By Howard Engel
While Rabbi Meltzer and the President of Grantham’s synagogue knock on Benny’s workplace door, they aren’t trying to promote raffle tickets. Of that a lot, he’s convinced. they want his assist in monitoring down a lacking legal professional who has disappeared with the lifestyles reductions of half the Jewish neighborhood. Benny is aware he’ll by no means see a dime out of it, yet what are you able to do? It’s summer season within the city—and it’s going to be a scorching one.Book five within the Benny Cooperman secret sequence.
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Extra info for A City Called July (A Benny Cooperman Mystery)
What more can I do? The world’s his oyster. He’s not going to look up old friends in all the old familiar places. Geller’s smart. He could be at the next table or he could be anywhere in the world where a dollar makes you top dog. ” Pete finished off his cheeseburger, which he had been neglecting, with three massive bites. Coffee had arrived and I spooned in two large helpings of sugar then watched the cream marble the dark surface of my cup. ” “Wife and a son and daughter. ” “We were following up a complaint from one of the old-timers about him not making mortgage payments on time.
Above him was a framed photograph of the Flatiron Building in New York with a skeleton of girders showing through the front. I tried a question. ” “Nothing. ” “Back to the first one. ” “Sure, if I knew he was leaving, I would have tried to stop him. For Ruth and the kids’ sake. I didn’t know he was involved in all this crap with his trust funds. Why should he tell me? When he was a kid he took my bike without asking and when he punctured the back tire he filled it up with a length of garden hose so I wouldn’t know.
Staziak. ” “Yes, I know him. I think that’s everything. ” I backed out of that plush living-room and found myself lighting a cigarette in my Olds. I’d come to listen, and I’d heard nothing Pete Staziak couldn’t have told me. But I had that feeling about walking over shallow graves. I never liked that feeling. * * * Ten minutes later, the Olds was parked beside my father’s rusting Cadillac in front of my parents’ town house off Ontario Street. A coolish breeze off the lake was playing with the flowers in the flower-beds around the side of the house.