Tender Is LeVine: A Jack LeVine Mystery (26 page)

The NBC honcho shook his head vigorously. “No, Jack. We would never do something so disgraceful, on the one hand, or audacious, on the other.”

“It was Lucky’s idea?”

Aaron nodded. “Totally. He planned it for two years. Apparently he got the idea in Italy one night, while listening to
Abduction of the Seraglio.
Mozart. You know it, Jack?”

I shook my head. “Not even close.”

“Lucky says he suddenly had a vision of the whole thing. He can be very dramatic; claims he actually had a dream about it, how it would all work. He told Lansky, who was visiting him in Naples, and then they filled in the details. One night over dinner, in a private room in a restaurant, as he tells it. From that point, it took six months to find the double, a year to train him, and then six weeks for the actual surgery and the healing process.”

“Where’d they do the surgery, Switzerland?”

“Denmark.”

“And who’s the double? When he lets down his guard, he’s got an accent like a guy who toasts frankfurter buns at Nedick’s.”

“They never told me his name. Born in the Bronx but grew up in Utica, New York, had extensive musical training, played in some small orchestras in upstate New York and Pennsylvania. A cellist.”

“He doesn’t talk like a cellist.”

“Most cellists don’t talk like cellists.”

“How did they find this guy?”

Aaron shrugged in a rabbinical fashion. “How does Lucky find people? He asks around, he gets messages to people who get messages to other people. God only knows what the process is.”

“Okay. Then what?”

“Once they found him, they brought him to study conducting privately in Italy; Lucky hooked him up with someone from the Rome Opera. Then, of course, this guy watched all the film on Maestro he could get his hands on. Came to New York and studied him in performance; learned all the gestures. He’s a quick study, I’ll say that. Something of an idiot savant, in fact.”

“I’ve been called that,” I said. “Except they leave out the savant part.”

Aaron smiled grimly. “This guy’s quite astonishing, I have to say, for the degree of
nuance
he was able to absorb.”

“He’s obviously fooled a lot of people.”

“Except for poor Fritz and a few others.”

“So he gets Maestro down pat, returns to Europe, and gets the full-bore facial surgery. After the weeks of healing, Lucky and Meyer then just go ahead and pulled the switch in Sun Valley, with no advance word? The blackmail notes come after the fact?”

“Right.”

“So you’re saying you had no warning of any sort. It was just, ‘Pay us three million and avoid a public embarrassment.’”

“Right again.”

It didn’t add up at all.

“You look skeptical, Jack.”

“I’m way past skeptical.”

“Why?”

“Why
? For one thing, what the hell are you doing here? Why send me to Havana to track down the old man if you could find him yourself?”

“Because LaMarca called me yesterday and told me they were bringing him out here and wanted to conclude the negotiations.” Aaron pretended to get agitated. “How the hell was I supposed to contact you? I called the Nacional, they said you’d checked out.”

“I don’t buy it,” I told him.

“You don’t. You think Toscanini is here on vacation?”

“No. I think he’s here against his will, no question. But I also think that if there is a snatch, you’re part of it; otherwise, why would you be sitting around this suite like the hired help?”

Aaron crossed his legs and ran his hand across his brow. When he started to speak, he sounded like a man trying to explain the family business to his idiot nephew.

“Because I’m trying to protect Maestro, who I love more than I love myself, and because this is no ordinary snatch. Jesus Christ, Jack, I already told you what the problem was, I told you back in New York.”

“That NBC wasn’t in any hurry to get the old man back because the orchestra was becoming a financial headache. Fine. But I still don’t buy that they’d just let him get killed, nor do I think that Lansky or Lucky would be dumb or disrespectful enough to kill him; Lansky because he’s too smart and Lucky because the old man’s like an Italian treasure. Bumping him off for three million bucks makes absolutely no sense; they can earn that moving heroin on a slow afternoon.”

“So you’re saying this whole thing is a sham?”

“I don’t know what the hell it is. But I think this snatch has zippo to do with ransom and everything to do with the hotel business, and here’s another wild guess—you boys are in for a piece of the action, which is why you’re lounging around here in that lovely silk robe.”

Aaron manufactured a look of disbelief. “NBC is in for a piece, that’s what you’re telling me?”

“That’s what I’m telling you. I think the ransom notes were bullshit, manufactured to leave a phony paper trail. The reality is that Lansky and Luciano want the old man to front a hotel they’re going to build which will legitimize this cow town forever.”

Aaron unsuccessfully simulated laughter. “Is that what Meyer told you? Toscanini is going to front a Vegas hotel?
Please.
I thought you were an intelligent man, Jack.”

“Why else would they
schlepp
him out here? To work on his tan?”

“No, Jack. Maestro was brought to Vegas because Meyer has almost total control over the press here. He and Lucky didn’t feel they could keep the lid on in Havana much longer.”

“Word would get out.”

“Of course. One thing about this god-awful place: You want something locked down, it gets locked down.”

I looked around the room. “Fine, I can believe that. But from the looks of this suite, Maestro’s set to hang around here for keeps. I have less furniture in my apartment, not that that’s any standard.”

Aaron waved his hand impatiently. “Jack, we’re talking about one of the great artists in
the history of the world,
okay? What he wants, he gets, at least as long as I’m around. If he’s here for a day, a week, or two weeks, I make sure he has his comforts, his music, his
ambience,
okay? In the meantime, I’m trying to negotiate him out of here.”

“So that’s why you’re here, to negotiate? I thought it was to protect him.”

“It’s all the same, Jack. Jesus Christ! I’m just a middleman with a commitment to protect the life of a great man. Believe me or not, that’s what’s going on. When I sent you to Havana, I was desperate. But I’m glad that I did, because I think you flushed them out, forced their hand.”

“I got bopped on the head, that’s what I did.”

“You were a catalyst for all this activity.” Aaron rose from the piano bench. “You’d be well within your rights to ask for the twelve thousand bucks right now.”

“I would be?”

“Yes.”

“So you’re saying you want me to go home?”

“I think your work is pretty much done.”

“What about Lansky?”

“I’ll tell him to lay off you.”

“Promise?”

Aaron smiled and raised his hand. “‘Swear to God,’ as we used to say in Brooklyn.”

“Great. And you’re just going to stay here and bargain for the old man to get out?”

“I’ll do my best, within the constraints I’m under.”

“What if NBC says it doesn’t care if he gets knocked off?”

“I believe I can persuade my superiors otherwise. Principally on a public relations basis. If Maestro gets killed because of our inaction, Lansky and Luciano could run corporate blackmail on us that would be unbelievably destructive. They own reporters all over the world; that’s the ugly reality.”

“So you think Sarnoff will pay the three million.”

Aaron bowed his head, took a breath.

“What …?” I said.

“That’s where I misspoke, Jack. As of last night, they want seven million.”

I almost whistled. “That’s a lot of cabbage.”

“It’s an unimaginable amount of money. But I think I can persuade the general of the consequences if we don’t pay off.”

“Good luck.”

“I’ll need it,” said Aaron. “Do you want me to call you a car to get you back to the airport?”

I shook my head. “I’ll handle my own arrangements, but thanks. First I gotta get back to the kitchen and return this outfit.”

“It’s not a flattering look for you, Jack, I have to say in all honesty.” Aaron smiled and held out his hand. “Thanks for a tremendous job, pal; you were the right guy in a very tough jam.”

I shook his hand. It was not a dry hand.

“Appreciate it, Sidney. Thanks.”

“Anytime,” Aaron said. “How about I give you half now in cash and then have Elizabeth mail you a check for the remainder?”

“Six thousand in cash?”

“That’s right. Too much?”

“No. It’s the least you can do.”

Aaron chuckled. What a terrific guy. “Hang on. Let me get at it.” He headed toward the second bedroom and I turned and walked into the living room. Toscanini was contentedly
shmearing
jam on a roll.

I knelt beside him. “Maestro, I have to run.”

He looked at me quizzically.

“Boston Blackie,” he said gently. He looked around the room, then leaned closer to me. The look in those myopic yet infinitely expressive eyes flickered from contentment to uncertainty. “Is
necessita
?”

“You mean, do I have to go?”

The street-clothes muscle was sitting on a chair leafing through the morning paper. He turned a page and yawned.

“Yes, I do. But I’ll be back.”

Now his eyes registered a flicker of fear, for the very first time. “Is not right here.
Capisce
?”

“Yes. And you’re correct; it’s not right here.”

“Is not
fascisti,
I think.”

“I agree.”

“I want to go home.” The Maestro’s eyes misted over a bit. “To Villa Pauline.”

“I’ll get you home.”

Aaron was reentering from the next room. I patted the old man’s hand, gestured for him to lean toward me, and then spoke quickly and softly. “Whatever happens, try and stay on the grounds of the hotel. Okay?”

The old man nodded. “Si. I try and wait for you, Boston Blackie.”

“Hang in there, Maestro.” I got up and started for the door. The plainclothes man put down his newspaper and began to rise, but Aaron waved at him to sit back down. He walked toward me holding a thick envelope.

“Again,” Aaron murmured, standing close enough to me so I could smell his stale morning breath, “thanks for some brilliant work.”

I mumbled my gratitude and took the envelope, sticking it in the inside of my jacket. “See you back in New York.”

“You bet, Jack. Let’s get some dinner when this is all over.”

“That’s a great idea,” I told him, then walked to the door and opened it. When I turned around, I saw the three men in the room sitting and standing as stock-still as if they were having their portraits done, their eyes fixed on my departing self.

I waved jauntily and took my leave. I figured that if I remained in Vegas I had maybe an hour to live.

THIRTEEN

I rushed noisily down
the fire stairs and was panting like a spaniel by the time I reached my room. I cautiously opened the door, then double-bolted and chained it the moment I got inside. The room was just as I left it, with two significant differences.

There was a fine leather valise on the bed and it didn’t belong to me.

The shower was running.

I walked quietly to the night table, pulled open the top drawer and removed the .38 I had pilfered from the driver, then crept toward the bathroom, finally nudging the door open with my left hand. I was instantly rewarded with the gratifying sight of soapy water cascading down Barbara Stern’s lustrous body. She screamed, of course, at the very sight of me.

“Jesus!” she said, and yanked the shower curtain all the way shut.