Chapter 16
Bill called early the next morning. I was brewing coffee and trying to figure out my next move.
“T.K. Got some news when I came in. Thought you’d be interested. One Albert DeMarzio took a nasty fall last night . . . off the balcony of a cheap motel on Avenue A. D.O.A. Only the second floor, but he had a broken neck. Found a couple of lines of coke on a mirror, a near empty bottle of Stoli. He was probably stoned, drunk, or both. One weird thing . . . the M.E. thinks his neck could have been broken before he took the fall. A few signs of a struggle, but nothing definitive.”
“Albert? That wouldn’t be one of Panko’s playmates, the one that’s built like a fireplug?”
“The same. It will probably go down as an accidental death. He was fucked up and all that shit. The room wasn’t registered in his name. Desk clerk said a white guy in a blue hoodie came in and paid cash. No real physical description. Said he’d had a few beers . . . couldn’t remember. Not unusual in that neighborhood. Albert was visiting someone, but my guess is we’ll never know who. No luggage. The place was damned near empty. No prints. Of course, nobody saw or heard anything. Albert was decorating the sidewalk when the morning clerk got in. ‘White guy in a blue hoodie?’ There’s probably only three or four thousand matching that description in the metro area. Anyway, just thought you might like to know. Get any ideas, call me.”
I had one, but I wasn’t about to tell Bill what it was. He didn’t know about the broken fingers, but in the mind of some, that might be a damned fine motive. I figured the fireplug’s weight at 230 or so. Not many people would have the strength to hoist him off a balcony, especially if he was already dead. And who could break a man’s neck? How about a master of self-defense?
I wanted it to make sense, but I was wary of jumping to any conclusions. A guy like DeMarzio probably had plenty of enemies and if he didn’t, Panko did. A statement, a warning, rival mob interests? The possibilities were endless. And how was I going to find out?
Sunny and I were doing an early lunch. Mama Antoni’s again. Pizza that satisfied like an Italian orgasm. I biked over about eleven. Sunny was looking her scholarly best. It’s all about being conservative and looking undeniably academic. Still, that woman couldn’t hide her sexuality under a circus tent. It exuded and flowed like rose petals meandering down a sunlit river.
We ordered a large Pizza Margherita. It came about the size of a manhole cover, oozing white cheese and peppered with thick, red slices of ripe tomato. I had a mug of Yuengling, but she demurred. “Not while I’m working,” she said in her most convincing professional tone. I started my tale.
She said, “No shit,” about sixteen times between mouths full of cheese, Mama’s private marinara, and fat golden garlic knots. She also drank about half of my Yuengling. So much for “Not while I’m working”.
After Sunny had inhaled the last garlic knot, she dabbed at her perfect lips daintily with a white napkin, drained the last of my mug, and leaned across the table.
“Okay, I’m guessing you think Glen is the neck breaker. Bondura is the dragon lady, and Panko will be gunning for you if they don’t sign the contract. Talent Pro can’t be too concerned about Shorty if they broke his fingers. That was a warning, no doubt intended for you as well as Pam. The bricks were a reminder that she could end up in very deep trouble if she didn’t play nice. What I don’t understand is Panko’s angle. They put Pam on tour . . . she might be big, but there are thousands of musicians out there with talent. She could be a bust. A break doesn’t mean you’ll be a star. It just means you might have a chance.”
“Okay, Swami, you read my mind again. And you’re right. The angle is the thing. I have a theory, but that’s all it is. The heroin in the amplifier got me thinking. A band moves tons of equipment in big vans from one town to the next. The cabinets for the sound stuff are huge and heavy. It wouldn’t take many to move large amounts of that white poison all over a region, if not the entire country. It’s a built-in delivery system. At the same time a lot of cash changes hands. Nice opportunity to wash greenbacks if the money comes with lots of dirt.”
“Damn it, T.K. You’ve been watching too much CSI, but it could make sense. So how do we find out?”
“Well . . . I haven’t seen that episode yet.” We finished up. I wanted another Yuengling, but I didn’t think Sunny could handle it and still teach class. I fished a few spearmint Altoids out of the tin container in my pocket and handed them to her. We couldn’t have the professor returning to campus smelling like a brewery.
I called Glen when I got back to KAMALA. I filled him in on the latest. I wanted to ask him if Albert’s unfortunate accident had been aided by an enraged karate instructor, but that was a little too obvious.
“That’s a shame,” he said when I told him about Bill’s call. “Sometimes bad things happen to bad people, but I don’t think I’ll send flowers.”
I knew it wasn’t the cops and I didn’t ask Glen for an alibi. The truth is I was glad Albert had been removed from the equation. He was stupid and dangerous and that’s often a lethal combination. I could only guess about Glen’s involvement, and sometimes what you don’t know is better than what you do.
Next I tried Pam. Shorty was doing okay, but she didn’t have time to talk. She was burning up the lines, desperate to find a decent guitar player to fill in so HIGH FLYER could do their regular gig at the Austin for the rest of the week. She thought she had one, but only if he didn’t show up too drunk or two stoned to massage the strings.
I got one last call.
“Good day, Dr. Fleming. I am beginning to think I have underestimated you. I got one of yours . . . you got one of mine. Perhaps it is time for more serious negotiations before this thing gets entirely out of hand. May I propose a meeting? Your choice of venue, but let us make it before the day is out tomorrow. It may cut down on the casualties.”
“Your call is timely, Mr. Panko. I’ll let you know the time and place first thing in the morning.”
Panko obviously thought I was at least indirectly responsible for the death of his lackey. Let him think it. Maybe it would give me an edge, or maybe it would put an even bigger target on my back.
I hung up and called Glen.