Geeno Mendellus was a greedy man from birth. He wouldn’t give his pocket lint to charity, and gave no edge in ‘business’ dealings. His wife detested him, but stuck around for the money. His expertise was fraud, but after his forty-fifth birthday he turned to fencing and laundering money. When times were tough he facilitated smuggling, but even at fifty-five, times were seldom tough for Mendellus.
Ben swung his station wagon beside the Blue Rock side of the red brick building. They walked around the display windows wrapping the forty-five degree building corner. A hand painted sign hung eye level, “Monet Cleaners.” Under it a neon sign advertized “One Hour Service.” They stepped into a small foyer with a corridor splitting the building in half. To the right was the dry cleaner’s counter attended by a short older woman. They moved toward the stairway door.
“He not in,” the woman said shaking her head.
“Where can we find him?”
She shook her head again, “Make rounds.”
“We find out he was, we’ll be back for you.”
She nodded “You no say I say?”
“Stays under my hat.”
“He maybe be back after supper. Lock up.”
“Okay, we’ll run the bases.” Dan stepped out onto Hamilton Ave. Looking both ways, “Let’s try the second-hand furniture. Find out if the rumor’s true.
Ben backed his car out from beside the railroad tracks and drove around the block. After parking they walked up Cluxton alley to the rear of the store. The door was unlocked. They quietly entered. Phones rang in the rear office.
“Rumor confirmed,” Dan whispered to Ben, then barged through the door.
Two men sat at a table with their backs to them. The tall thin haired man slammed a phone down to point a boney finger at Dan. “You’re fixin’ t’ get whacked, Mister!”
The other man spun around on a swivel stool with one of the five phones to his ear. He was medium framed, squared off goatee, and dark rimmed glasses. His jaws tightened and his arms flew up.
“We’re a dry drop. Got no dough. All paperwork,” he began babbling.
“Ain’t no stick up. Lookin’ for Mendellus. Told he’d be here,” Dan said.
“He’s come and gone” the clerk said. “Who’re you?”
“Strong arm. Want Muggsy give y’u proof?”
Ben walked toward them with a scowl, his cold eyes boring into them.
“No…no...no! We believe y’u!”
Ben gathered the phone lines and yanked them out of the wall. “They’s hurtin’ m’ ears.” He smiled forcefully.
“Now, that we have your attention, where can we find Geeno?” Dan repeated.
“He don’t tell us his biz. Try his office down the …”
“Been there. Muggsy, think they’s playin’ us?”
Ben stepped toward them stretching his arms out rolling his hands into fists.
“He got a call. Talked about movin’ booze around.”
“That’s better. Where?”
The clerk shrugged his shoulders. Ben stepped closer.
“That’s all I heard. Turn me into hamburger. Can’t tell y’u what I don’t know!”
“You see him. Tell him to call me.”
“I tell him, sure, but who’s askin’.”
“He’ll know.”
They walked back to Ben’s vehicle.
“Let’s sit on the bookies. All the ruckus we raised, they might call him.”
They drove halfway up the alley to a wide spot where they could watch the rear door in the mirrors. They observed three visitors in two hours; a middle-aged woman in a tight knit dress, three young men who left with a card table and chairs, and a pizza delivery.
“Chasin’ a feathers in a wind storm,” Dan conceded.
“Don’t got to convince me. We’re losin’ the light. He’ll show up sooner or later,” Ben said driving out of the alley and banging across the railroad tracks.
“Easy Ben, you … HOLD ON! Pull in. Lights on.”
Ben pulled to the side door of the building. The bolt lock was not turned, and the door latch was easily managed with a penknife.
“Wasn’t locked. Just stuck,” Dan remarked at Ben’s facial expression. “Do believe he’s expecting us.”
They ascended the steps to the third floor. The staircase opened to a small octagon foyer with three doors. The library’s basement smell went with the velveteen layer of dust on an old narrow table. To its right was a closed frosted teller’s window. The door nearest it was open exposing a wide short hallway where dust bunnies led to an open door.
“Welcome mat’s out,” Dan whispered.
“So melodramatic.”
“At least he’s receiving.”
They entered a large office. Across the room a schoolmarm’s antique desk sat in front of the corner bay window on a raised platform. Holes, rips, and tears in old blinds pulled down from the high ceiling created an eerie mosaic. One wall was lined with oak filing cabinets; Red’s memorabilia covered the other. There were no guest chairs
With his back to them, Geeno Mendellus sat in a high cushioned imitation leather chair. His feet up on the short radiator under the window, he did not speak. Dan ignored the short steps, leaped to the platform, released the blinds, and stepped back as the ‘whap-whap-whap’ snowed dust.
“How many times I gotta tell you,” Dan said kicking the chair and spinning Mendellus out onto the floor, “I can’t sit -- nobody sits.”
The short, chubby Danny DeVito double stood up brushing off his sharkskin suit. “My lawyers ’ll be in touch,” he snorted adjusting the open collar, and repositioning the Krugerrand below the open neck of the frilly shirt.
“Nice shirt. You don’t wear it out at night do you?”
Mendellus’ black caterpillar brows twitched as the eyes focused on Dan. He spoke in a controlled dispassionate voice, “I heard you and Muggsy’s been busy.”
“Cut the bull. You’re wastin’ time. Why you want to dance the same tune every time we meet? Cooperation is the basis of our relationship.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said looking for a place to sit.
What do you know about the bank robbery?”
“What bank robbery?” He asked, repositioning the chair.
Dan raised his eyebrows and gestured, “Likely fall out of that rickety chair again.”
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