“Mr. Tolliver. A pleasure to finally meet you in person.”
“Same.”
The old guy offers me a chair facing his desk, and I take it. The seat is an old wooden thing that has this rickrack, jerry-rigged feel to it—like someone scrapped a few pieces of cheap lumber together and called it a day. The thing sits a few inches lower than the desk, but I’m tall enough that Theo and I sit more or less at eye level.
It’s just as hot if not hotter in his study, the difference between inside and outdoors being that now I’m stuck wearing this goddam tie. Theo Butler, on the other hand, has got on this pinstriped double-breasted coat, buttoned all the way up like he was afraid something would slip out. His white hair looks like a ski slope, and as I would see later, when he wheeled himself to the door to see me out, he’s got a blanket on his lap.
The rugrat is nowhere in sight. She must’ve slipped through the back door. I look through the room’s only window and see a tangle of green garden.
“I must apologize if the heat has inconvenienced you. A necessary evil. Even the summers are enough to freeze me now.”
“Maine isn’t exactly known for its aggressive summers.”
Theo lights what’s probably a thousand-dollar cigar, exchanging it for his beaker of scotch. The bottle’s on the table, and the label reads Lagavulin, which I know is mid to high tier. With a guy like Theo, I half-expected the bottle to be made out of diamonds.
Theo drinks slowly but with care, smacks his old lips and sticks in the wedge of his cigar. He blows two pillars of smoke before saying anything to me.
“Do you smoke, Mr. Tolliver?”
“I quit,” I say.
“A shame. But perhaps I could convince you to share in a small celebration with me over your recent contract? Call it tradition.”
“You could try.”
Then the old man starts sizing me up with those tiny, brown eyes of his and part of me thinks I’m in trouble for talking short with a mob boss, but only a small part. Truth be told, most of me is wondering why the hell he’s got so many exotic birds in his office. I hadn’t noticed them at first because all my attention was trained on the big fellow and also because the cages are sort of nestled here and there amongst all the bric-a-brac, but honest to God they’re everywhere. Cockatoos, parakeets, other, smaller parrots, pigeons, and some others I can’t name. All of them silent as the grave.
Theo catches me looking around at the cages. “My little friends,” he says proudly, “spent six months with trainers before I took them into my office. If you were wondering why they were so quiet.”
“I was. Why do you keep them here?”
“Colors, Mr. Tolliver. Everything else is so dark—I’m a man who spends his time in suites, offices, and cars and all of them are dark.”
“Buy a painting.”
“Never cared for art. Too much of it in the old country. Birds are better. More exciting. And I don’t mind the smell—don’t even notice it anymore. Cheaper, too.”
“For a man like you is that really a concern?”
“No man likes knowing that he’s been cheated.”
“What about your parrot?”
“Michelangelo?” Theo’s eyes flash like coals. “My pride and joy. We fought the Peruvian government three years before we were allowed to purchase him. They thought they’d be putting one of their endangered Amazonians in jeopardy if they sold him to a mob boss. Now the Amazon’s cut down and the country’s gone to hell and Michelangelo has got six square meals a day and his own aviary. Governments don’t know a thing about their countries, Mr. Tolliver.”
“I’d expect as much,” I say, “from a mob boss.”
There’s a second of quiet and Theo gazes for a long time at his scotch. I’m wondering if maybe the joke was in bad taste, but it’s too late now to correct anything, so I just stand there waiting for him to finish. He brought me here to talk about his daughter, after all. Not some goddamned birds.
“Absolutely right,” he says when he puts his drink down again. “And absolutely true. Governments don’t know a thing about protecting our property. Let’s hope that you do better.”
So now we’re getting down to it. The old man takes out one of these big manila envelopes from his desk and gives it a quick flip-through before tossing it on his desk for me to flip through.
“Some light reading material for those nights when you can’t sleep.”
“What is it?”
“Addresses. Friends. Numbers. Places of interest. Preferred shopping malls.”
I take a quick look and find a big picture of a bald guy staring back at me, his name: DAVID GILLESPIE marked in caps underneath his photo. I also find his date of birth, job history, speeding ticket record and a blank list of ‘Interesting Persons in Relation to…’
“If you’ve already got a private investigator tailing your daughter then why do you need me?” I shut the manila envelope.
“Insurance.”
“That’s what you’ve got lawyers for.”
“Did you know, Mr. Tolliver-” Theo blows a smoke ring over the bronze statuette on his desk. “You’re the only man I’ve ever known to ask what exactly the money he’s getting paid is for? Everyone else just says okay and signs the form.”
“I’d like to know what I’ll be doing, Mr. Butler. Especially if you’re paying me two-and-a-half thousand dollars a day to do it.”
“At the end of the day, Mr. Tolliver, you’ll be keeping my daughter safe. The Family has its reputation pretty well taken care of in this part of Maine. We’re respected, and feared when we need to be. No one’s been hit in years. Old enemies have become friends. Do you know the Ceallaighs? They spend their time near the docks—old Irish, those types. We were the worst of enemies, and now we’re practically brothers. These are peaceful times.”
“If you believed any of that then you wouldn’t be giving me a job.”
“It’s because I do believe it and you don’t that you have the job, Mr. Tolliver. If I want to keep my daughter safe, then I’m going to choose the man who always expects danger rather than the man who assumes there is none.”
I can’t argue with that, and Theo knows it. One of the parakeets gives a squawk that we both ignore.
“It’s not a hard job. Not by any stretch. My daughter’s fond of shopping, friends, and parties—the same as any young person I suppose. All expenses paid of course, and a room in the local Astoria. Keys for the limo and your hotel card are in the folder.”
He slid out a clipboard with a few pieces of paper attached. I breeze through them and sign.
“You may consider yourself a glorified taxi driver, Mr. Tolliver. Or a bodyguard, if you find that more romantic.”
“I don’t care if it’s romantic. If you’re offering two-and-a-half grand a day to make sure your daughter comes home safe, then that’s what I’m going to do.”
The old man gives me this tight little smile and then wheels over to shake me by the hand, which is when I notice his blanket and just how big those hands are. He might be old now, but at one point there was some power in him.
“There’s just one question I’d like to ask before I begin.”
“Anything at all, Mr. Tolliver.”
“Who was the man who was in here before me?”
Something crosses the old man’s eyes like a tiny searchlight. I try to focus in on it, but it disappears a second later. His wrinkly cheeks make a smile.
“I’ll assume you’re referring to young Kit Holcomb. Some of my men have taken to calling him ‘Kitty.’ Others have taken up Michelangelo’s term, I’m afraid.”
“Does he work for you?”
“Are you asking me that because he’s a Ceallaigh?”
“I didn’t know he was a Ceallaigh.”
“But you guessed accurately enough.”
He goes back behind the desk. “The answer you’re looking for is a simple ‘no,’ but I’m afraid that’s not the whole story. You might have heard that the Ceallaighs and the Family have opened up for business lately. Brothers, as I’ve said. I’ve taken it upon myself to see that young Kit is properly integrated.”
“He looks half crazy if you were to ask me.”
Theo smiles. I don’t like one false curve about it. I know those kinds of smiles, dished out like counterfeit fifties to people who don’t know the difference.
“Kirill’t get carried away, Mr. Tolliver. You’ve been hired to look after Maya. Let me take care of myself.”