Blood on the Street (A Smith and Wetzon Mystery, #4)

hearing.”
    “Good for Rona, but you know they’ll never let her back at Rosenkind, Luwisher unless she’s cleared.”
    “True.”
    “And that could take a long time if there’s a trial.”
    “Unless we clear her, and we will.”
    “Oh, Smith, pie in the sky.” Wetzon was resigned to losing the fee.
    “Why are you being so negative all of a sudden? That’s not like you. Do I have to remind you it’s not over till it’s over? And even when—”
    “It’s over, it’s not over,” Wetzon finished with her, halfheartedly. “I know, but I think we’re about to take another hit here. Joan Boley is missing.” She waved the suspect sheet at Smith, giving her coffee mug a swat with her elbow. The mug spit a shower of coffee on her papers.
    Smith stamped her foot. “No!”
    Coffee stains soaked into suspect sheets. Very nice, Wetzon , she told herself as she blotted up the mess with a tissue. “If it’s true, I’ll see that there’s blood on the Street, personally. My God.” She tapped her forehead with her index finger and looked at Smith.
    Smith had gotten out of her chair and was half sitting on her desk, one long leg on the floor, the other swinging back and forth. “What are you talking about?”
    “That’s what the psychic said.” Wetzon laughed nastily. “If it meant that I’d commit murder, she was right.” But the psychic had also talked about separation and changes. Had she foreseen the problems with Silvestri and the appearance of Alton Pinkus?
    “Didn’t I tell you she was good? You never take this seriously. Now where do you think Joan Boley is?”
    “She might have gone to SMQ.”
    “With us?”
    “I’m afraid not.”
    “Why would she go to SMQ? I thought she wanted to get into management. Wasn’t Fred offering her that?”
    “Yes.” Wetzon gave her a sardonic grin.
    “I’m sorry I asked. I should know if you look for logic on Wall Street, you’ll never find it. And brokers never know what they want anyway.”
    “I have a funny feeling this is a Harold Alpert special via Tom Keegen.”
    Smith splayed her hand on her left breast. “I am not a violent person, but I will do violence if I get my hands on either of them.”
    “You’ll have to stand behind me.” Wetzon flipped through her Rolodex for the number of SMQ and dialed it. “Joan Boley, please. Oh, thank you very much,” she murmured, covering the mouthpiece. To Smith, she said, “They’re ringing through. Would you believe—”
    “Joan Boley.”
    “Well, Joan—”
    “Wetzon—oh, dear—let me call you back—”
    “Do, please.” Wetzon hung up. “Fred’s going to be wild.”
    “When she calls back, beat the shit out of her. Tell her she’s made a terrible mistake, but don’t say anything bad about SMQ.”
    “You should know by now that I’m not going to bad-mouth a client. And I’m not going to beat her up. You know damn well that’s not my style. She’s there already, for godsakes.”
    “At the moment your style, sweetie pie, is not lining our pockets.” Back and forth her silken leg swung.
    “Okay, sweetie pie, would you like to take over my interview with Stuart Beck for me at four-fifteen today?”
    “I would not.” Smith wrinkled her nose. “Just be aware.” She stopped when she saw Wetzon’s face, and changed the subject. “Do you have anything on for tonight?”
    “I have an appointment.”
    “Oh, really?” Smith rolled her eyes to the ceiling.
    “A dinner appointment. Why?”
    “Well, I think we have to set up a brainstorming session about Rona as soon as she’s out on bail. The sooner we get her cleared, the sooner we’ll see our money. I’m going to see if I can arrange with Neil that the clock doesn’t start ticking on our year until she’s back.”
    As if by mutual agreement, they picked up their weapons and went back into the fray, Smith trying to buy time on their deal with Rosenkind, Luwisher and Wetzon to get back in the saddle with candidates. She knew full well that too many tumbles and you lost your nerve. She had to get right back on the horse again.
    When Fred Benitos returned her call, she broke the bad news about Joan Boley to him.
    “I don’t understand, Wetzon, I gave her everything she wanted —the upfront, the higher payout, the sales assistant, cold callers—and I was making her a sales manager. She told me, ‘Fred, you can count on me. I’ll be there on November twenty-seventh.’ I really have to question her ethics. Not even to