The Groaning Board

draped the washcloth over her breasts and drifted off.
    Izz’s excited bark wakened her.
Wetzon opened her eyes. The Maltese was dancing around on the slippery marble.
The bath water had grown tepid.
    “Leslie?”
    “In here.” She turned on the hot
water.
    “I don’t want you to be upset about
Huberman.” He was coming closer. Izz was going crazy. Wetzon shut off the hot
water.
    “Who’s Huberman?”
    “The cigar-smoking asshole who let
you make him.” Bill stood in the doorway. He was in his shirtsleeves, no gun.
Izz shrieked.
    “Oh, what the hell,” Wetzon said. “It
seems to be the only thing you and Silvestri agree on. You can call him off
now, though.”
    “We’ll see. A little while longer
can’t hurt.” He took off his cuff links and put them in his pocket. “I stopped
by the hospital. The boy has less than a fifty-fifty shot. Doug asked me to
defend him if he pulls through.” He began to unbutton his shirt.
    “What did you tell him?”
    He came into the room and stood
looking down at her. “You look very comfortable there.”
    “Come on in, the water’s fine,” she
said, doing Lauren Bacall. She held out a dripping hand to him. “But first you
have to answer my question.”
    At that moment, perhaps because she
was tired of waiting for attention, Izz leaped off the ledge, straight up in
the air, and, like a cannonball, landed in the tub with such a mighty splash
that it almost, but not quite, obliterated Bill’s “Yes.”

Chapter Sixty-One

     
     
     
    “I’m
appropriating your little friend here.” Hem Barron locked arms with Wetzon and took her away from
Bill Veeder.
    She felt like that bratty kid Little
Iodine, and had to fight the urge to kick Hem hard in the shins, or somewhere
more appropriate. But she was in Hem’s home with Bill Veeder and Hem was
obviously a very good client. Good manners won out. This time. Besides, there
were questions she wanted to ask Hem about Sheila Gelber. The kick could come later.
    Dinner was a Chinese buffet being
prepared dish by dish by Minnie Wu in the open kitchen. Min’s short, stubby
body could hardly be seen over the huge woks and steaming pots. Only her hands
and the pot slamming let her guests know that she was doing the presentation.
    “You’ll just love Min’s cooking,” Hem
said. He was wearing a navy double-breasted blazer, a striped shirt, and a
red-and-blue ascot.
    “At your own peril,” Laura Lee said,
vamping over. She held a bottle of beer in one hand and a carrot stick in the
other. “Go for the veggies. Do not dip.”
    Hem gave a whinnying laugh, his
attention down Laura Lee’s cleavage. “Leslie, this is Laura Lee Day. She’s a
money manager in real life, not a comedienne.”
    Laura Lee rolled her eyes at Wetzon.
“We’ve met, Hem darlin’. Why don’t you get Wetzon a plate of plain old white
rice so she’ll be able to go to work tomorrow.”
    “Don’t believe a word she says,
Leslie. How about a plate for you, ducky?”
    “Ducky?” Wetzon mouthed.
    With a wicked smile, Laura Lee patted
Hem’s hand. “I’m just fine the way I am, Hem darlin’. Had to attend one of
those borin’ luncheons today.” After Hem left them for the buffet table, Laura
Lee said, “Believe me, darlin’, stick to plain rice and steamed veggies.
Otherwise, just drink. Min’s food is toxic, like Min.”
    At the help-yourself bar, where a
small, parched crowd had gathered, Wetzon chose a bottle of Amstel from the
variety in the tub of ice. “Just what I need. Damn, here comes Hem with a full
platter. What am I going to do?”
    “Make mushy on the plate, darlin’,
then the minute you can, feed it to one of the plants upstairs and watch the
poor green thing die a torturous death.” In a theatrical whisper, Laura Lee
added, “Compliments of the chef.”
    Out of the kitchen, hugging a huge
bowl of rice, came the aforementioned chef herself. Minnie’s eyes flicked
around the assemblage, rested on Wetzon, hooded over. She set the bowl on the
buffet table without so much as a friendly smile for her guests and returned to
her pots.
    “Here, Leslie, you’ll love this.” Hem
handed her a platter. In his other hand he clutched two stemmed glasses and a
bottle of red wine. “Now leave us alone, Laura Lee, so Leslie and I can get
better acquainted. I know we’re going to be buddies.” He set the glasses and
the bottle on the floor. When he saw she was still drinking beer, he filled
only one glass.
    Behind Hem’s back