Gay Hendricks - The First Rule of Ten

He didn’t waste any time coming to the point.

“I called your friend Zimmy Backus,” he said.

“How is Zimmy?” I asked.

“He’s fine, but he refused any further discussion of the business deal I was proposing. He said I should speak to you from here on out.”

“Okay. But he’s already turned you down once. Why did you call him again?”

Florio nodded. “Things have changed since we last talked. My company stumbled across some unpaid royalties. I wanted to let him know this is no longer speculation-there’s a guaranteed payoff involved.”

A guaranteed payoff, or someone deciding to sweeten the deal, someone maybe growing a little more desperate to get Zimmy to sign?

“How much would Zimmy get, after your fees and other expenses?”

“About seventeen thousand.” He spread his hands apologetically. “I know it doesn’t sound like a lot, but it suggests there’s plenty more out there.”

As long as I had Florio standing in my doorway, I might as well trawl for as much information as I could. I decided to pull the pin on a little grenade and toss it his way. See where it landed.

“I’ve been talking to Buster Redman’s widow, Beulah,” I said. “Nice lady. And your other client? Poor Freda Wilson? I’m sure you know she’s taken ill.”

I had to hand it to Florio. He barely blinked. He did appear to reappraise me, though.

“You’re quite the sleuth, aren’t you, Mr. Norbu?”

I kept my voice bland. “Time will tell,” I said. “I do find myself curious about what you guys are up to.”

“Us guys? Which guys are you referring to?”

“You. Barsotti. O’Flaherty.”

Florio’s smile was tight. “Looks like your curiosity has been working overtime.”

“It’s certainly working all the time, if that’s what you mean.”

“And what have you learned from this curiosity? Have you met Barsotti, met O’Flaherty yet?” His voice was rising in pitch. Pretty soon he’d be silently whistling for dogs.

I was still feeling remarkably relaxed, myself. “I haven’t met Barsotti, but I’ve had binoculars on him a few times.”

“Where?”

“Oh, you know, the usual. Pig farm, car dealership, his house in Beverly Hills.” I observed Florio closely.” Visiting his girlfriend out in The Valley.”

He stiffened almost imperceptibly at the word girlfriend , so I elaborated.

“She’s quite the little equestrian, isn’t she? Very impressive in the saddle.”

But Junior had his own agenda, and he was sticking to it. “I wouldn’t know. So, what about Zimmy? Will you talk to him about the contract?”

Impatience climbed my spine. I was tired of his pursed mouth and one-track mind.

“I’ve got things to do,” I said. “So if you’ll excuse me.”

Florio was glaring at something over my shoulder. I glanced back. Tank had moved to the sliding glass door and was fixated on Florio, his tail flicking from side to side like a windshield wiper.

“Big cat,” he said.

“He is indeed,” I said.

“I’m not much of a cat person, myself.”

“That’s fine,” I said. “He’s equally picky about people.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Florio said. “And while we’re handing out warnings, remember what curiosity did to the cat.”

“Get the fuck off my property.” I said.

I went back in the house and got my Wilson out of the safe. I jacked a round into the chamber and joined Tank at the glass door. Together, we watched Florio get in his car and head back down the driveway.

“Weasel,” I said. Tank ambled away. A few moments later I heard the crunch-crunch of cat teeth nibbling on dry food. Tank’s appetite is a sensitive barometer of his feelings, and I was happy to see that Florio’s visit hadn’t put him off. I considered this a challenge, so I ate my sandwich as well, but I didn’t taste a bite.

Fucking pinkie finger in the air. Who does he think he is, Queen Fucking Elizabeth?

Dial it down, Tenzing. Way down.

I huffed around the house, until I realized I was just looking for something else to resent, kind of like a cranky hat looking for a hook. I decided to make tea for myself. Proper Tibetan milk tea. I poured some milk in a saucepan, and added loose black tea, and a healthy dose of sugar. As it came to a boil, I checked my e-mails. I had one from Mike, with a home address for Jeremiah Star Trek Cook’s surviving spouse, Camille.

Good. Taking action would help me calm down.

I poured the fragrant tea through a strainer, into a cup, and lifted it to my lips, happily anticipating the aromatic brew.

My hand froze. The metallic taste had returned, an astringent sharpness in the back of my throat. This time it lodged in my taste buds. I drank my tea anyway, but the chemical flavor lingered, like a hint of menace at the base of my tongue. Talk about disappointing.

I may occasionally confer with cats and old friends using unconventional techniques, but that doesn’t mean I’m automatically woolly-brained. I ran through every rational explanation I could think of that might cause this particular taste to arise. Had I started taking some different vitamin and mineral combinations? No. I’m a creature of habit, and I’d swallowed the same handful of supplements for years. Was my body having difficulty with something I’d eaten? I couldn’t think of anything unusual I’d ingested, except for Julie’s sauteed morels and Potatoes Anna. No way they were the cause-too delicious, and, more to the point, too digested by now.

I filed the experience under “Cause Unknown” for the time being.

The cricket choir trilled from my pocket.

I checked the screen. I didn’t know the number, but the prefix was 310, the moneyed code of lawyers, agents, and other persons of swank. I decided to answer. Who knows? Maybe easeful attraction was still at work.

The voice was rich and smooth, like good coffee. “Mr. Norbu?”

I agreed I was.

“Mr. Norbu, my name is Thomas Florio.”

My mind froze up for a moment, trying to reconcile this soothing timbre with the nasal whine of the Thomas Florio who’d paid me a visit. Then I realized, of course, this must be Thomas Sr.

“What can I do for you?”

“Apparently my son just paid you a visit-without my knowledge, I assure you. He called me to relay details of your conversation together. He was quite agitated. I wish to apologize to you for his behavior. Tommy has often proved challenging for Mrs. Florio and myself. The trials have not lessened in adulthood.”

“I can imagine,” I said. “He did strike me as having too much accelerator and too few brakes.”

Florio chuckled. “Well put, Mr. Norbu, well put. Professionals have labeled it ‘poor impulse control,’ but I like your description better. I have enjoyed many blessings, but my desire for a serene family life continues to elude me.”

“I wish you success in attaining that goal,” I said. “Thank you for calling, but there’s no need to apologize.” I glanced at the time. Much as I was enjoying our little love fest, I needed to get back to work. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Yes, yes there is, Mr. Norbu. I’d like to discuss some information that emerged from your conversation with Tommy.”

“Go ahead,” I said.

He cleared his throat. “If you don’t mind, I’d prefer to discuss this matter in person, rather than over the phone. I suppose I might be considered very old-fashioned these days, but I much prefer to meet face to face.”

There was something very likable about this man. With his mellow voice and courtly manner, he was hard to refuse.

“Okay,” I said. “How can we make that happen?”