Deadline for Lenny Stern Peter Marabell (best ereader for comics .TXT) 📖

his own group of two, with Jimmy Erwin, near Jimmy’s SUV. They might have been two old friends of the deceased renewing an acquaintance. I knew better.

31

The solemn music faded as we left the church. Tina Lawson took hold of Lenny’s arm as we approached Henri’s SUV. She smiled, gently kissed Lenny on the cheek, and turned to watch the mourners return to their vehicles.

“That was some eulogy, Lenny,” Charles Bigelow said, as he and Maury Weston walked up. “A little strong for rural America, don’t you think?”

“Don’t sell the folks up here short, Charles,” Lenny said. “They don’t dress like urban types, sometimes don’t sound like them either, but they’ve got heart and passion, and they care about each other. As much as I love cities, the energy, the life, living up north is special. I can get a city fix when I need one, a few days here, a week there, but I thrive on living here.”

Leonard Stern never ceased to amaze me. Lenny the man, the tough crime reporter who cut his journalistic teeth on the streets of Detroit and Chicago, felt more at home on Little Traverse Bay or Pennsylvania Park in northern Michigan. I knew too many people who tried to make that work but missed the mark. Lenny never tried. It was who he was, what he thought, and how he felt about the places he called home.

“Hard to argue with that, Charles,” Maury said.

Bigelow put his hands out. “All right, all right. I didn’t mean … Lenny just sounded, I don’t know, a bit too harsh for a memorial service.”

“We appreciate candor and honesty,” Maury said, “even at a church service.”

“Well, I liked it,” Tina said. “You captured the Kate I knew.”

“I know a lot of people in the business,” Lenny said. “But I really liked Kate. We spent a lot of time getting the book ready … getting to know each other.” Lenny paused and looked out toward the woods. “I never had a daughter, but if …”

“You were wonderful.”

Lenny put his arm around Tina’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

“Michael, who’s Henri talking to?” Maury said, gesturing toward the other side of the parking lot.

“His name’s Jimmy Erwin,” I said. “Gunman for Joey DeMio.”

“Ah, the DeMio clan,” Bigelow said. “Father and son. Chicago gangland at its finest.”

“That’s them,” I said.

“Do you think he came here for Kate?” Tina said.

“He’s working,” I said. “Joey ordered it. To keep an eye on all of us.”

Before Bigelow could ask, I explained that we doubted DeMio was behind the threats to Lenny Stern, and that Joey didn’t want to be blamed for Kate’s murder.

“But you still don’t know who murdered Kate?”

I shook my head. “But we’ve got a few leads.”

“Anything Lenny can write about?” Maury said, smelling a story.

“Give us a few days,” I said. “That okay with you, Lenny?”

“My instinct is to write …” he shook his head. “But I don’t want anyone else hurt. Do what you have to to find these guys. Okay with you, Maury, we hold off?”

“It is this time,” Maury said. He glanced at his watch. “Time to get you to the airport, Charles.”

With that, Bigelow and Weston said their good-byes.

As they drove away from the church, Henri came over. A few moments later, Jimmy Erwin drove out of the parking lot.

“Nice service,” Henri said. “You ready to go?”

“Just waiting for you,” I said. “Everything all right with Jimmy?”

Henri nodded. “He’s okay.”

“I thought you said he worked for the Mafia guy,” Tina said.

“He does,” Henri said. “But Jimmy sticks to his word.”

“You trust him?” I said.

Henri thought for a minute. “This time, yeah. Jimmy says he owes us for getting him out of that mess with Conrad North.”

“If he thinks so,” I said, and shrugged.

“Lois,” Tina said, and waved at Lois Hubbell who walked with two women toward the cars. “Michael, come with me.”

Lois walked toward us.

“Lois, this Michael Russo. The man I told you about.”

“Thank you for coming today,” she said, reaching out her hand.

We shook hands.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said. “I wish we could’ve met under better circumstances.”

“Me, too, Mr. Russo,” Lois said. “I hope you find out who did this to Kate.”

“We’ll do our best,” I said.

“I know,” she said, offering a soft smile. Lois gave Tina a brief hug, thanked us again from attending the service, and walked away.

“All right,” I said to Tina. “Back to Petoskey.”

We rejoined the others, climbed into Henri’s SUV and left Transfiguration Episcopal Church behind us. Traffic was light along the south end of Burt Lake all the way to Alanson. Not so on US 31. Henri merged into a long line of cars and trucks headed south, and we patiently listened to Interlochen classical music.

“I suppose you two have a plan for Mackinac tomorrow,” Lenny said.

“Of course, we do,” Henri said without further comment.

After a moment, Lenny said, “You want to let us in on your plan?”

Silence.

“You want to tell them, Russo?”

“Tell them what?”

“About tomorrow,” Lenny said. “Our plans for the island and the Iroquois Hotel?”

“Sorry,” I said, “I was reading a text from Marty Fleener.” I closed the screen. “Okay, tomorrow. Henri and I will pick you up, both of you.”

“The luncheon starts at noon,” Lenny said. “They want me there a half hour ahead.”

“We’ll leave in time to catch the ten-thirty Shepler’s ferry,” I said. “You’ll have an hour.”

“That’ll work,” Lenny said.

“The text from Fleener,” Henri said. “What’d he want?”

“He talked to his guy in Lansing,” I said.

“The gang expert?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Anything helpful?” Henri said.

“He said we’d talk later.”

“You mean like street gangs?” Lenny said, before I could answer. “This have to do with Kate?”

“Maybe,” I said. “Remember the Side Door, Lenny? In the parking lot? When the two guys tried to scare us off?”

“I certainly do,” Lenny said.

“One had a tattoo,” I said.

“Sure, a ‘44’ on his arm.”

“Well, a ‘44’ showed up on a vanity plate. ‘RC 44.’”

I reminded Lenny and Tina of the guys we chased away from the author event in Harbor Springs, of their rusty old