A Slight Case of Death

Chapter 7

I sat there, in the dark, for a long time, thinking. Over the years, the City had shown me all sides of humanity. Many of those sides had not been pretty, but this—this was just plain weird.

The phone rang. I picked it up. "Mandolin."

"Direct and to the point, Mr. Mandolin, I like that."

"Saves time, who is this?"

The pause was so slight I almost missed it. "This is Antonio Luccesi, Mr. Mandolin."

Why was the old spider calling me? "I see..."

"You are wondering about this call, aren't you, Mr. Mandolin, or should I call you Antonio? We do share the same heritage."

"Not exactly..."

"Tony, Antonio, there is little difference."

I could picture the waving of his hand.

"But I did not call you for banter, Mr. Mandolin. I wish to hire your services."

"Why? I don't mean to be rude, Mr. Luccesi (the hell I didn't), but it's no secret your organization and I are not on the best of terms. I don't see it working out."

"Let's not be hasty, Mr. Mandolin. I believe I could offer you a contract you would find hard to turn down."

"I doubt that."

"One hundred thousand as a down payment and another hundred thousand upon completion. I estimate the scope of the work will cover two weeks. Do you still doubt?"

Two hundred G's for two weeks work? My brain spun; the city's richest families from both sides of the track were tossing money in my direction. I hoped I lived to spend it. Taking a deep breath, I tried to steady my voice. "Ok, you've got my attention." Rent was not going to be a problem.

Luccesi chuckled. "I thought I might. You are a smart man, Mr. Mandolin. That is why you have succeeded in your profession, in spite of your habit of styling yourself after a pulp novel character. That and your reputation of doggedly continuing until you accomplish your task. You are also smart enough to understand why I come to you to find my nephew's killer rather than the police."

Lovely, the chief snake wanted me to find the one who whacked Brandon. As far as I was concerned, the killer had done a public service. I took another deep breath. A couple hundred gees made swallowing that much pride a bit easier. "We're going to have to meet. I don't contract jobs over the phone."

"Understandable, Mr. Mandolin. I will send a driver to your office. He will bring you to mine."

♦ ♦ ♦

Luccesi's office was in his house. The view alone must have added a few hundred thousand to his property taxes. The house overlooked China Beach, near where El Camino Del Mar and 30th met. A Victorian mansion, it stood three stories high. Luccesi must have emptied the local paint store in touching the place up. Dark green was the primary background color with three shades of gray on the various trims. All the spires, finials and knick-knacks shone a glossy white. The basement windows crouched behind very functional wrought iron bars. Massively thick Monterey Cypress trees bracketed the house. It made the Queen Anne's in Pacific Heights look puny by comparison.

We passed through black ornamental gates onto a cobblestone drive that curved around to the back of the house. A pair of human redwoods dressed in black suits met the car as it pulled up to the back door.

One of them approached my side of the car. "Mr. Mandolin?"

I nodded and Luccesi's trained behemoth opened the car door. "This way, sir. Mr. Luccesi is waiting in the study."