Gold Coast Blues (30 page)

James’s face softened just enough to suggest he believed me or wanted to believe me, and that, just maybe, Tanya still thought only of him whenever she climbed into bed. I said, “So who do you think she’s rooming with?”

“That’s the thing,” James said. “None of the girls liked her.”

“So who does that leave? What about Ted, the guy who referred me to you?”

“Not a chance. She’s probably four or five years older than him. Way out of his league.”

A bell went off in my head. I laughed. “He said the same thing about you! That Tanya was out of your league.”

James didn’t appreciate the humor. “I would know if Ted was hooking up with Tanya.”

“Why? Are you guys close friends? He seems a lot younger than you too.”

“He is younger. But we all liked him.” James chuckled. “And not just because he was real generous with the sweet condo his parents bought him in Lincoln Park. Always lots of beer in the fridge. I guess because we were nice to Ted, his parents kind of adopted us, treated us like family. They would throw these huge parties at their mansion on the lake. Ted would hand-deliver fancy invitations to the whole waitstaff. I don’t know. Maybe Tanya’s with someone who worked in the kitchen. Ted’s the only one I knew back there. But who the hell knows?”

Good question. Who the hell knew anything? I gave James another card and made him promise to call me if he thought of something.

—

Sitting at the counter of Buttinski’s Bagels, I ate a hummus sandwich while staring out over the madness of Armitage Avenue, wondering if there had been a better way of leaving last night’s gathering—besides offering an ultimatum. There were no outstanding warrants for anyone, no police reports filed. All I had was Amy’s non-denial of FBI involvement to justify my cheeky exit. I had no confidence Doug would follow through or that anyone else in the room felt the least bit intimidated. Mentioning the Feds probably delighted Spike, who saw only a warped acknowledgment of his rising criminal star.

Amy answered the phone saying, “Good! I’m glad you called.”

“I bet you’re sitting in your car, just around the corner.”

“Shut up and tell me where you are.”

I obeyed. Ten minutes later, Amy pulled her silver Audi into a bus stop and waited for me to jump in. “Let me find a place to park first,” she said. “Then we’ll talk.” She continued east on Armitage to Halsted, then north to Dickens and east again where she stopped near a small park.

“The old man was Doug in disguise,” I said.

Amy’s eyes widened, then she nodded, smiled. “Wow! That’s interesting. I give him credit.”

“He said Tanya dumped him and is now living with someone she worked with at the bar, but he doesn’t know who it is or where they are. He has her phone number, but wants to leave her alone until he gets the money from the wine.”

“You believe him?”

“I think he knows where she is. But he won’t give her up until he can get her the money.”

“Okay—”

“You’re an FBI agent working in organized crime.”

“No. I’m an FBI
special agent
working in art crime.”

“Art crime?”

“Any high value collector’s item—and that includes wine.”

Considering what I had learned regarding wine as an investment and the kind of money at stake, why should I have been surprised?

“You knew Eddie was coming here?” I asked.

“Yes. I’ve been tracking Eddie Byrne since I got the tip he arrived. I watched him meet you in Mocha Mouse. When he gave you that wad of cash, you were officially on my radar.”

“You’ve been tracking Margot Daley too?”

“I knew about her father’s lawsuit and that she inherited the allegedly phony wine. But I’d been paying closer attention to Spike—waiting for Eddie to contact him. I’d been delayed and got to the Oriental Theatre too late to see you get jumped, but there you were, sitting in the alley.”

“Using the Ghostbuster excuse.”

Amy narrowed her eyes in that about-to-get-pissed-off way. “I
do
explore paranormal hot spots. I
do
feel people’s energy. And, yes, I used my intuitive gift as an excuse.”

“That cork you found—”

“That was real! I
did
find the cork. You would’ve found it too, if you had bothered looking. Clues at a crime scene, right? It just so happens it worked out perfectly with you taking the cork to the right people and learning the vintage and value. And when you went to Margot’s house, I was convinced you could be an asset.”

“You used me.”

“What a surprise! The FBI uses people. We wanted to follow the wine, see where it led.”

“And that kiss goodbye, before I went to Irvington?”

Amy stared at me. “That was a mistake. I’m sorry.”

Three teens walked off the sidewalk and started playing hacky sack in the park. “Good to know,” I said.

Amy appeared tentative. “In New Jersey, they’re building a big case. They want Cooper on drugs, prostitution, and other racketeering. The goal is to get RICO charges filed. My focus has always been the wine, to find out if the wine counterfeiting network has been established or is in the process of being established in Chicago.”

I pinched the skin between my brows with thumb and forefinger. “So where does Tanya fit into your art crime assignment?”

“At first, she didn’t really fit in. A peripheral asset, at best. But I became interested on a personal level, so I
wanted
her to fit in. I wanted to help her.”

“Do you still want to help her?”

“Of course! But I was told I had to keep anything I did regarding Tanya within the framework of wine fraud—to keep my participation in an official capacity. There’s only so much I’m allowed to know.”

I have to cover my ass,
she meant. “Did you tell anyone I was going to Irvington?”

“I told my boss.” Amy closed her eyes in a pained expression. “I knew they wouldn’t get involved, just watch you from afar. When I saw you all bruised and battered, it made me sick.”

“Risk comes with my job, as it does yours.”

“I don’t investigate murder and if I did, I would have an entire agency backing me up. You have nobody. And for what?”

Please god, not another talk about my alleged depression. “I learned a lot about Eddie from that trip. I assume you already knew about that building with Cooper’s bogus winery?”

“We knew,” she said.

I suggested she could’ve lied and told me how valuable my trip to Irvington had been. She didn’t laugh.

Chapter 48

Amy and I parted ways with an agreement to check in with each other every day or two. Just after she dropped me off at my car, the phone rang with Brenda’s name. “Something weird’s going on at Margot’s,” she said amid the clatter of a busy kitchen. “I just stepped out for a quick smoke and saw the redheaded kid who works for Jeremy walking in and out of Margot’s building, carrying boxes to Jeremy’s car.”

“Is she home?”

“I don’t know. But it didn’t seem like he was trying to hide anything.”

“Okay, I’m just a couple of miles away.”

I raced down Armitage to Clybourn to Webster and parked in the pâtisserie’s lot. Across the street, Jeremy’s Porsche SUV was backed up to the front door with the rear hatch open. I walked to Margot’s building. She buzzed me in without using the intercom. I knocked. “Unlocked,” she yelled.

Margot was reading a magazine in her beloved chaise longue. A string of paper butterflies lay neatly across the coffee table. “I heard a rumor that you just gave away a fortune in wine.”

Keeping her nose in the magazine, she said, “You have spies.”

I took my place on the love seat. “What did you get for it?”

She dropped the magazine to the floor and looked out the bay window. “I traded it for my soul,” she said.

The statement was worthy of some dead air. “I don’t mean to downplay the significance of your comment, but couldn’t you have dumped the wine in the sink and still recaptured your soul?”

“Spike said he had a buyer. The money will help them find Tanya.”

“Suddenly you care about Tanya?”

“Sure, why not? What chance does a poor, uneducated girl have in this world? Maybe the money will free her from having to choose between working for hoodlums or finding a guy to take care of her.”

“One more question. Why would you trust anything Spike said?”

Margot picked up another magazine from several stacked near her feet. “The wine is out of my life. I don’t care what happens.”

I watched her turn pages, stopping occasionally to read something. She hadn’t once looked at me since I walked in.

“I’ll see myself out,” I said, then walked to the door. Margot had no comment.

—

“Margot told me you got a buyer for the wine,” I said to Spike over the phone.

“Yeah, Ted and Jeremy just put it in the locker.”

“Where are you?”

“Near the magic shop. I just got done talking to Doug.”

“You wanna tell me who’s buying the wine?”

“One of Jeremy’s private clients. Confidential bullshit.”

“Jeremy? The guy so worried about his reputation as Exalted Master of Grapes?”

“Yeah, well, he wants his wet dream of a walk-in, climate-controlled vault for storing rich bastards’ wine.”

It took a moment to process the data. “Jeremy’s getting a cut?”

“Yep. It’s gonna be Tanya and Jeremy, fifty-fifty. Twenty-five hundred per bottle. I just spent the last hour trying to talk Doug into a three-way split. No way. So I’m the one getting screwed.”

It took another moment to realize he wasn’t joking. “What happens when Jeremy’s client finds out the wine is fake?”

“Not my problem.”

“You’re going to tell me the plan, right?”

“Dude! You sound nervous.”

“Eddie and I need to be there when Doug delivers the money to Tanya. I need to see this through with him.”

“Christ, Landau! I just told you I gave my share of the money to Tanya, didn’t I?”

“Damn hard to believe you’re giving away a hundred and fifty K, but I’ll go along with it for now. Tell me the plan.”

“Tonight, between five and six. The buyer comes in with the cash, Doug and Jeremy split it, we help load his car, Doug calls Tanya, and we’re done. Easy.”

Nothing in life was easy. I told Spike I would be there, then went into Brenda’s café where the remnants of her morning rush sat reading the paper or staring at laptops. Brenda walked over, carrying a cherry almond Danish. I thanked her for tipping me off about Ted.

“Did your contacts find Doug?”

“We had a powwow last night, across the street. That old man Blackstone? Doug in disguise.”

I waited for Brenda to progress through various stages of disbelief before she realized I wasn’t joking and screeched, “No!”

“Spike had secretly stashed Margot’s wine in her own attic. Jeremy intended to sell the wine to Doug for a fraction of its value. Then Doug would resell it and give the profit to Tanya who could then flee from her past—or something like that.”

“It’s really Mouton Rothschild 1945?”

“Almost certainly fake. But I guess it’s a damn good fake, because Jeremy has a buyer coming over tonight.”

“Then Doug gets his money and he takes everyone to see Tanya.”

“He
calls
Tanya and sets up a meeting—or something like that.”

“Jeremy? A master sommelier selling fake wine?”

“I don’t get it either. Spike having a soft spot for Tanya, I can sort of understand. But Jeremy selling fake wine? One hundred and fifty thousand dollars is a lot of money, but not worth ruining your reputation.”

Brenda screwed up her face. “One fifty for ten cases? You weren’t kidding when you said a
fraction
of its value—for the real stuff, I mean.”

“Exactly. But if you can practically give it away and pocket one fifty, who’s gonna notice?”

Brenda considered my statement. “You’re forgetting something. Whoever
buys
the wine is going to know how much it’s worth. Does the buyer really think their sommelier seller is too stupid to know the value of his own wine?”

While I stared at Brenda, it occurred to me how fortunate I was. Apart from keeping me apprised of activities in her neighborhood, she just pointed out what should’ve been obvious: Jeremy’s private client had to be someone involved in the world of counterfeit wine.

—

Brenda left me alone to assimilate the latest information while she prepared for the light-lunch crowd. The lure of easy money had been more than Jeremy could withstand. He was confident his involvement would be well concealed within a convoluted criminal structure, plus the defunct lawsuit of Margot’s father helped his defense of plausible deniability. I imagined myself as Doug, secluded, cloaked in some rendition of male menopause, waiting for the money that would free his beloved. Then I tried to deconstruct Tanya. Smart, calculating, self-possessed in a poised, streetwise way. She needed a chunk of money to get away and give her time to reinvent herself in a new city. Spike could be of use, but his connection to Cooper brought risk, and she was cagey enough to know Spike couldn’t be trusted. James was a friend, a diversion, but he became too attached, which made her uncomfortable. Doug served her well but the money belonged to his wife, and he too was showing signs of emotional insecurity. She needed someone to help her hide. Someone she could control, someone devoted. Someone who knew she was in a league of her own.

Eddie didn’t answer his phone.

“May I speak to James?” No response, just general coffee-shop chaos until James picked up.

“Yeah.”

“It’s Jules Landau. When’s the last time you hung out with Ted?”

“What? I don’t know. Why?”

“How can you be so sure Tanya isn’t hiding out with him?”

“For fuck’s sake! She’s not with Ted. I gotta go.”

Chapter 49

Bruce was behind the bar, stocking glassware. I stood in front of the door and waved. He nodded, then surprised me by not immediately notifying Jeremy. Ted Goldberg was busy setting up tables for the two o’clock Côte de Nuits tasting. He wore a waist-high white apron over black slacks with a satin side stripe, a white dress shirt with long narrow folds in the front, and a bow tie. I watched him meticulously arranging stemmed glasses, corkscrews, baskets of French bread, and large coffee-mug spittoons. Not until he had finished with the last table and began surveying the landscape, did Ted notice me standing in the lobby.