Maxwell Street Blues by Marc Krulewitch Read Free Book Online Page A

said, “I’m sorry for all the hassle. Was it possible Snooky knew your father before he was hired as his accountant?”
    “No.”
    “And you’re absolutely sure about that?”
    A pause and then, “Well, Snooky never mentioned knowing my dad. I don’t see why he would. Dad did his own taxes and didn’t run a business on the side.”
    “But you said something about real estate.”
    “Sure, but I don’t think it’s anything too complicated. Collecting rent on a couple of condos or something.”
    “That’s right,” I said.
    “Someone just walked in.” She hung up.

10
    The unmistakable smell of fried lunch meat. “You want some?” Frownie said.
    I declined and watched a man in his eighties place strips of American cheese on bologna slices, spread mayo over white toast, and then slap together dinner. I bet his LDL cholesterol was less than one hundred. We sat down at the fancy dining room table in his high-rise apartment.
    “So whaddya got?” Frownie said and took a bite of his sandwich.
    “I’ve got a man lying to his daughter about knowing Snooky. I got a police detective who’s got a hard-on for me.”
    Without looking up from his plate Frownie said, “The liar—what does he do?”
    “College administrator.”
    “Who’s his kid?”
    “One of Snooky’s favorite clients.”
    “Who’s the cop?”
    “Kalijero.”
    Frownie stopped chewing and looked at me. “The guy who put your dad away?”
    “Yeah. Why’s he so hot for me?”
    Frownie started chewing again. “Lots of reasons,” Frownie said. “You think Kalijero hired Snooky for his cleaning service?”
    “No idea. Does a lying professor and a horny cop mean they know each other?”
    “It doesn’t mean anything. Could be a million reasons why the college man knew Snooky. But Kalijero surprises me. He was clean when I knew him. The daughter—what does she know?”
    “Nothing.”
    “You gettin’ into her britches?”
    “You’re a sick bastard.”
    Frownie wiped the grease off his mouth with a cloth napkin and took a deep breath. “From the start I didn’t like it, Julie. Mob scum is bad enough, now maybe a dirty cop?”
    I waited a few seconds and said, “You know I’m not dropping it.”
    Frownie rubbed his eyes and sighed. “You gonna talk to the kid’s father?”
    “That was my plan,” I said.
    Frownie gave me his favorite expression, make sure you give him enough rope to hang himself , and then said, “If you find out Kalijero is dirty, you go to the Feds.”
    We walked to the door. I could tell he was upset. Frownie said, “The best investigators are the ones who don’t get emotional—but I told you that already. They stay detached and let things play out before reachin’ conclusions. They don’t show what they’re thinkin’ or feelin’. Can you do that?”
    “It’s in my bloodline,” I said.
    “I’ll never forgive myself if I outlive you. Do me a favor and let me die first.”
* * *
    That Frownie’s somber words failed to penetrate my consciousness I attributed to the family curse. That is, the genetic code responsible for my family’s propensity toward graft also explained why I drove home thinking only of cold pomegranate juice and Cubs baseball. With luck, Punim would stretch out on my lap and allow me to stroke her belly. My goal for the evening was to think of a way to question Audrey’s father, the college man.
    Walking from my car to my apartment, I was feeling good. I caught a glimpse of myself acting in the movie of life as a private eye in a big city investigating a murder. In two days I had found two liars, I thought, and then Frownie’s words hit me hard in the face.

11
    “Proud of yourself?” His voice competed with the pulsating pain from my right cheekbone. “What’re you doing in this goddamn business?” was the next sound from myfather’s mouth, and my left eye opened to see his big snoot standing over me.
    “What happened?” I said.
    “You’re in the emergency room. You got