Deadline for Lenny Stern, Peter Marabell [sneezy the snowman read aloud .TXT] 📗

by all this hot weather,” Henri said.

“I thought it didn’t bother you.”

“It doesn’t, not after Iraq and Afghanistan. I’m just surprised, that’s all. A heat wave in northern Michigan?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Where you headed?”

“Picking up Margo in a while.”

Margo Harris, a smart, beautiful and savvy professor of English at Bannister College, just north of town. She and Henri had been “an item,” as Sandy called them, for a couple of years.

“You two have any plans?”

“We’ll grab a sandwich somewhere,” he said, “probably Cormack’s Deli. After Lenny’s done at work. Why? You have something in mind?”

“Not really, but I can’t get the Carnegie out of my mind. Something AJ said.”

“And that was?”

“She asked how would we know if a gunman, or woman, was already in the audience, you know, before we arrived with Lenny.”

“You got an idea about that?”

“No. We’re not even sure what the threat will look like.”

“Hold on a minute,” Henri said before opening the SUV’s door, starting the motor and switching on the air. We climbed in and closed the doors. The outside temperature on the screen read 94 degrees.

“How about this? One of us keeps Lenny company, the other arrives at the Carnegie ahead of time.”

I thought for a minute.

“We have to alert the library staff what we’re up to,” I said.

“They need to know,” Henri said. “Besides, we need their cooperation.” “Maybe they can keep the doors locked until we get there,” I said.

“Or one of us can show up when they open the library?”

“That’s a place to start,” I said. “I’ll call over there, see what they have to say.”

“Want me to drop you at the office,” Henri said, “or do you want to walk?”

I laughed. “Always rather walk, but today, I’ll accept your offer. To the office.”

9

I’d spent some time at my desk catching up on calls, answering emails and occasionally staring out the window.

Sandy stuck her head in the door.

“Remember Pam Wiecek?”

“Sure, why?”

“She answered the phone at the library. Line one, boss.”

I picked up the office phone. “Pam, hello.”

“Mr. Russo,” Wiecek said. “This is a nice surprise. It’s been a while.”

“At least a couple of years,” I said, and explained why I’d called.

“You’d best talk to our director about Mr. Stern’s event,” she said. “Her name’s Andrea McHale. Want me to check her schedule?”

“Please.”

“Hold on, Mr. Russo, I have it right here … she’ll be in tomorrow morning. About ten. Want me to leave her a note that you’ll stop by?”

I told Wiecek to do that, thanked her and said good-bye.

By the time I shuffled some more papers it was almost five. The July sun wasn’t going away anytime soon. But I needed to get out of there.

“I know what you’re thinking, boss,” Sandy said from the doorway.

“You do?”

“You want to go run. I can tell, I’ve seen that look before. It’s ninety-three, ninety-four, boss; run tomorrow morning before work.”

I turned my chair toward the window. “Good breeze off the water. Cool things off a bit.”

“Then take a walk down by the bay. Feel the breeze off the water,” she said, and laughed. “Just don’t do anything stupid.”

“Yes, mother.”

I left the office and made my way through the parking lot, crossed U.S. 31, and went into the small park at the water’s edge. I found a spot under a large elm tree and sat down in the shade.

Not as much of a breeze as I’d hoped for. Still, I stretched my legs out, leaned back against the tree and watched a group of teens trying to manhandle two kayaks off a trailer.

I wasn’t aware how long I’d watched people playing in the summer heat when my phone buzzed.

“Hey, Henri, what’s up?”

“Lenny ditched me. The son-of-a-bitch cut out on me. He’s got a half hour head start.”

“Where are you?”

“Out front of the newspaper.”

“You checked inside?”

“Yeah, he’s gone.”

“Anybody there know where he went?”

“Woman at the desk said he waved good-bye on the way out. That’s all.”

I told Henri where I was. “Come pick me up. I’ll make a couple of calls.”

I tapped Lenny’s line, but it went to voicemail after two rings. His inbox was either full or he was dodging calls. I tapped AJ’s phone.

“Wow,” she said. “Another call. I really feel important.”

I told her about Lenny.

Silence.

“AJ?”

“Do you think something happened, or did he skip out on Henri?”

“Don’t know,” I said, “but I bet he just took off.”

“But we have to know.”

“Yeah. The Side Door still his favorite hangout?”

“As far as I know. There’s another place some of the crew talks about. Mitchell Street Pub, maybe. I’ll find out.”

I saw Henri’s SUV pull into a parking space.

“Henri’s here,” I said. “Let me know.”

I tapped Lenny’s number again. Voicemail.

“You try his phone?” Henri said.

“Uh-huh.” I shook my head.

“He’s fucking with us,” Henri said. “Seeing how far he can push before we push back.”

“That your instincts talking, or your head?”

Henri ignored my question. “Assuming I’m right, where would he go?”“AJ says the Side Door’s his favorite hangout.”

“Would he be that obvious? His favorite bar?”

“If he’s messing with us, he wouldn’t care,” I said.

“What are we waiting here for? Let’s go.”

Henri pulled out of the lot and went to Bay Street. He avoided the chaos of the shopping district as best he could, taking side streets lined with bungalows, Cape Cods and the occasional McMansion.

Henri cut it close for the stoplight at the plaza on 31 and swung into the parking lot for the Side Door Saloon.

We walked through the front door and not-so-gently pushed our way through the waiting area, which was clogging with tourists as the early dinner hour closed in.

The main room of the Side Door was a large rectangle with a few dividers to break up the space for tables. The walls were filled with memorabilia and sports bar-sized TVs. A long bar wrapped around one side of the room near the kitchen.

Lenny Stern sat on a stool at the far end of the bar. He had a beer in front of him.

“I’ll go to Lenny,” I said, “cover us from the other