Four O’Clock Sizzle

Chapter 3

3

Rebecca spent the morning looking at security footage from the area around the Easy Street fire as well as the fire at Richie’s place. As she’d suspected, the man with the Giants baseball cap was at both places, but he wore the brim so low she couldn’t run him through any sort of facial recognition software. She’d tried last evening with no luck, and hoped to do better this morning. She didn’t.

She then went to Easy Street Clothiers. The manager, Dan Peters, was a youthful fellow who epitomized the stylish look of the store in his loosely casual tan silk jacket, baby blue pullover and brown slacks. But at the moment, he looked overwhelmed and harried. Rebecca flashed her badge. “Hello again, Mr. Peters,” she said.

“Call me Dan, please,” he murmured, glancing at his buzzing phone and then silencing it.

“Is your boss here?”

“I’m afraid not.” He swallowed hard.

“Have you heard from him since yesterday morning?”

Dan rubbed his temple. “He called late in the day and said he still had some things he needed to handle, but he would try to get here. I never saw him, however.”

“Did you tell him I’ve got to talk to him? He knows a man died here.”

Dan looked even more distressed. “Yes, ma’am. He knows it.”

She showed him the photo of the man in the baseball cap, but he didn’t recognize the fellow at all.

She asked a few more questions, but he was of little help. She was about to leave when Fire Captain Eisen called.

The arson team identified kerosene as the accelerant used in both the Easy Street and Big Caesar fires.

The front doors of Big Caesar’s were open wide as a crew worked to clean the carpets, scrub the tile and dance floor, and generally do all they could to remove any hint of smoke, water, and fire damage. A large sign posted on the front of the building said “Closed Tonight - Will Open Friday.”

Richie surely hoped so. He decided to use the post-fire clean-up as an opportunity to scrub down everything in the club and shine it up the way a place as popular as Big Caesar’s should be.

He guessed one good thing came from the arson attempt. He’d never realized just how much the nightclub had come to mean to him until he’d almost lost it.

The sound of hammers and the smell of fresh paint greeted him as he inspected the place.

It was going to feel odd to see the ballroom empty the next few nights. Usually the white cloth-covered tables were ringed with customers entertained by a band and singer. At least two bartenders worked, three on weekends, along with a number of attractive cocktail waitresses. The fresh paint on the walls would look good, however. Richie expected the reopening to be on-time and go well.

He spotted Tommy Ginnetti talking to men out back. He took out his phone, put on the liar application, and then said, “Tommy.” He walked outside.

“Everything’s under control, boss,” Tommy said, “for the reopening tomorrow. Should be okay, but the band insisted they be paid even if we’re closed.”

“Yeah, well, I can see their point. I guess we’re stuck,” Richie said. He talked to the owner of the crew doing the restoration and clean-up. The man had found no serious problems, and Tommy’s instructions to him were clear and precise.

Richie soon headed back to his office. He was glad none of the damage had reached it. When he took over the club, he had decided that if he was doomed to be stuck in an office, he wanted a nice one. He had a high quality walnut desk and bookcases put in, plus a plush leather desk chair. The office even had its own bathroom, with a shower. He didn’t know why he’d ever need one, but since he’d had the private bathroom installed, why not? His desk, computer and such were on one side of the room, and on the opposite were a large sofa, a couple of side chairs, and a mini-bar.

He was tempted by the mini-bar as he looked at how high his paperwork had grown with this mess. He didn’t trust anyone but himself to oversee the business’s money, both incoming and outgoing, and forced himself to sit down and go over the invoices, recording each into his accounting program. Before long, his tie was off, and the long sleeves of his shirt rolled back to the elbows. He really hated this kind of tedious work.

He was staring at an invoice that made no sense and running his fingers through his hair when he was struck with the sense of being watched.

He looked up to see Rebecca standing in the doorway.

“I see that you’re planning to reopen Friday,” she said, walking towards him. He leaned back to enjoy the sight. She was tall—nearly his height—her body shapely in all the right places. Her hair was blond and straight, now pulled back in a pony tail for work. But it was her eyes that caused his heart to tango—big, blue, and expressive. He loved watching her walk his way, even when she was dressed in jeans, boots, and a black leather jacket—her work “uniform.” He also loved that she had no idea how sexy she looked in it.

He smiled. “It’s coming along, and we’re even making some improvements.”

“But you’ve also increased your security, right?”

“Of course.”

“The damage wasn’t as bad as you’d feared, I take it.”

“We were damn lucky. And did you have any luck finding the guy you chased from here?” He got up and crossed the room towards the sofa and chairs.

She did the same and sat on the sofa. “Not yet. We caught him on security and traffic. He was the same guy seen at Easy Street Clothiers, but he kept the brim of the baseball cap too low to clearly see his face. Arsonists tend to enjoy watching their handiwork, which makes me suspect he’s our man.”

“I’ve heard that. Do you have time for a beer, or coffee?” He had a small refrigerator as well as an automatic espresso maker in the office.

“No, thanks. I’m on duty and can’t stay. But I wanted to tell you that the accelerant used on Diego Bosque’s store is the same as used here. So, what’s the connection between you and Bosque?” she asked.

Why would she assume … Surely, she can’t have heard, he told himself. The story’s not even out yet. Besides, she pays no attention to tabloids, and businesses don’t get attacked because of them. “Who knows why arsonists pick their targets?”

Her gaze seemed filled with disappointment. “There is a connection between Diego Bosque, and you.” Just then, her phone buzzed. “It’s dispatch,” she said, which meant she had to take the call.

She stood, her expression making it clear she wasn’t happy with him. “I’ve got to go, but we’re not finished with this conversation.”

He sat down as he watched her leave without even a goodbye. He took out the liar app to find it had marked just about everything she said as a lie. What the hell did that mean?