CHAPTER FOUR

 

 

A rotund man sat at a typewriter, his sausage fingers dancing over the Underwood. He put down his thoughts, "his gospel" some said. He was revered or feared by all. There wasn't a middle ground. He was the restaurant critic for the Brooklyn Daily News. If he liked a new restaurant, it would become an instant success. If he unsheathed his poison pen, the restaurant owners would be spending their days in the serving line of the local soup kitchen.

The clicking of key strikes was like a symphony to Francis Le Mangez. Today, he was happy and full. "The soup was a delight and made me want to weep with joy. The Singe Café's famous monkey flambé, in a white wine sauce, tasted as if angels had prepared it, and I savored each bite. If you go out for monkey only once this year, make it the 'Singe Café'."

Francis had an office across from The Henry Wood Detective Agency. Henry likes Francis and they occasionally discussed food, politics, and baseball while throwing back highballs at the bar on the corner. Francis was a food snob, but he also appreciated a greasy burger and a beer.

As Henry put the key in his office door, Francis popped his head out and said, "Your cop friend was here looking for you. I took a message."

"Really? What did he want?"

"Tell Henry to call me as soon as he gets back," Francis said with a scowl as he handed the tiny piece of paper to Henry. Francis and Mike McDermott didn't get along.

"Thanks," said Henry, "Eat anything good lately?"

"I had a wonderful dinner at The Singe Café on 17th Street last night. I am writing it up now," he said and turned around, disappearing into his office.

Henry walked into the Wood Detective agency and put his hat on the hook by the door. He took off his overcoat and hung it next to the hat. Sitting behind his desk, he put his feet up and looked at the pencil. The numbers, so neatly written, were a message. He felt it was a message specifically for him, but he didn't know what it was or what he was supposed to do with it.

Henry picked up the phone and called Mike. Mike McDermott had been in law enforcement for as long as Henry could remember. He solved more cases than anyone in the five boroughs by using his razor-sharp analytical mind and sometimes massive right hook. Mike loved chess and music. He owned every bit of vinyl by Enrico Caruso. He also enjoyed gardening and had an encyclopedic knowledge of root vegetables. When he was young, his nickname was 'Yam'. He was called 'Yam' until a couple of fights and a growth spurt between ninth and tenth grade. After that, he was called 'Big Mike'. Henry just called him Mike. Mike McDermott didn't have any use for private dicks, but he liked Henry.

The phone rang once. The voice on the other end bellowed, "Mike here...go."

"Mike, I heard you were looking for me."

"So, Frenchy gave you my message. I'm surprised."

"He isn't so bad, sort of an acquired taste."

A grunt came over the line. Mike continued, "Word on the street is that you're poking around the Smith, Havershome and Blickstein law firm."

"So what if I am?" Henry played it cool. He didn't want to tip his hand. He actually didn't even know which cards he was holding, but he figured if Big Mike had gotten wind that something must be up.

"Listen, Wood, this is serious business you are sticking your nose into. If you know anything, you best come clean before you get hurt," Mike said, trying to be intimidating. He didn't have to try very hard.

"You threatening me, Mike?"

"Not me, but there are some dangerous people involved. I'm trying to look after you," he said. His tone softened.

"Dangerous people, eh?" Henry said, trying to sound confident and hoping Mike would give him a clue as to what was going on. Henry needed a clue.

"I'm talking about the Italians. The word is some accountant has gone missing, and they're anxious to find him. He knows things - things that could make a lot of people unhappy."

"Thanks for the heads up. I will try to keep my head down," Henry said and hung up the phone.

Mike made a good point. Henry made his living battling unfaithful husbands not angry gangsters. He wondered if he was getting in over his head. It didn't matter, though; he had given his word, and he was going to follow through.

Henry was unsure of his next move and decided to head home. When he checked his magic closet, he found another gift from the future: a plastic case with a silver disk in it and a thing called a DVD player with a tiny screen that looked sort of like a television. The DVD was entitled Tage Frid. It appeared to have come from 1997 as that was the copyright date on the back. Henry was pleased with his gift from the mysterious closet, and, when the screen came to life, he marveled at the picture. It was in color.

Tage Frid came from Denmark in 1948. "After a couple of thousand students, I learned a few things," said the voice from the tiny speakers, and, after 75 minutes, Henry had witnessed the charming old man teach him how to cut dovetails, fix a mistake, build a drawer for a perfect fit, glue up pieces, and discuss his thought process in design. Tage Frid used a jig he built 30 years ago. This part showed Henry how important details were to the old woodworker. Henry liked the Danish woodworker's style. He thought about the DVD. It was made 40 years in the future about a man who was old, but, today, in 1955, Tage Frid was a young man who had just arrived in the US a few years ago. Henry watched the DVD twice and marveled at the beauty of Tage Frid's furniture. He wondered if the closet would send him more of these DVDs as they were very entertaining. He wished he could show someone his new toy, but he never told anyone about the time portal in his closet. He feared if he did that it might disappear.

He tried to imagine what Francis would say, what sort of review he would give this Tage Frid show. Henry knew that his recommendation would be an A+. He carefully put the DVD back in its case and put it and the player in a drawer under a blanket. He went to bed thinking about Tage Frid furniture and the numbers, 1, 2, 3, 5, 7, and 23.