The man in the flat tweed cap and Burberry raincoat, the political man from upstate, sat on a stool like any customer in the busy coffee section of Stew Leonard’s in Norwalk.
He was short, a little paunchy, had a wrinkly, round face and wore narrow reading glasses, his graying hair starting to thin. He had on a Shetland sweater over corduroys and Top-Siders, glancing occasionally at The Financial Times, indifferent to the throng of shoppers and laughing kids passing by.
The person he was expecting, in a gray North Face jacket, wound his way through the crowd. “Let’s make this quick,” his friend said, pulling up a stool at the round table. “I don’t like being here.”
“Relax,” the man in the tweed cap said. He pushed up his glasses. “Probably more people here right now than any place else in the state. I drive down every once in a while just for the chowder. The best around. Course, then I’m also loading up the car with the filets and lobster tails and chocolate chip cookies…”
“I don’t really care about the fucking chowder, Ira,” the man in the North Face jacket said, his handsome, athletic looks just beginning to dull into middle age. He leaned forward. “My kids are in the car…”
“That’s right.” The upstate man nodded. “You still have kids at home. Private school, isn’t it? Then college…”
“Ira, what is it you want, please…?”
The man in the cap took the reading glasses off his brow and folded the paper. He nodded in an obliging sort of way. “Okay, champ…” His expression stiffened. “Things are starting to move in a way no one’s very happy with up there. There’s a line of questioning I’m hearing, and if it leads anywhere…You’re aware the local police have been down to visit your boy?”
“He’s not my boy. I’ve never even met him. You didn’t exactly ask me to handle a bond issue, Ira.”
“Still, it was you who arranged things to be handled through them…”
“Through an intermediary. You wanted things done, I got them done for you. That’s all.”
“Why don’t we just leave it that the revenge motive doesn’t seem to be carrying a whole lot of weight any longer.”
The younger man stared back. “What is it you want me to do, Ira?”
“What do I want you to do?” Ira grabbed his arm. “I want you to do what you always do, guy. I want you to fix things. Isn’t that what that showy new house is all about? And how you pay for your kids to go to that school?” The man’s face bore a smile, but it was a smile that cut right through him, an unwavering sternness in his eyes. “You didn’t think it was that six handicap we’ve been paying for all these years.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Oh, I understand. I understand why this is a problem for you…I’m just down here to make certain you understand. Because what you don’t want is for certain things to come out that don’t need to. What you don’t want is for a certain police detective to start honing in on the wrong line of inquiry. So finesse it, shortstop. Make it go away. That’s your particular skill, right? You have a backup plan. Maybe it’s time to get it rolling. That’s why I’m down here—the chowder notwithstanding. Are we clear?”
The man in the North Face took a napkin off the table and tore off the edges. He nodded.
“I think I’m going to need something a little more definitive than that, champ. Are we clear?”
Their eyes met, the government man’s gaze unmistakable.
The man in the North Face felt his stomach clench. “Clear as a golf ball on grass, Ira.”
“Good.” The government man stood up and folded the newspaper under his arm. “Now what you oughta do now is head back to those cute little kids of yours. Go out, take ’em to McDonald’s, kick the ball around, whatever you had planned for the day.” He opened a plastic bag and took out a box of Stew’s chocolate chip cookies. “Here…rated best in the state.” He pushed it over and the younger man took it. “On me…”
“There are other people involved, you know. There’s other ways for this to get out.”
“Finesse.” The man winked amiably. “I think that’s the key word here. We’ll handle our end; you just make sure you do yours. What you don’t want is for this sort of investigation to fly back and take a dump in your lap. Know what I mean?”
“Or yours,” the younger man said, angered.
“Or mine…” The government man nodded. “You’re right.” He balled his napkin into his cup, crumpled them into a ball, and tossed them into the trash. “But let’s just say that in this state, I’ll take my chances on that one. Agreed?”