Unknown Man #89 jr-3 Page 23

  OLSEN: The management. Who’d you tell, exactly?

  PEREZ: I don’t know, some assistant. Young fella with slick hair and pointed shoulders in his coat.

  OLSEN: Pointed shoulders. You asked him to report the robbery to the police?

  PEREZ: I assumed he would, something’s stolen from a room. Wouldn’t you?

  SPEED: Did you know Mr. Gidre was carrying a gun?

  PEREZ: I told him, I said, “Raymond, I’d just like you to talk to them.” I don’t mind telling you I was afraid to, not knowing anything about them, who they were. I said just talk to them nice, see if we can come to some kind of agreement.

  SPEED: You didn’t answer my question. Did you know Mr. Gidre was carrying a gun?

  PEREZ: No, I didn’t.

  SPEED: Did you know he owned a gun?

  PEREZ: I believe he might’ve told me that, yes. But I didn’t know he was carrying it with him today. See, I spoke to him about it last night.

  OLSEN: You said you spoke to one of them on the phone. Do you know which one?

  PEREZ: I don’t know. They all sound alike to me.

  OLSEN: Did he ask you for money?

  PEREZ: He said he wanted to meet with me and have a talk. I suppose feel me out, see how much he could get.

  OLSEN: Were you willing to pay him?

  PEREZ: Within reason.

  OLSEN: If it was just to talk, why do you suppose they had the suitcase with them?

  PEREZ: That’s what concerns me right now, if it is my suitcase and if my documents and papers are in it. See, I don’t know if they might’ve been trying to pull something.

  SPEED: Mr. Gidre apparently took the suitcase from them. He’d know, wouldn’t he, if he was taking the right one?

  PEREZ: Well, it was a Samsonite, black. Fairly good size. That the one you have?

  OLSEN: Were your initials on it?

  PEREZ: No, I don’t believe on that one.

  OLSEN: Can you describe the contents?

  PEREZ: Well, as I said, there were letters, legal documents, pretty much all of a business nature.

  OLSEN: Uh, did any of the letters, or any of the papers, have your name on them?

  PEREZ: Of course they did. My name, my business stationery. There might’ve been some hotel stationery in there, too. The Pontchartrain.

  Dick Speed looked at Ryan. Ryan kept staring at the tape recorder.

  OLSEN: What does your business letterhead say?

  PEREZ: What does it say? It says my name, “F.X. Perez and Associates. Investment Consultants.”

  OLSEN: You’re sure you had letterhead stationery in the suitcase.

  PEREZ: I didn’t keep it in the suitcase, they put it in. If my letters and stationery aren’t in there, then the niggers took ’em out or lost ’em, I don’t know. All I do know is they cleaned out every piece of paper I had in the hotel room.

  OLSEN: That seems unusual, doesn’t it? Taking only papers. Was anything of value taken?

  Dick Speed looked at Ryan, grinning, anticipating Mr. Perez’s answer.

  PEREZ: Of value? Like a wristwatch or something? Christ Almighty, they took my business!

  As Olsen began to speak, Dick Speed said, “More of the same.” He punched the rewind button and the tapes raced in reverse. “We asked him to describe his business. He told us. We asked if he had ever contacted a Mrs. Robert Leary. He said yes. Had he ever met Robert Leary? No. Or Virgil Royal? He said he’d never heard of Virgil Royal. Then what did he think happened at Watts Club Mozambique this shitty afternoon at ten after two? He said, ‘It sounds to me like a misunderstanding.’ Do you like that? A misunderstanding.”

  “If they both had guns,” Ryan said, “I can see it. They shoot people.”

  “All three had guns. None of them registered.”

  “So what did you do with him? Perez.”

  “Took his statement and let him go.”

  Ryan asked the question. “With his suitcase, uh?”

  And waited while Dick Speed watched the takeup reel spin with the tape on it and pressed the off button.

  “We gave him every opportunity to identify it as his property, but he couldn’t. At least, not to our satisfaction.”

  “You mean you didn’t give it to him?”

  “We told him if he’d reported it stolen and given us a description…” Dick Speed paused, taking the reel off the recorder and slipping it into a box. Ryan watched him.

  Answer the fucking question.

  “… but to just walk in and claim something, that put a different light on it. He got irritable and important then and said he demanded we hand over his property. I told him we’d be happy to, if we had it, if and when he identified it properly.”

  “What’d he say then?”

  “He said if we didn’t hand it over, he’d get us served with an injunction and take us to court.”

  “He probably will, too. He knows what he’s doing.”

  “Well, we know what he’s been doing. I reminded him his friend or employee killed two people during an attempted robbery. Robbery! He started to go into it being his property and all that again. And I said, ‘You already served time for accessory to murder, didn’t you? In the state of Louisiana?’ I can thank you for having that one.”

  “Did it stop him?”

  “Well, for the time being. But since he wasn’t at the scene with Gidre, and if there’s no way to prove he actually hired or induced Gidre to kill them, I don’t see how we’d be able to pin an accessory on him.” Dick Speed turned from the desk and started out of the office. “Come on. I’ll tell you something, though. I can read that asshole and I don’t care for him. And if I can’t nail him, then at least I can let the air out of his tires, if you follow me. Slow him up.”

  Going into Dick Speed’s office, Ryan saw the manila envelope on the near side of the desk, where he’d dropped it. He reached over and picked it up as he sat down.

  Dick Speed was swiveling around in his chair. He said, “What’s that?” Then seemed to realize what it was and shook his head. “Never mind, don’t tell me. What’s in the suitcase is what we found in it. I don’t want to have to explain anything else or have to arrest anybody for petty theft and have to appear at Frank Murphy on my day off and hang around Common Pleas all morning.”

  “I appreciate it,” Ryan said.

  “I hope to Christ so,” Dick Speed said, “you dumb shit. I hope you know where your ass’d be if I wasn’t sitting here.”

  “I know,” Ryan said, nodding. “I appreciate it, I really do.” He took a cigarette out and lit it. Sitting back then, he blew the smoke out slowly.

  Dick Speed was watching him. “But what?”

  “Nothing,” Ryan said. “I was just wondering if the suitcase was still around.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, if it is-is it?”

  “Go on.”

  “If it is, you think it would hurt anything if I looked through it? You can watch me if you want. I mean, I’m not going to take anything, I just want to look up something.”

  “That’s all?”

  “Well, maybe use your Xerox machine.”

  “Jesus,” Dick Speed said.

  “I’ll even pay for it,” Ryan said. “Give you a dime a sheet.”

  25

  THEY MET IN the cafeteria of the old Casino on Belle Isle in the Detroit River, a big yellow-brick pavilion from 1910 that had been recently cleaned of grime and graffiti, a warm place on a cold spring morning for people living on pensions and social security. Ryan liked to come here.

  The three of them, Ryan, Denise, and Mr. Perez, sat with their coffee by the French windows, looking out at the river and the freighters and the green shoreline of Canada across the stream, taking their time getting to it. There was no hurry. It would be done now.

  “I was over in Windsor this morning,” Mr. Perez said, “my first visit to Canada. I had to pick up Raymond’s things. Boy traveled light, he didn’t have too much with him.”

  “Wh
y?” Denise said.

  Mr. Perez turned from the window. “Why what?”

  “Why are you bothering with his things?”

  “It’s no bother. I’ll take them to his family sometime, his mama and daddy. There might be something personal they’d want to keep.”

  “Maybe his shotgun,” Ryan said.

  Mr. Perez stirred his coffee. “You don’t find people like Raymond every day.”

  “Thank God,” Denise said.

  “Most always cheerful, had a good disposition,” Mr. Perez continued. “Boy liked to eat, too, I’ll tell you.”

  “It sounds like you’re gonna miss him,” Ryan said.

  “You bet your life I am. Till I find somebody else as good and easy to get along with.”

  “Then you’re still in business,” Denise said.

  Mr. Perez gave her a surprised look. “Isn’t that why we’re sitting here? You called me, honey, I didn’t call you. I must have something you want.”

  Ryan said, “You get all your stuff back?”

  “You were there, weren’t you?” Mr. Perez said. “You saw the police take it?”

  “I wondered if you claimed it yet. Or had the nerve.”

  “The nerve?” Mr. Perez smiled. “That’s what it’s all about. How you stand up and pull it off, keeping a straight face. Getting my property back may take me a little time and a trip to the courthouse, but I’ll get it back, don’t worry about that.”

  “You owe me a dollar,” Denise said.

  “Yes, I do, don’t I?” He smiled again, digging out a wad of bills and handing her one. “I’ve got a feeling we can quit bullshitting each other and put it on the table, the three of us here. How’s that sound to you?”

  Denise smiled back at him. “As you say, that’s what it’s all about.”

  “You’re a good one. I hope you see through this fella before too long.”

  “Be nice,” Denise said. “Remember, it’s no-more-bullshit time.”

  “So as we look at it, we see that you need me and I need you,” Mr. Perez said. “And since neither one of us is gonna bend and we’re sick and tired of wasting time, why don’t we meet right here”-touching the center of the table with his finger-“and split it down the middle? Fifty-fifty.”

  “You do have a lot of time in this,” Ryan said.

  Mr. Perez nodded. “More than I’ve ever spent before on a case.”

  “A case, huh?”

  “Whatever you want to call it.”

  “Okay, for your time, as a finder’s fee,” Ryan said, “Mrs. Leary’ll give you ten thousand. How does that sound?”

  Mr. Perez shook his head slowly and seemed tired. He said, “Come on,” and looked at Denise. “Fifty-fifty. You get roughly, no, not so roughly, seventy-five thousand dollars for signing a paper. How long would it take you to make that working at the A&P?”

  “Tell him,” Denise said.

  Ryan had let Mr. Perez talk because he wanted the man to have his hopes up reasonably high when he let him have it.

  “Denver Pacific,” Ryan said.

  Mr. Perez looked at him. “What?”

  “Denver Pacific. That’s the stock. Fifteen hundred shares.”

  “How’d you find out? The niggers?”

  “What difference does it make?”

  “I suppose,” Mr. Perez said. “Well, as I told you, if I strike out, I don’t stamp my feet and carry on. I say thank you very much and go on to the next one.”

  “Mrs. Leary means it about the ten thousand finder’s fee,” Ryan said. “After all, if you hadn’t come along…”

  Mr. Perez nodded, thoughtful, somewhere far away. “That’s very generous of Miz Leary.”

  “It’s nothing,” Denise said.

  Ryan said, “I suppose it took you a little time to work up that list of prospects. You got a duplicate at home?”

  “Unfortunately,” Mr. Perez said, “I carry my office with me. Everything. But I’ll get my papers back, don’t worry about that.”

  “It could be months before you get a court date,” Ryan said. “And then you’ve got to hope for a favorable decision.” He waited a moment. “What would your list of prospects be worth to you right now?”

  He was taking the Xeroxed sheets, folded once, out of his inside coat pocket. Mr. Perez, sitting very still, was watching Ryan’s hands, seeing the list of corporations and names of lost stockholders unfolded and turned toward him so that he could see the list clearly and identify it and know exactly what it was.

  “Would you say twenty thousand?” Ryan asked.

  Mr. Perez did not hesitate, though he said it quietly. “More like ten thousand.”

  “Tell you the truth, that’s what I had in mind,” Ryan said. He dropped the sheets on the table, in front of Mr. Perez. “Mrs. Leary owes you ten; you buy these, you owe me ten-that makes us even, doesn’t it?”

  Ryan and Denise got up from the table. Going past Mr. Perez, Ryan’s hand touched the man’s shoulder. He said, “Mr. Perez, it was nice doing business with you.”

  Outside, going through the archway and down the sweep of steps, Denise said, “I don’t know why, but seeing him sitting there, I felt sorry for him.”

  “I don’t know why, either,” Ryan said. “You see him this afternoon, he’ll be eating somebody up.”

  They reached the car that was angle-parked at the curb, facing the casino.

  “Mr. Ryan…”

  It came from behind them, from Mr. Perez standing in the arch of the front entrance. They turned to see him and watched him raise his hand holding the sheets of paper.

  “Wonder if you’d like to find some people for me.”

  Ryan held the door handle, his thumb on the button. It was a funny feeling, knowing he could walk back to the man standing there with his list of names, knowing the man would pay him whatever he asked and never mention Denise or Raymond or Virgil. Ryan opened the door and got in the car.

  Driving away, Denise said, “For a moment I thought you were going to take him up on it.”

  Ryan looked over at her and smiled and shook his head, but he didn’t say anything.

  Notes

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