Robert Randisi - It Was a Very Bad Year

‘You know, you really came through on this kidnappin’ thing,’ he said. ‘Maybe it’s time to think about givin’ you a promotion.’

‘To what?’ I asked. ‘I’m pretty happy with my job, Jack.’ I was hoping he wasn’t thinking about putting me in a position of more authority. I was pretty pleased with the amount of freedom my job gave me.

‘Well,’ he said, dropping his hand from my shoulder, ‘it’s just somethin’ we can talk about later.’

‘Sure,’ I said, ‘later.’

He turned his attention back to the women. I watched for a few moments, and of the five players at the table, they seemed to be the only ones who were winning consistently.

‘I don’t get it,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘But I will.’

As I walked away from Entratter I saw Jerry coming toward me. He’d changed his shirt and jacket, looked very casual with no tie.

‘Hey, Mr G. What’d Mr Entratter want?’

‘Just to be filled in. Apparently lawyer Rudin let Jack think he rescued me from the big bad police.’

‘Mr Rudin ain’t no criminal guy.’

‘No, he’s not,’ I said, ‘but if he wants to think he got me out, let ’im. I don’t care. All I know is we have a small window that’s closing by the minute.’

We’d spent most of the day driving around, hitting my contacts. We had about thirty-eight hours left.

‘So now we just wait?’

‘There’s got to be more that we can do than wait,’ I said.

‘Like what?’

‘Give me a minute.’

I figured we could go back to Irwin’s studio and house and search again, but we’d been pretty thorough the last time.

‘Irwin owns his house,’ I said, ‘but he doesn’t own the studio. He rents it.’

‘So?’

‘So maybe we should talk to the landlord. Maybe even some of his neighbors. The stores on either side of him.’

‘And ask ’em what?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I’m wingin’ it, Jerry. I just don’t want to sit here and wait.’

‘OK, then let’s go.’

On the right of Irwin Studios was a T-shirt and gift shop. The grey-haired older lady behind the counter said, ‘I just work here,’ to everything we asked, and Jerry’s size did nothing to intimidate her. Apparently, she’d seen enough in her life to know when to keep her mouth shut.

On the left side was a store that sold and fixed watches. The old guy behind the counter regarded us over the rims of thick glasses that had even thicker lenses, so he could do all the delicate work that was necessary with watches.

‘Ain’t seen Barney for a while,’ he said to us. ‘His place has been closed.’

‘We know that,’ I said. ‘We were just wonderin’ who the landlord was for this strip of stores, if it’s even the same person.’

‘It is,’ the man said. ‘Same landlord for this place, Irwin’s, the T-shirt store and the one after that, the hardware store.’

‘And who would that be?’ I asked.

The grey-haired man looked at Jerry, who wasn’t paying any attention to him. He was busy looking around at all the time pieces and clocks. There was a cuckoo clock on the wall that really seemed to attract his attention.

‘That’s a Black Forest Cuckoo,’ he said to Jerry.

‘Black Forest?’

‘That’s the area of Germany the wood comes from,’ the man said. ‘The Black Forest. That one was made by Hubert Herr in the nineteenth century.’

‘Sir?’ I said.

The man looked at me.

‘The landlord?’

He took his glasses off, rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, then stared at me from beneath bushy grey eyebrows. ‘That’d be me.’

‘You’re the landlord?’

‘That’s right. Been here thirty years.’

‘My name is Eddie Gianelli,’ I said. ‘This is Jerry.’

‘The name’s Morheim,’ the man said, ‘Angus Morheim.’

‘Mr Morheim, we’re tryin’ to find Barney Irwin.’

‘You friends of his?’

His face was blank, revealing nothing about his feelings for Barney. But how many landlords really like their tenants?

I took a shot.

‘Hell, no,’ I said. ‘Can’t stand the guy.’

Now he made a face and said, ‘That putz owes me two months rent. And when he leaves I’m gonna have to fumigate the place.’

‘Is he leavin’?’ I asked.

‘He is if I don’t get my rent.’

‘Do you know where he lives?’ I asked.

‘I do, but he ain’t been there either, for a while.’

‘Would you know if he owns any other property? Or has a girlfriend he might be stayin’ with?’

Morheim looked up at Jerry, who was still looking around at the merchandise.

‘You gonna bust his head?’ he asked.

‘We might,’ I said. ‘That sorta depends on. . a lot of things.’

‘He ain’t got a girlfriend I know of,’ he said. ‘Always chasin’ skirts, though. Nice girl wouldn’t have nothin’ to do with him.’

‘I see.’

‘His friends ain’t worth shit.’

‘Do you know any of them?’

‘No, but he hangs out at that bar around the corner.’

‘Clipper’s?’

‘That’s the one,’ Morheim said. ‘Buncha useless bastards in there.’

‘Yeah, we’ve been there,’ I said.

‘That’s it,’ Morheim said. ‘I don’t know anywheres else he might be.’

‘Well. . OK,’ I said. ‘Thank you for talkin’ to us.’

‘When’s it come out?’ Jerry asked, suddenly.

‘What?’ Morheim asked.

Jerry pointed to the clock and asked, ‘When’s the bird come out?’

‘On the hour,’ Morheim said.

Still a half hour to go. I was hoping Jerry didn’t want to stay and watch.

We started for the door and Morheim said, ‘Wait a minute.’

‘Yes?’ I said, turning hopefully.

‘Irwin’s got a storage unit.’

And who says there’s no hope?

‘He does?’

‘Yeah,’ Morheim said, ‘I know it because I got a unit in the same building. I seen him there a few times.’

‘And where is that building?’

‘Around the corner, down the street from the bar.’

‘You wouldn’t happen to know the unit number, would you?’ I asked.

Morheim chose that moment to put his glasses back on. He looked down at the watch he’d had in his hand the whole time.

‘Happens I do,’ he said. ‘Unit two twenty on the second floor.’

‘Mr Morheim,’ I said, ‘thanks very much.’

‘Do me a favor,’ he said.

‘What’s that?’

‘When you see that Schweinhund ,’ Morheim said, ‘bust him one for me.’

‘You got it, Mr Morheim,’ Jerry said.

The old man looked up at Jerry and said, ‘And you come back, I’ll show you the clock.’

‘I will,’ Jerry said. ‘Thanks.’

We stepped outside, letting the door close behind us.

‘How do you do that?’ I asked.

‘What?’

‘Get people to like you.’

‘I’m a likeable guy, Mr G.,’ he said. ‘That’s what makes me good at my job.’

‘Hmm,’ I said. ‘Let’s go check out that storage unit.’

We had parked around the corner, so we were able to walk to the storage facility, which was on the corner of the same block where Clipper’s was. We walked past the bar while keeping to the other side of the street, then crossed over.

HI-POINT STORAGE the sign over the door said. I didn’t know what it meant, but it didn’t matter. You had to name your business something, right?

‘We’re gonna need your lock-picking skills again,’ I said.

‘Depends on the kind it is,’ Jerry said. ‘Places like this, people use all kinds of locks. If it’s a combination lock we’re fucked.’