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Steve Lapinski’s unwitting mention of where Nico Caras and his boys hung out had been just specific enough to let me find it. As I walked toward a dumpy café with red checkered curtains covering the lower half of the windows and Greek words painted above them, I found myself thinking of funerals. Mine in particular. I opened the door and was nearly flattened by the smell of garlic.
“Place isn’t open.”
A bruiser in a well-cut jacket with no need of shoulder padding stepped in front of me, crossing his arms. A few men sat drinking coffee and reading papers at the front of the place, and another pair halfway back.
“Looks open to me.”
“Men only.”
“I’m here to see Mr. Caras.”
Before the name was out, the bruiser and another man seized my arms. This was the place I was hunting, all right. Caras sat with half a dozen other men at a table near the back of the restaurant.
“How about letting Pete be the one who pats me down?” I said as they jerked my arms out. “He keeps his mind on business instead of groping like a schoolboy on his first visit to a cathouse.”
If the one who did the honors had entertained any such inclination, my mention of a name he recognized was enough to render him brisk and efficient. I’d had sufficient brains to leave my Smith & Wesson in the car before I came in. My hope was that I didn’t lose any before I left.
My escorts all but lifted me off my feet as they marched me toward the back of the restaurant. It was four times as deep as it was wide. The man who had searched me had, as I’d intended, discovered one of my business cards. We stopped halfway back and he handed it to one of the men who sat there, who in turn hotfooted to Caras. Another man where we’d stopped had thrust his jacket back, ready to draw in an instant.
Caras waved the card away. He’d noted me from the moment I entered. I felt myself being assisted forward again. Caras sat behind an oblong table. Two men lounged on one side of him and three on the other. Except I knew they weren’t really lounging. Nor was the one who stood one step behind him and to the right. He was the one who’d searched me the other time I’d met Caras, the one named Pete.
Caras was short and fleshy without being fat. Dipping a radish into a plate of tan goo, he popped it into his mouth as I was jerked to a stop before him.
“You’re interrupting my breakfast.”
He patted his mouth with a red checkered napkin. At this time of day, most people were starting lunch. I thought it wise not to mention that.
“I apologize. For that and for roughing your pretty boy up last night. It’s a nasty habit of mine when a man I don’t know follows me into and alley and won’t tell me who he is or what he wants.”
This time Caras tore a morsel from a loaf of bread and dipped it in the goo. He chewed in silence, staring at me without interest.
“I thought you said Curly’s nephew lost her because some cop pulled up and gave her a ride,” he said to someone behind me.
“That’s how he told Curly it happened.”
Caras grunted. His pinkie flicked, which apparently was an invitation to sit since a hand shoved me into a chair.
“Keep your hands where I can see ‘em,” the man who’d assisted me growled in my ear.
Obedient as a freshman who had finished her math test in Sister Matthew Elizabeth’s class, I folded them on the table
“Where’s Walter Benning, Miss Sullivan?” Caras selected an olive from a dish I hadn’t noticed and chewed daintily.
“Your guess is as good as mine. All I’ve managed to get on him is a forwarding address, a post office box which is probably phony. I’m guessing you have that too. He didn’t have friends unless you count an occasional chat with the owner of a music store across from his lamp shop, who bought Benning’s story about coming into money from a relative and taking off for his health. I’ve also learned he played poker in one of your games, and lost enough that two of your boys paid him a visit not long before he took off.
“Now. How about you tell me about the other two goons I keep crossing paths with since I started hunting Benning. They’re bargain basement compared with your boys. Are they after Benning too, or are they part of some beef with you? Or should I be asking what your interest is in C&S Signals, or maybe Gil Tremain?”
The man across from me had stopped chewing. Covering his mouth, he spit the olive pit into his palm and dropped it onto his plate. His eyes cut along the men to his left, then those to his right.
“Anybody know what she’s talking about?”
Silence.
Pinkie lifted, Caras sipped coffee from a miniature china cup. He pushed the dish of olives toward me.
“Have one, Miss Sullivan.”
A knot the size of a softball was lodged in my gut. Anything I swallowed would come right back up.
“It’s a little early in the day for me, but thanks.”
“These two men. Describe them.”
“Muscle for hire. No suits, but not ragged either. Fully equipped with car and guns. Poor at tailing, though. They tried to snatch the kid of the man I’m hunting. That also didn’t seem like your style.”
I wasn’t sure about that part, but when you’re outnumbered a dozen to one, and you’ve been fool enough to put yourself in that situation voluntarily, flattery can’t hurt.
“One’s nondescript and currently nursing a sore arm, courtesy of my bullet. The other one’s bigger, with a gap between his front teeth wide enough for another half tooth.”
“Anyone?”
This time Caras didn’t slice his men with his eyes. He waited with the confidence of one whose organization kept more up to date on the street than the cops did.
“The one with the gap sounds like a guy used to be around called Arnold,” a voice behind me said. “Last I knew, he was doing a stretch for auto theft, though.”
“Maybe he got sprung. See if anyone knows.”
I listened to footsteps moving and stopping as men at the various tables were questioned. Caras broke off a morsel of bread and handed it to me.
“Dip this in and try it. You’ll like it.”
For the first time, I noticed Caras was the only one eating. The tan goo, whatever it was, had a tantalizing aroma. I dipped tentatively and managed to push it into my mouth. My taste buds fell in love, but my stomach warned not to send any more after it.
“Delicious,” I said, and meant it.
“You never explained your interest in Benning.”
“He doesn’t interest me in the least. I’ve been hired to find a man who vanished around the same time Benning took off. He was last seen near Benning’s lamp shop. I have cause to believe he’d been inside the building.”
“That’s why you went poking around there Saturday.”
“Yes.”
Comprehension hit me. That was when Sideburns had started following me. Caras had men watching the building. Benning must owe him a bundle. Either that, or Caras was sore that he’d managed to skip town.
“The man you’re hunting,” said Caras.
“Tremain.”
“Tremain. How’s he connected to Benning?”
“He’s not, as far as I know. But one of the men he works for plays in a poker game your outfit runs. If you’re willing to tell me whether Tremain ever sat in, or had any sort of dealings with you, it might help us both. You’ve probably never met him, but one of your men may have. I have a photograph. In my purse, in an envelope.”
One of the men had my purse jammed up under his armpit. At a signal from Caras, he opened it as if it might have cooties on it and dug out the envelope.
Soft footsteps came up behind me.
“Arnold got out about two months ago. Place he used to live before he got sent away got torn down though. Might take a day or two to find out where he is now.”
“Georgie, see it gets done.”
One of the boys at the table jumped up and left. Another moved the plate to the side so Caras could spread the envelope’s contents on the table before him.
“The one on the right’s Tremain.” I’d picked up two others before setting out.
“And the others?”
“One of the men he works for and Tremain’s fiancée.”
“Why are you looking for him? What’s his importance?”
“He’s an engineer. He was working on a project worth big money to his company. Some data from it disappeared the same time he did. I think maybe he hid it. I think someone snatched him and is trying to get it.
“Anything you could find out about dealings he might have had with your... associates, or with people who had dealings with you might help me. Added to what I’ve told you, it might help you find Benning.”
“Tit for tat.”
“Yes.”
Caras’ hands were crossed, one on top of the other, on the table. He rocked them in thought.
“Very well. I can tell you one thing.”
He beckoned me closer. I leaned forward. His open palm struck my face with such force I would have been knocked from my chair if two of his henchmen hadn’t pinned my shoulders back.
“I don’t like women who don’t know their place. You haven’t been slapped around enough to learn yours. It’s unattractive.”
The hand that had hit me splayed across the photographs, dispelling any thought he might return them. His eyes held mine.
“Get out while you still can. If you ever come here again, you won’t be that lucky.”