat slob in a suit telling me how to run my
business. ‘Everyone will know they don't have to pay you back,’ he
says. ‘But that's your business. I just want to make it clear I am
not bailing my brother out,’ he sez. Hey, with a brother like that,
who needs enemies?”

“What happened then?” O'Conner asked.

“I tried to figure out what the hell was going on. I
didn't want to walk into a trap, you know. I don't often get people
practically asking me to off their relatives. But the guy was
right. I had to do something.”

“Before other people that owed you money found out,”
O'Conner stated. “Not to mention Galvano.”

“Okay, yeah. I didn't want Davy going to Joey and
begging him to save his ass. Maybe I was trespassing on Joey's
territory a bit, but there's plenty to go around, you know? Galvano
don't have to be the only game in town.”

“Tell that to Joey.”

Frankie paused. “I didn't kill the old man,” he
said.

“But you put the bomb underneath Davy's car.”

“No. Not me. Another guy did it.”

“Of course,” O'Conner said. “Another guy always does
it.”

“The kid deserved it. He was disrespecting me. He was
abusing his family. He was out of control.” Frankie coughed. “I
thought about letting it slide. I know you don't believe me, but I
did think about it. But then the brother—Jake—calls me back, you
know? He asks for a meeting and we meet in some dive, because he
don't want to be seen with me, and he friggin' offers to help. Says
he don't want anyone else to get hurt, so he'll let me know when
the kid is going to be driving alone. I believe him. What's not to
believe?”

“Honor among thieves,” O'Conner said.

“Are you being smart with me? Because if you're being
smart with me, I'm feeling kind of sleepy.”

“Go on,” O'Conner said wearily. “What happened
then?”

“What do you mean what happened? Jake calls and says
today's the day. But the wrong guy got in the car. How was I
supposed to know that the old man was going to borrow the car? It
was a good job, too. Clean. Time trigger. Would have made a
statement, you know: Frankie Five Alarm don't mess around. It would
have been perfect, the underground garage and all. No one else
would have been hurt but the kid.”

“Pretty warmhearted of you,” O'Conner said.

“I like to cover all the bases,” Frankie said. “I
consider myself a professional.”

“What about Davy?” O'Conner interrupted sharply. “Who
shot him?”

“Why are you asking me? I don't know. Wasn't me.”
There was a silence and Frankie broke it. “Don't look at me that
way. Am I going to lie here and tell you about one murder but not
another? That don't make sense. I don't know who killed the kid. I
only know it wasn't me. I backed off. You know, that old guy Max
was all right. I saw him stand up to Glavano once, threw the great
‘Joey the Snake’ right out of his office. I kind of admired him. I
thought it was a waste to kill the old guy, you know. He deserved
to go in his sleep.”

“Not to mention that you knew the heat was on,”
O'Conner said. “You couldn't go near a Rosenbloom after Max was
killed.”

“That, too. No one ever said I was stupid.”

“You were stupid enough to let Joey find out it was
you that killed Max.”

“The guy who planted the bomb ratted on me,” Shanahan
whined. “Some people just can't keep their mouths shut.”

“Fortunately for me,” O'Conner said. “Who tried to
hit the old lady last night?”

“What old lady? You got me on that one.” Shanahan
coughed. “Give me some water.”

“In a minute. Let's talk about where the bodies are
buried.”

“What bodies? There ain't no bodies to bury. One guy
got blown to smithereens. The other's in the morgue, I heard.”

“Not those bodies,” O'Conner explained patiently.
“Let's go back a couple months, shall we?”

Auntie Lil could not bear to listen to any more.
Tears sprang to her eyes. Max had been killed by accident, over
nothing more important than money. It had been nothing but
coincidence that had stopped him before she could see him again,
stopped him just when he... She forced herself to avoid thinking
about it. It was a waste, such a waste, that it just did not seem
possible. Her job now was to restore his reputation, in part
because that was all it was in her power to do.

She waited for a moment, regaining her composure.
Finally, she took a deep breath and tiptoed back toward the door
before O'Conner discovered her.

Just as she reached the door, she heard the cop on
the other side ask, “Hey? Where'd the old lady go?”

“My aunt?” Casey answered. “Ladies' room.”

“Where's O'Conner?” the cop demanded next.

“O'Conner?” Casey said. “Oh. The guy inside the
hospital room had to use the bedpan. O'Conner said he'd help
him.”

“No kidding?” the cop said. “It's tough being a fed.”
He laughed. “So, what do you think? Feel like working out together
sometime?” He stared down at a photo of a woman in a string bikini.
Her muscles would have intimidated Arnold Schwarzenegger.

Auntie Lil crept back out into the hall without being
seen and tapped Casey on the arm. “Ready, dear?” she asked
sweetly.

“Thought you'd fallen in,” the policeman joked,
looking up.

“I'm not feeling well,” Auntie Lil explained. “I
think we'd better go now.” She grabbed Casey's arm and pulled her
down the hall. They turned a corner and raced to the elevators.

“What gives?” Casey asked.

“Plenty. But first let's get out of here before Agent
O'Conner finds us.”

“Where are we going now?” Auntie Lil asked as
she thumbed through Casey's Rosenbloom case folder.

“Long Beach. I'm going to nail that widow. I
know she's wrapped up in this somehow. Here.” Casey removed a
photograph from the front pocket of her dress. “File this, will
you? We're going to need it.” She sped around a delivery truck and
cut across two lanes of traffic. Cars honked angrily behind
them.

Auntie Lil stared down at the set of mug shots.
“Stealing from a federal agent? Oh, dear. Won't you lose your
license?”

“Don't have one,” Casey explained. She winked at
Auntie Lil. “O'Conner won't remember. He's flipped his man. We're
history. He doesn't need us anymore.”

Auntie Lil tucked the photo inside a manila folder.
“Why do you carry all this around with you?” she asked, only partly
referring to the file. The inside of Casey's car looked like a
portable apartment. She had a pillow and blankets heaped on the
backseat, along with a cooler, curling iron, clothing, a pair of
bedroom slippers, and a six-pack of orange soda.

“Until this is over and we know who is killing who,
I'm not letting the file out of my sight and I'm not keeping a
routine. This is my portable office and home.”

They rode in silence, Auntie Lil lost in thought. Had
Jake Rosenbloom acted alone? Or was he in it with somebody
else?

After they had pulled into the parking lot of the
Hide-Away Tide-Away Motel,
Casey applied fresh lipstick and
fluffed her hair. “Never know when you're gonna need a little sex
appeal,” she explained. “That last guy boosted my confidence.”

“Sex appeal?” Auntie Lil asked. “If he's over sixty,
better leave him to me.”

There were two men in the reception area this time.
The lanky redhead with the bad skin stood at the check-in counter.
Behind him, wedged into a cubbyhole office, a fat man with a dense
head of gray hair was sitting at a cluttered desk reading the mail.
He wore a maroon blazer with a yellow tie and had a name tag
clipped to his pocket.

“Remember me?” Casey asked the redhead. “Because I
remember you, you handsome thing.”

The young clerk looked at her and pouted. “You told
me you were a cop,” he whined.

“I said no such thing. I merely pulled out two
twenties and handed them over.” She smiled knowingly at the kid and
he shifted uneasily, glancing at the office behind him.

The fat man looked up, gave Auntie Lil a thorough
once-over, shrugged, and returned to his mail.

“What do you want?” the kid whispered worriedly. “I
don't want to lose my job.”

“More information. I still have a little credit left,
don't I?” Casey took the photograph of the Rosenbloom clan out of
its envelope and slid it across the counter. “Remember this?”

“Sure,” the kid mumbled miserably. “I already told
you. I saw that lady there come in with that guy there.” He pointed
out Sabrina and Davy Rosenbloom.

“I asked you this before, but it's really important,
so think. Do you remember how long they stayed?” Casey asked. “Was
it a short time?” She was trying to see if it was the same time as
when she'd seen them together, or if they had returned again.

“Lady, I don't keep a timer going for every room in
this place.” The kid sneered, his confidence restored. He stroked a
particularly bad patch of pimples on his right cheek.

“Young man, if you kept your hands off your face, it
would clear up immediately,” Auntie Lil informed him.

The kid stared at her but did not reply.

“Okay, now I want to know if you saw this man here at
the motel,” Casey asked. “The same time you saw the other two.” She
held up the composite photos of Frankie Five Alarm for the kid to
examine. The boy took his time, secretly thrilled at the sight of
actual mug shots. His concentration was intense.

The fat man in the office looked up and noticed that
photographs were involved. He waddled, unseen by the kid, to the
counter. Up close, Auntie Lil could read his name tag clearly. He
was the manager. He stood just behind the boy, looking over his
shoulder, gazing first at the mug shots and then at the color
photograph of the Rosenbloom family.

“I might have seen him,” the kid admitted. “Can't be
sure.”

“Can't be sure?” Casey asked incredulously. “Look at
him. He's got ears the size of bats and his hair is oranger than
Ronald McDonald's. You get many people that look like that in
here?”

“I mostly look at the ladies,” the boy mumbled.

“Okay. Well, did you ever see this guy”—Casey stabbed
Frankie Five Alarm with one well-chewed fingernail—“with this
woman?” She rested her finger on Sabrina Rosenbloom's face.

The boy shook his head emphatically. “No way. I know
that lady. I keep track. She never came here with a man with red
hair.” The boy gulped apologetically and ran his hands through his
own rusty strands. “Guess she don't like redheads.”

Casey sighed. “What about you?” she asked the fat
manager. “Seen him around?”

“What's this about?” the manager demanded. The kid at
the counter jumped and turned near purple. The manager elbowed the
kid aside and grabbed the Rosenbloom photograph.

Casey flashed her phony badge. It winked once under
the fluorescent lights and was gone. “No big deal. Just trying to
determine whether this woman was seen with this man.” She nodded
toward Frankie Five Alarm. “The boy here tells me she came in once
with the man on the far end, but he can't help any more than
that.”

The manager stared down at the photographs, then
smirked at the kid. “You screw up everything,” he told the boy.

The young man became indignant. “I did see her with
him. They came here about two weeks ago. I'm sure of it. The guy
was driving a Porsche.”

“It wasn't him,” the manager said pompously. “It's
that guy. The fat one.” He covered Jake Rosenbloom's face with a
plump forefinger. “They come in for a quickie a couple times a
week, usually around about six.” He patted the kid on the back
paternally. “Not your shift, kid. Didn't mean to be so harsh. But
you're looking for the wrong guy, Officer, if you think that lady's
been hanging around with the skinny one. It’s the fat one she’s
seeing.” He slid the photographs back across the counter and leered
at Casey's bosom.

“Thanks for your help,” Casey told him, smiling
instead of busting him in the chops like she wanted to. She could
feel Auntie Lil trembling and had to get her out of there before
she said too much.

“Always happy to help out the law.” The manager spoke
directly to Casey's chest, as if she had a microphone buried
there.

Neither Casey nor the kid corrected his mistake. If
he thought Casey was a cop, let him. “It's great to have the
cooperation of men like you,” Casey told him. “Pills of the
community and all that.”

“That's pillars, dear,” Auntie Lil said.

“Whatever.”