Elmore Leonard: 52 pickup

"We wouldn't leave you out," Bobby said. "You part of the group."

"You know how you start thinking when you don't know what's going on."

"Man," Bobby said, "sit down at the desk and take it easy. Think about nice things."

"I'm not worried now," Leo said. "I was a little nervous, but I'm okay now."

Bobby steered Leo over to the desk and gently, with his hands on his shoulders, sat him down.

"What're you doing?" Leo said. "Hey, what's going on?"

"Nothing going on," Bobby said. "I want you to sit down and rest, man, take it easy."

"Yeah, but I don't get it."

"What's to get? Sit there, man, don't move for a while. Let your body relax, feel at peace. There now."

Bobby walked away from the desk to the front door counting one, two, three, four and a half steps. He opened the door, gave Leo a nod and a little smile and walked outside.

The place next to the nude-model studio, also closed but with a light burning inside, was a dirty-book store. Bobby stepped into the alcove of the doorway, stood with his back to the street and the headlights of the cars passing, took the Smith amp; Wesson and five.38 cartridges out of his jacket and loaded the revolver. Glancing at the street, at the few cars going by but not studying them or worrying about them, he walked back to the front door of the model studio, counted one, two, three, four and a half steps past it, stopped, faced the black-painted plate glass in front of the D in nude models, raised the revolver belt-high and fired it at the glass, getting the heavy report and a hundred and twenty square feet of shattering glass and the D disappearing in front of him, gone, all at the same time. There was Leo still sitting behind the desk like he hadn't moved. Bobby didn't know if Leo had been hit. He extended the.38 in front of him and shot Leo four times, hitting him dead center in the chest, getting that last one in before Leo slid down behind the desk. Bobby didn't need to go in and check. He knew Leo was dead about the time he reached the floor.

Mitchell said, "Tell him I'll call him back," and hung up the phone.

He was in the Engineering office, sitting on a high stool under the bright fluorescent lights. He leaned over the drafting table again to study the cutaway drawings he had made of a clasp lock assembly. They were crude drawings, rendered freehand, without using the T-square. Lying open on the table was the black attache case he had received the day before. Next to the case was the switch actuator he had taken out of the scrap bin, also the day before.

He drew a rectangle, representing the open case, looking down into it; then drew a top-view indication of one of the two clasp locks that were on the facing of the case.

Vic, his superintendent, came into the Engineering office and stood looking down at the board.

Mitchell said, "Yeah?"

"That five hundred feet of number eight rod was due yesterday, it's not here yet."

"Call them up."

"I did call them. They said they'd see what they can do."

"Call them again," Mitchell said. "Tell them the rods aren't here by noon they can bend them around their ass and make Hula Hoops, we'll go someplace else."

"They'll say okay, and the rods'll get here about four, five o'clock."

"But you'll have them," Mitchell said.

Vic was staring at the drawing. "What're we in, the luggage business now?"

"I'm trying to figure out," Mitchell said, "how to snap this open-see, it's one of the clasps-and make an electrical connection inside."

"For what?"

"For example, if you wanted a light to go on when you opened the case."

"Like a refrigerator."

"Only the case isn't plugged in."

"You got to have a battery inside."

"I know that," Mitchell said. "I'm trying to figure out how to connect with the battery without messing up the case, changing the way it looks."

"It's a pretty nice case."

"You see the problem?"

"I think that switch actuator's too big. All you need's a little spring of some kind."

"Maybe you're right."

"Well, I guess you'll think of a way," Vic said, "if that's what you want to do, light up a briefcase."

"It's kind of what I want to do," Mitchell said.

He had the attache case with him when he went back to his office and stopped at Janet's desk.

"You remember the name of the place this came from?"

"I wrote it down, in case you wanted me to check on the card."

"I found the card," Mitchell said. "It was in here all the time."

Janet said, "Oh?" and waited.

"What I'd like you to do, go there sometime today and get me another case, just like it."

"You want another case," Janet said, "just like that one."

"I was fooling with the lock and I sprung it."

"Maybe it can be fixed."

"I'd just as soon have another case, a new one, if it's okay with you."

"Certainly it's okay."

"Thank you."

"Mr. O'Boyle called again. I told him I gave you the message the first time."

"Get him for me, will you?"

"Yes sir, Mr. Mitchell."

He looked at her. "Janet, I have a reason for wanting another case. Will you accept that, take my word for it?" He went into his office.

"I've got another one for you to look up," Mitchell said into the phone. "Robert Sly. I'll give you his address, his driver's license number if it'll help."

"Is he a friend of Leo Frank?" O'Boyle's voice asked.

Mitchell hesitated. "Why?"

"You haven't seen the paper this morning?"

"I spent the night here. Something I had to do."

"Get a paper," O'Boyle said. "Page three, a picture of the model studio with the window blown out."

"He have an accident? What happened?"

"He was shot four times. You give me the name of a guy to check on and three days later he's dead. Now do you want to tell me what's going on?"

"Was it a robbery, what?"

"He had forty-three dollars on him, a comb, a can of hair spray and a bottle of Beach Boy aftershave lotion. No, it wasn't a robbery and you're not answering my question. Mitch, what's going on?"

"Wait a minute, Jim. What about Alan Raimy?"

"What about him?"

"What'd you learn?"

"The only one I've found out about so far is Leo Frank. You remember Joe Paonessa, the assistant prosecutor you were so nice to? I checked with him. He called me yesterday afternoon to tell me what they had on Leo."

"What?"

"Mitch-" O'Boyle sounded impatient, let his breath out, probably shaking his head.

Mitchell said, "Come on, tell me."

"Leo Frank was arrested once," O'Boyle said, "for indecent exposure, three times for pandering, one conviction, served ninety days. What I want you to understand," O'Boyle said then, "the prosecutor's office checks him out as a favor, and the next day the man's dead. Now what do I tell Joe Paonessa when he calls?"

"Wait and see if he does."

"Mitch, the man was murdered."

Mitchell said, "I don't know what to tell you, Jim. I mean right now I don't have anything to tell you. Maybe in a couple of days."

"I'm going to come over and talk to you," O'Boyle said.

"I won't be here."

"Mitch, I give the prosecutor's office two names. One of them is found murdered. Now what are they going to do? They're going to call me and say how do you know this guy, what was his problem? And they're going to look for the other name, Alan Raimy. Now I know Leo and Alan are involved in the blackmail, obviously. Joe Paonessa doesn't know that, naturally I didn't mention your name. But he could think about it and put it together and you could look up to see the police at your door. Before we get to that, I want you to tell me the whole thing. All right?"

"I don't see you have to tell them anything," Mitchell said. "Tell him they're clients of yours. They come in, you want to check them out first. Jim, guys who commit crimes go to lawyers, don't they? Or guys who've committed a crime and see they might get caught? Tell Joe what's-his-name they came to you, but haven't told you the whole story yet. They owe on a gambling debt, something like that, and have been threatened. Jim, you're the lawyer, you can think of something."