Hidden Charges Page 9

  Haverill huffed from behind his expansive desk. The well-appointed office, four stories up, had a good view of downtown Hillsdale in the distance. “Well?”

  “I’d say we have ourselves a young crusader. He’s seen too many clips of Jesse Jackson.”

  “Has he got anything?”

  “I’ll have to look into it, Marv. On the surface, I’m afraid he does. The false arrest and assault wouldn’t hurt us too much. It’s that harassment-of-a-minority charge that could do us the most damage. It’s a new law. Untested. It would bring one hell of a lot of publicity, and our Mr. Walker knows it. If he’s right, we’d lose the case. The last thing we need is to appear racist.”

  “Damn bad timing, too.”

  “One other thing to consider.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Did you notice his phrasing at the end? He said, ‘explosive situation.’” Brick paused for effect. “Maybe this false arrest has nothing to do with anything. Maybe Mr. Walker wanted to deliver a message to us.”

  “This morning’s explosion?”

  “It was a peculiar choice of words, was it not?”

  “He was threatening us? No, I don’t believe that.”

  “There have been several attempts to stage protests about the housing situation. We both know that. The police wouldn’t grant them the proper permits. Maybe they’ve taken a more direct approach. Bombs have a way of waking people up.”

  “You think we should have Mr. Walker checked out?” He waited for a response. Brick’s silence was enough for him. “Okay, I’ll ask Toby to look into it. Why don’t you have a talk with the police, see what’s going on. Did we screw something up?”

  Brick knew by the tone of voice that the meeting was over. He closed the folder carefully and neatened the stack with a final tap on Haverill’s desk. He stood to leave.

  “One other thing, Carl.”

  “Yes?”

  “Let’s keep a lid on this.”

  “Understood.”

  22

  The Greek Deli was mobbed.

  Jacobs waved to Susan as she entered. Dispatch had told him that she had been asking around for him. She sat down across from him. “You’ve changed clothes,” he noted.

  “I went home.”

  “Where’s home?”

  “Brookline.”

  “Hmmmm.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “My parents’ home actually. My mother’s sick. I’m taking care of the place.”

  “I’m sorry—about your mother, I mean.”

  “Life has a way of running out on people at the strangest times. It’s actually been good for me, on one level. I’ve learned a lot. It helped me to reestablish my priorities.”

  “Which are?”

  “My career used to come first. Now it’s health and happiness. At least that’s what I’m shooting for.”

  Her words stabbed too close to home. “A noble effort.”

  “Listen to us.”

  “It’s okay, we’re allowed to talk about things other than the weather and politics.”

  “Like the bombing?”

  Toby smiled. “You’re sharp. I’ll give you that.”

  “And persistent,” she added. “I did track you down here.”

  “An investigative reporter?”

  “You got it.”

  “The worst kind.” He smiled. “You’re the ones who are always finding skeletons in the closet.”

  “Haven’t found any skeletons yet. I do criminal reporting. Dig up background information, that sort of thing. Research, mostly. I find out about bombings in malls and who might have wanted to blow them up.”

  “And?”

  “Later. I don’t give things away for free.”

  “Pity,” he said, signaling Mrs. Popolov. Susan, shocked by the implication of his comment, cocked her head and gave him an inquisitive look. He leaned forward on the table. “How about for the fun of it?”

  She blushed and quickly looked at Mrs. Popolov herself. “Service isn’t exactly lickety-split, is it?”

  “I recommend the pouch sandwiches with feta. Whatever you order, order feta with it. And Greek beer. The beer here is fantastic. I drink it with a slice of lemon. Have you ever had beer and lemon?”

  She shook her head.

  “Feel like trying it?”

  “Why not?” she asked.

  When the beers arrived, Jacobs poured them and crimped lemons into the foam. Susan tasted hers and smacked her lips in approval. “Takes the edge off the hops.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I understand Bob Russo is one of your suspects.”

  Toby glanced over his glass. “Where’d you get that?”

  “I’ve done a number of pieces for the Globe and for the Herald. You make friends fast in this business.”

  “And enemies.”

  “Those too.”

  “Russo’s not a suspect. His name came up in an informal discussion, that’s all.”

  “Everyone knows he hates the Green. And Carmine DeAngelo. I’m surprised Carmine DeAngelo hasn’t had some sort of ‘accident.’ It was his locker, wasn’t it?”

  “Was it?” he answered cautiously.

  “That’s what I hear.”

  “You’re scaring me. Maybe I should suspect you. You seem to know an awful lot.”

  “Maybe you should.”

  “Did you plant that bomb?”

  “Not that one, no.” She held a straight face for a few seconds and then broke into a wide grin. “I have trouble lighting the fireplace, to tell you the truth.”

  “I’ve always liked the truth,” he fired back.

  The sandwiches arrived. She dumped hers out on the plate and set the pouch aside. “I’m watching my waistline,” she said.

  “Me too,” he said, raising his brow comically. “It’s a great waistline.”

  “Since you won’t talk to me about the explosion, how about that truck accident?”

  “It’s under investigation.”

  Mrs. Popolov stopped by to make sure everything was all right. Her facial expression revealed her adoration of Toby. The café was full, and she and Mykos were scurrying about.

  When she left, Toby said to Susan, “No one was hurt.”

  “Had the driver been drinking?”

  “No. He says the steering malfunctioned. We’ll see.”

  “You don’t believe him?”

  “My guess is that he’d been up all night. That’s how he looked.”

  “Fell asleep at the wheel?”

  “Can’t quote me. Just a guess.”

  “No quotes. This is an informal interview.”

  “When do we get formal?”

  She glanced at him cautiously and didn’t attempt an answer. She spun the beer bottle and tried to read the label. “So tell me why they’re bothering with a new wing. This place is obviously big enough as it is.”

  He noticed her reading the label. “Did you know the various restaurants in this place serve beer from something like twenty different countries?”

  “I’d like to say that surprises me. It doesn’t. You didn’t answer my question.”

  “I thought this was informal.”

  “It is.”

  “Yankee Green is no different from any other business. It has to keep growing. West Edmonton set the example. It’s grown to five-point-two million square feet, four hundred and forty thousand people a week.”

  “But this place is gigantic. Who cares?”

  He shrugged. “We’re in the entertainment business. We’ve gone beyond a shopping center. We’re a phenomenon. We have to maintain that status.”

  “Biggest is not necessarily best.”

  “We have to attract people here, in order to stay in business. The bigger you are, the more different you are, the more press. The more press, the more tourists. The West Edmonton Mall, for instance, has become a huge tourist attraction.”

  “So has this place. From what I hear it’s basically saved downtown Hillsdale.�
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  “I wish someone would tell that to the downtown merchants.”

  “You say that West Edmonton is bigger than this?”

  “You wouldn’t believe it.”

  “You’ve been?”

  “Yes. I came to the Green first as a security consultant. Later on, when we were establishing our dispatch booth, we wanted to cover every base we could. I went up to Edmonton to have a look at their system.”

  “Dispatch booth? That sounds interesting.”

  “I’d just as soon we skip that for now.”

  “You’re not on the record.”

  “Just the same. There are some things you want the public to know about. Others are better kept secret.” He thought about his own past, about his father and uncle. How long would he keep that buried?

  “You don’t trust me?”

  “You seem very nice. You’ll have to forgive me. Part of my training involves dealing with the press—or, more specifically, not dealing with the press.”

  “But this is off the record.”

  “Just the same.”

  She speared a piece of feta and chewed it, washing it down with beer. “This is good.”

  “Tell me about yourself.”

  “You first.”

  “You mean how’d a nice guy like me get in a crazy place like this?”

  She laughed a musical laugh, like a singer practicing scales. “That’ll do.”

  “Graduated from SMU—”

  “Which one?”

  “Massachusetts. I worked as a repo man during my college years.”

  “Stealing cars, that sort of thing?”

  “You make it sound criminal. I was hired to steal cars back from those people who weren’t paying for them. It put me through college.”

  “Dangerous work.”

  “It had its ups and downs.”

  “Such as?”

  “It’s boring. Nothing newsworthy about repo.”

  “I know. But I’m interested nonetheless.” She looked at him strangely. She stabbed another piece of cheese blindly.

  He said, “When I got out of college I continued the repo work.”

  “Go on.”

  “A job opened up here. It paid better. Better hours, less risk. They had a pretty high turnover rate of guards and a lot of shoplifting. I told the then Director of Security that the system was at fault. Out of date. I bet him I could break into this place without anyone the wiser. I’d had a lot of practice in repo. High Star had just bought us out, and the mall was growing in leaps and bounds.”

  “And?”

  “I broke in and called my boss. He refused to believe I’d done it so I called the CEO, a man named Haverill, from inside his own office. I read him a few confidential memos.”

  “That was nervy.”

  He shrugged. “To my surprise, he promoted me to security consultant, doubled my pay, and gave me a sizable budget to get this place in order. A year later he offered me Director of Security and I accepted. That was three years ago.”

  “I’m impressed.”

  “Don’t be. I’m still just a rent-a-cop.” He added, “And you? What about you?”

  “Not tonight. I’m not in a ‘me’ mood tonight.”

  “I can respect that. Your mother?”

  She nodded. “My father, too. He’s taking it badly. It’s not easy.”

  “I don’t imagine.”

  He watched her sip another tiny amount. “So what was in the truck?” she asked.

  “Nine tons of fresh-frozen fish. But our insurance people won’t let us move the truck. The shipper is sending another refrigerator truck up tomorrow. When it has off-loaded its cargo, it will take on the fish and quickly distribute what remains.”

  “What remains? Just what does that mean?”

  “It’s hot out there. The freezer refrigerator was broken in the accident. The fish will go bad, if it hasn’t already.”

  “Can’t you do something?”

  “I did. I called the truck company and gave them the options.”

  “But it’s food. How can they let ten tons of food go to waste?”

  “Nine tons.”

  “That’s criminal.”

  “I offered to ice the fish. I gave them an estimate of what it would cost. They said the insurance would cover the loss but not costs of attempted recovery. I did what I could.”

  “If you had done what you could, Mr. Jacobs, that fish would be packed in ice.”

  “Toby, remember? Do I sense a crusader?”

  Mykos Popolov delivered the bill.

  “You’re damn right,” Susan said. “I refuse to see good food go to waste. What can we do?”

  “We?” He stared. “My day’s over.”

  “Was over.” She took the bill from the tabletop.

  “Was?”

  “I’m buying dinner. You’re going to help me contact the trucking company.”

  “Me?”

  “And I’m going to tell whoever is in charge that if they don’t try to save that fish the Globe will run a front-page story that mentions the name of their company a dozen times and tells our audience—and quite possibly the wire services—how their company sat back and watched nine tons of perfectly good food go to waste. Tell me that won’t make good copy.”

  “Listen. I admire your… determination on this. Really. You’re right, all the way. But the chances of budging these people is extremely faint. I wouldn’t get my hopes—”

  “You, Mr. Jacobs, are underestimating the power of the press. Never underestimate the power of the press.”

  “Or a woman.”

  “Or a woman,” she agreed. “Well, are you going to help me?”

  “I wasn’t aware I had a choice.”

  “Are you talking about that truck?” Popolov’s cherubic Greek face hovered over the two of them, his wild eyebrows arched in curiosity, his bad arm tucked out of view.

  Jacobs introduced Popolov to Susan Lyme, and the man took her hand in his left and kissed her knuckles. “Such a pretty girl,” he said in his thick accent. “The reason I ask is that Brock called earlier today, wondering if I had enough refrigerator space to handle the fish. I told him I did not.” His apron, covered with colorful smudges and streaks, bulged at his middle. “But as you know, Toby, many of us will be permitted to finish stocking our new space in FunWorld beginning tomorrow. It slipped my mind earlier, when Robinson asked, but just now”—he winked at Susan—“I overheard Miss Lyme and it occurs to me that my new walk-in is cold. We turned it on yesterday. It is empty and available, if you promise to me that by Friday it will be empty again.”

  “That’s terrific!” She looked over at Jacobs.

  He nodded, feeling his evening lost to the strong will of Susan Lyme. “We’ll see what the company says. Thanks, Mykos.”

  “You bet. Now, I wonder if I could bend your ear for a moment back in the office.”

  “Sure. I’ll be right with you.”

  The old Greek nodded. “Nice to meet you,” he said to Susan and then shuffled away.

  “What a sweet old guy.”

  “Mykos will do anything for anyone. You’ve never met a more giving, hard-working man in your life. For two years he’s been president of the Green Retailers’ Association. Any complaints to management come through him. He fought for the Italian resistance in the Second World War. He’s one of a kind.”

  “Did he lose his arm in the war?”

  “Dove under a train and rolled out the other side to escape the Germans. His arm didn’t make it.”

  “And that’s his wife?”

  “Yes. He calls her Mother. That woman is one sharp cookie. Now,” he said, deftly snatching the bill from her hand, “I’m going to put a couple of coffees on here and speak with Mykos. You haven’t tasted coffee until you’ve tried this stuff. Be right back.”

  “That was underhanded. What’s the matter? Can’t you handle a woman paying for dinner?”

  “No, I can’t.”

  Her eyes
followed him as he walked to the counter, pulled out his wallet, and ordered coffee from the plump Mrs. Popolov. After a minute, he and his hat disappeared into the back.

  ***

  The room, a cluttered combination of pantry and office, barely held the two of them. “We are good friends, you and I,” said the aging Greek.

  “Yes.”

  “I am concerned… no, I am worried about something, and I want to know how you stand on it.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “It’s this Civichek. The Flock. I hear him on the radio this morning. I spent the best years of my life fighting Hitler’s army. This man Civichek is no different. He is clever, and he is dangerous.”

  “But how—”

  “The reason I talk to you is because he mentioned the Green in his talk this morning. He is going to come out here to talk to the people. I ask you as a friend, as a man, not to allow him in this complex.”

  “I understand. I feel for what you’re saying. But I can’t stop a person from walking the mall. You know that, Mykos.”

  “He is evil.”

  “If he draws a crowd, if he passes out literature, that’s another story. No petitioning permits have been filed for, or we would have heard about it. But you know the new law: If they file for the right to distribute political information, any group has the right to do so here.”

  “As long as it’s approved by downtown.”

  “True.”

  “Yankee Green has friends downtown. My God, Haverill and his people got some of those councilmen elected. He must have influence. Deny this Civichek the permits. He’s trouble for all of us. Today he seems insignificant. Tomorrow we’ll be wondering how he rose to power. I’ve seen it before.”

  “I’ll do what I can. Great dinner, Mykos. Good night.”

  “Thank you…. Oh—one other thing.”

  Jacobs paused at the door.

  “That woman, Susan Lyme, is very pretty. Be nice to her. She likes you. I can see it in her eyes.”