Lawrence Block - Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 129, No. 6. Whole No. 790, June 2007

“No. I’ve read about them.”

“They’re well named. You’ll forget all your troubles.”

“All right,” Leopold agreed. “How much for all three?”

“Depends what you’ve got to spend. Suppose we go out to my car and talk it over.”

“Fine by me.” He was relieved to get away from Wein’s sister and Silverspur’s insistent sales pitch.

Wein’s car was a black SUV with an American flag decal on the window next to one for St. Lawrence Indian Nation. Leopold slid into the front passenger seat and took out an envelope full of currency that Fletcher had given him to make the buy. Before he said a word, Wein ran his hands over Leopold’s back and sides. “I have to make sure you’re not wearing a wire.”

“A what?” Leopold asked in all innocence.

“I don’t want you recording our conversation. Understand?”

“Sure.”

“How much cash is in there?”

“Enough.”

The bearded man sighed. “Look, I have to know what we’re talking about. A thousand dollars?”

“More, if you’ve got what I need.”

“I can supply what you need.”

“I have ten thousand,” Leopold said softly, as if hesitant to speak the sum aloud.

“Say, I think you must have some sick friends back home besides yourself.” He chuckled a bit, jotted down some figures on a pad, and tore off the sheet for Leopold. “This is what I can supply for ten grand. How’s that sound?”

“Good.”

“Let me have a look at the money.”

Leopold opened the envelope and fanned out the bills for a quick inspection. “Satisfied?”

“Sure. Don’t worry, I’m not going to steal it. I’ll have the goods tomorrow morning and we can close the deal then.”

“Where? What time?”

“I have to cross over to the other side for some of it. I can meet you in this parking lot at nine.”

“Will the Homestead be open then?”

“No. They don’t open till lunchtime.”

Leopold wanted a busier place, where the state police could be close-by without attracting attention. “What about the casino parking lot?”

“I’m not on the best of terms with Dan Littlewolf. If his security men spotted me there they’d probably run me off. He doesn’t bother with this place so much.”

“All right, it’ll have to be here, then. Nine tomorrow morning.”

They shook hands and Rosco Wein said, “See you then. Bring your money.”

Leopold went back to his motel and phoned Captain Fletcher. “I’ve made contact,” he said. “Wein liked the color of our money. He’s making the delivery at nine tomorrow morning, in the parking lot of the Homestead restaurant. I tried to shift him to the casino but it was no-go.”

“Good work,” Fletcher told him. “I have to contact Lieutenant Oaken of the tribal police and tell him, off the record, what we’re doing. The state police will be ready to move in, too.”

“Some of these tribal police could be on Wein’s payroll,” Leopold pointed out. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

Fletcher sighed. “That’s a chance we’ll have to take. Are you armed?”

“Ankle holster, if I have time to reach it.”

“Be careful, for God’s sake! If anything happens to you, Molly would never forgive me.”

“Neither would I.”

Leopold phoned his wife next. “How’s the trial going?”

“Wrapping up,” she said, sounding tired. “I miss you.”

“I’ll be home tomorrow night if all goes well.”

He slept soundly but woke early, well before the seven o’clock alarm he’d set. He showered and dressed, thankful that it wasn’t snowing. April weather in northern New York could be uncertain and the morning’s gray clouds promised nothing but trouble. But this Tuesday was different. By the time he’d grabbed a quick breakfast and headed for the meeting with Rosco Wein, the sun was trying to break through.

The Homestead parking lot was empty when he pulled in at ten to nine. A half-hour later Wein still hadn’t appeared and he was beginning to feel uneasy. At ten o’clock he phoned Fletcher. “He’s a no-show.”

“You think he smelled a rat?”

“I don’t know.”

“Sit tight. I’ll phone Lieutenant Oaken and get back to you.”

Leopold waited another half-hour before his cell phone rang. “Oaken just called me back,” Fletcher said. “He’s located Wein’s SUV in the casino parking lot. You’d better get over there.”

“Right,” Leopold said. Something had gone wrong, but he didn’t know what.

At the casino he spotted the tribal police vehicle parked by one of the rows of cars. A uniformed officer stood talking to a white-haired man in a business suit. Both were Native Americans. The officer’s uniform had lieutenant’s bars on the shoulders. He turned as Leopold approached. “You’re Mr. Leopold?”

“That’s right. Lieutenant Oaken?”

“Pleasure to meet you,” he said, extending his hand. “This is Dan Littlewolf, the casino owner.”

Littlewolf was a short, stocky man, probably past fifty. He looked unhappy as he said, “I don’t know what this is all about. If Rosco Wein is involved in anything illegal, I know nothing about it.”

“Have you found him?” Leopold asked.

“Mr. Littlewolf has his security people searching the casino right now,” Oaken said. “If he’s in there, they’ll find him.”

Leopold glanced at the SUV. “Is it locked?”

The officer nodded. “And there are no packages visible on the floor or seats.”

“What are you looking for?” Littlewolf demanded. “Drugs? I run a legit business here, and show a good profit. I don’t need Wein or anyone else peddling drugs on my premises.”

Leopold waited till he’d finished and then asked, “You own the Homestead, too, don’t you?”

“That’s right. Something wrong there, too?”

“No. In fact I had dinner there last night. It’s just that I was supposed to meet Wein in the parking lot at nine o’clock and he didn’t show up.”

Littlewolf shrugged. “I guess he found the casino more profitable. I’m sure my security people will find him at the roulette wheel or the blackjack table.”

But that didn’t happen. At noon Rosco Wein was still missing and Lieutenant Oaken requested that the state police join in the search. Leopold remained close to the lieutenant, hoping for some news he could pass on to Fletcher, but all through the afternoon there was nothing. “He seems to have left the reservation,” Leopold said at last.

“Without his car? That’s doubtful.”

Late in the afternoon Littlewolf directed his men to break into the car and search it. There were no drugs, no weapons, no bloodstains, nothing.

Leopold tried phoning Karen Wein but she didn’t answer on her home phone and he didn’t have the number of her cell phone. He finally decided the best place to find her was the Homestead and he showed up there at the dinner hour. The place was almost empty and there was no sign of Sammy Bryson, though his piano was uncovered.

“Has Karen Wein been around?” Leopold asked the bartender.

“Haven’t seen her. She might turn up later.”

Leopold ordered a beer. “Let me see a menu, too,” he said, thinking he should stick around for a while to see if Karen appeared. He decided on a veal cutlet. Presently Bryson came in, removed his coat, placed the top hat in position for tips, and sat down to play. He started with a jazz version of “Easter Parade,” a couple of days late. Then he paused as if taking a break but Leopold heard a few faint notes of “Yankee Doodle” and the piano picked up on them, launching into a jazz version of that as well. Leopold had to admit the guy was good, and before dinner arrived he went over to drop a couple of dollars into the top hat. Bryson bowed in thanks and played a couple more songs before taking a break.