The Long Fall

It bothered me most that Towers came alone to my door. He usually traveled with two leg breakers named Lucas and Pittman. If they had come along I would have known that it was business as usual: a collection or maybe a simple interrogation. When Tony moved alone he was a shark on the hunt and that meant there was already blood in the water.

We shook hands and smiled politely.

I considered asking him his business right there in the hall, telling him without uttering the words that he was no longer welcome in my world. But pushing Tony Towers away would be like sweeping a rattlesnake under the bed before retiring. He wasn’t in the top echelon of the New York underworld, but since I had vacated my position as a PI for the various mobs and crews I had no natural defenses against men like him.

So I backed away, allowing him entrée. Once he was in I trundled back toward my office. Tony followed close behind. I barely cringed. After all, a bullet in the back of the head was probably t Vackhe best way to leave this world.

Tony didn’t shoot me, though. He followed me into my office and took a seat in the blue client’s chair, without an invitation.

As I made it around to my desk chair Tony was already conducting business.

“I got a problem, LT. It’s the kinda thing you’re good at, too.”

Sitting down was a good thing. It left me with nothing to do but pay close attention to the criminal sitting there before me.

Tony had a long face, and now that he’d doffed his hat you could see the double spikes of his receding hairline. He placed a cigarette between his lips, lit a match, and then asked, “Do you mind if I smoke?”

“Burn away,” I replied.

My unwelcome guest didn’t like the answer but he lit his menthol and inhaled deeply.

“So I got this problem—”

“I’m not in the life anymore, Tony,” I said, cutting him off. “I don’t walk that side of the street.”

“That’s what they say. Benny told me that you’re a straight arrow now. You know what I told Benny?”

I sighed.

“I told Benny,” The Suit continued, “that LT knows that he’s a little fish in a big ocean. I told him that the only little fishes that survive are the ones eat the parasites off from where the big ones can’t reach.”

Tony smiled, showing off his soiled teeth.

“I’m out, man,” I said.

The smile dried up, which was both a relief and a worry.

“Don’t get all upset,” he said. “All I want from you is some legitimate private-detective work, not no criminal activity.”

Tony had lived so long because he was crafty if not smart. What he needed was more important than putting me in my place. I didn’t have the juice to turn down a legitimate request. If I refused to hear him out he would have to send Lucas and Pittman to talk to me.

“Let’s hear it,” I said.

The smile returned and Tony leaned forward in the chrome-and-cobalt-vinyl chair.

“There’s this guy I’m lookin’ for.”

“What guy?”

“A Mann.”

“What man?”

“That’s his name. A Mann.”

“What’s the A stand for?”

“No,” Tony said, waving his cigarette around. “His father named him A because he always wanted him to be at the head of the line.”

“But the line goes in alphabetical order by the last name,” I said consciously keeping my hands from becoming fists.

“His old man was a go-getter but nobody ever said he was smart.”

I wanted a cigarette but worried that lighting up would show Tony that I was nervous. So I sat back and stared.

“I need to find Mann,” Tony said.

“What for?”

“To talk to him.”

“About what?”

“That’s my business,” the mobster said, an edge in his raspy voice, smoke rising up above his head.

“If it’s your business, then you go find him.” It struck me then that smoking Tony and his ilk were the fires that drove my dreams.

“What’s wrong with you, LT?” he asked. “I’m willing to pay you to find a missing person. That’s all. No cop could brace you over that.”

“I’m not lookin’ for somebody unless I know why, Tony. I’m just not doin’ it. You got some problem with this guy, then go out and settle it. I’m not on your payroll.”

“I could send Lucas and Pitts over here to convince you,” he said.

“Send ’em, then.”

“Just ’cause you’re friends with Hush don’t mean you can disrespect me, LT.”

That was Tony’s gauntlet. Uttering Hush’s name meant that he was serious. Everybody who was anybody in our world knew that the ex-assassin and I were acquainted. Just mentioning Hush sent serious men on long-term sabbaticals.

“Tell me why you want to see this guy or get outta here,” I said.

The gangster made a motion like he was going to crush his cigarette out on my desk. If he followed through I would have had to do something; neither of us wanted that.

Tony dropped the butt on the floor and stepped on it.

“Eight, nine years ago I had a small job with the button and cloth union,” he said, “handling disputes. The IRS is lookin’ into my [okininfinances from that time and they need records from back then. Mann was my personal accountant, provided by the union, and he’s the only one who’s got those records.”

“So you want the files?”