Death Notes

the odds?’
    ‘They’re running three-to-one today. Boy?’
    He jotted something on a slip of paper and stuffed it back into his own pocket.
    ‘You’re on! Wait’ll you see Mabel - she’s as big as a pumpkin! Eatin’ nothing but vegetables and liver. I’m telling you, that baby’s going to be smart and healthy. I guarantee it.’
    Pear smoothed his hair, then wiped the Brylcreem off on his trouser leg.
    Still grinning, he said, ‘So what’s this about some background?’
    ‘I’ve got four names.’
    ‘Who’s number one?’
    ‘Have you ever heard of Nick DuPont?’
    He whistled. ‘You go high class when you go, babe. That dude’s loaded.’
    ‘How’d he make it?’
    ‘He’s the West Coast snow connection. Supplies the suppliers. They get it from him and the street gets it from them.’
    ‘He’s got quite a front, Pear - the Financial District office, the paintings, the assistant.’
    ‘Yeah, ain’t that something?’
    He rocked his round shape back on his heels and smiled with the left half of his mouth.
    ‘He’s about three-quarters legit now. Another coupla years he’ll be outta snow entirely. So what’d he do to interest you?’
    ‘How’s DuPont connected to Match Margolis?’
    ‘The hype jazzman who bought it a couple of nights ago? Didn’t know he was. I can find out, you want me to. Tell you what, babe.’ He leaned over and spat sideways into something that went ping. ‘You come back here in a day and I’ll tell you why and how.’
    Sooner would have been better but Pear was thorough and accurate. I knew better than to rush him.
    ‘What about Buddha Teagues?’
    ‘You mean my competition? He’s all right. His operation’s decent, no cheats. You could say, next to me, he’s one of the best. But I couldn’t say how he’s connected to the hype.’
    Pear said the same about Sig Malone and added that Malone was ruthless about running his chop shop.
    ‘No morals, no scruples, that guy. He’s dangerous. Not mellow.’
    ‘What about Eugene Tobinio?’
    ‘Tobinio? You don’t even want to know about him, babe. You want my advice? Don’t touch him.’
    I thanked him, asked about the missing saxophone, without success, and went back out to Market Street. Once, just once, I’d like somebody to give me some advice I could follow.
     

26
     
    I was headed home when the cell phone rang. Twice. The first call was Mitch. He wanted to know if I’d go look at sailboats with him. I told him no. Then he asked me to think again about housesitting for him while he was gone. I told him no again, wished him luck, and hung up.
    The second call was Glen Faddis.
    ‘Can you meet me at the Cafe Roma across from the Hall of Justice?’
    ‘What’s this about?’
    ‘I’ll tell you when you get here.’
    I couldn’t miss him. He was at one of the tables in front by the open door, two steaming cappuccinos and a big manila envelope in front of him. He lifted himself out of his chair when I walked in, then pulled a chair out for me. I guess he’d just passed Etiquette 101.
    ‘Thanks for coming,’ he said, looking happy to see me. His sandy hair was tousled and he wore jeans, Teva sandals, and an expensive-looking brown suede jacket over a white tee shirt.
    ‘I assume this is about Match,’ I said.
    He gestured at the coffee. ‘I took a guess and ordered you a cappuccino.’
    ‘Thanks. About Match?’
    ‘I’ve been researching.’
    ‘And?’
    ‘I’d like to help.’
    ‘Go ahead.’
    I knew he was about to propose some kind of trade, but I didn’t feel like making it easy for him.
    ‘I want an exclusive.’
    ‘On what?’
    ‘You solving the case. I know you’re good at this - you’ve solved a few crimes lately, including some high-profile ones. I think you’re going to figure this one out before the police and I want the story. From the inside.’
    ‘And if I don’t agree?’
    ‘I’ll have to do it from the outside.’
    I pushed my untouched cappuccino away and stood. ‘That’s probably your best bet,’ I said, and turned to go.
    ‘Wait!’
    He popped out of his chair. A couple of people at the table next to us looked up. Faddis reached over and laid a hand on my arm.
    ‘Wait a minute. I want to help. Please, sit down.’
    I sat.
    ‘I’m not going to deal,’ I said.
    ‘That’s okay. I’m in anyway.’
    ‘Why?’
    He shrugged and grinned. ‘Maybe you’ll change your mind.’
    I laughed then, and he laughed, too.
    ‘What have you got?’ I said.
    He slid