Brink Tyler, he said and put out his hand.
We shook firmly and I sat down. Behind Tyler was a huge picture window that overlooked the harbor, where the port of Boston activity was close by and frequent.
You were Nathan Smiths broker, I said.
What a shame. Yes, I was. And a personal friend as well.
How was he doing? I said.
Excuse me?
How was his economic life?
Fine, Tyler said. Excellent. Nathan was a member of a very old and successful family in this city.
Thats great, isnt it? Did he have a lot of money?
For Gods sake, man, he owned a bank.
Wow, I said. Could I get a look at his monthly statements?
Oh, no. Im afraid thats impossible.
I represent his wife, I said.
No, wed really need her permission to show you that. She should have them. They went out only last week.
She contends that she knows nothing, and only you, Brink Tyler, can answer my questions.
My hands are tied, Tyler said.
Call her, I said.
Call her?
Yes. Ask her permission to give me the statements.
Brink wasnt thrilled with that. He sat back and thought about it. I sat back and waited. The blue stripes in his white shirt were wide. Tylers cuff links were, or appeared to be, solid gold with a small design that I couldnt make out. Elegant.
Well, he said. I guess I could do that.
Good for you, I said.
He picked up his phone and punched up a number without looking it up. He waited, talked briefly with Mary Smith, nodded several times, probably for my benefit, and hung up.
No, he said.
She wont authorize the statements?
No.
She say why not?
No.
And you didnt ask? I said.
Its her right, Tyler said. She doesnt have to explain.
How nice for her, I said. You have any thoughts on who would want to kill Nathan?
I thought Mary did it.
Because?
Because according to the paper the cops say she did it.
And you believe it?
Sure. Why not?
She seem the type? I said.
Oh hell. I didnt know them like that. It was mostly a business friendship.
So you think she murdered her husband, but you still need her permission to give me access to something as innocuous as his monthly statements?
I have a fiduciary responsibility here. I cant betray it. If I did, and word got around, who would trust me?
Youre a stockbroker, I said. You think people trust you now?
I dont think we have anything else to talk about, Tyler said.
We do, Brink, I said. But Im willing to let it wait.
He didnt say anything. I got up and let myself out and, encouraged by her hip sway when shed ushered me in, smiled my killer smile at the secretary. She smiled back at me pleasantly.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
When I got to the garage there was a fat guy lingering around the elevator, and Curly had come up quite close behind me. All three of us waited for the elevator. Curly and the fat guy were in competition to see which of them could look more nonchalant. When the elevator doors opened I turned and went past the two men and took the stairs instead of the elevator. Except in high-status buildings, elevators were for sissies.
I hotfooted it up the stairs and stopped on the fourth-floor landing. I could hear footsteps behind me. I went into the garage and walked toward my car. The fat guy was already there, exiting the elevator. Behind me Curly emerged from the stairwell. There was no one else in sight. The fat guy stepped in front of me.
He said, Hold it there, pal.
I stopped. Behind me I could hear Curlys footsteps.
You know, I said, if youd use the stairs every time, instead of taking the elevator, you wouldnt be so fat.
Fuck you, the fat guy said.
Gee, I said. I hadnt thought of it that way.
I glanced back. Curly had stopped a few feet behind me. I did a half turn so that I could see both of them.
We wanna know what youre doing, the fat guy said.
Isnt it obvious, I said. Im talking with a couple of assholes.
Youre a funny guy, Fatso said. Aint he a funny guy, Bo.
Funny guy, Curly Bo said.
We aint funny guys, Fatso said.
I can see that, I said.
And we want to know what you was talking to Brink Tyler about.
Who?
You know who, you was just in his office.
Oh, I said. The Brinkster. Yeah. We were talking about diversifying my portfolio.
The fat guy didnt know what to say. He was used to people being scared of him, and it confused him that I wasnt. Also, he probably didnt know what a portfolio was. Bo, aka Curly, decided to step in.
Okay, pal, he said. Lets not fuck around here. We ask questions. You answer them, and you answer them straight. You understand? Or you get your ass kicked.
I spread my hands. Hey, I said. No problem. I didnt know you guys were serious.
Thats better, the fat guy said.
I kicked him in the crotch. While he was sinking to his knees, I swung around and popped Curly Bo with a right hook, and broke his nose. Bo was game. With the blood running down his chin he caught me with an overhand right on the side of the head. I hit him with a left hook and
a right hook, and he went down. Fatso, on his knees and in pain, had fumbled a gun out. I kicked it out of his hand and heard it skitter away under one of the cars.