Chapter 13
I checked CNN and the ESPN sports to find out if I’m missed any beheadings, domestic violence, or drug deals gone amiss. I was shutting down the Dell when the phone rang. I thought it might be a call from heaven because the voice was definitely that of an angel.
“Dr. Fleming,” she cooed, “my name is Sherry. I am calling on behalf of Mr. Leonardo Panko, president of Talent Pro, LTD. Mr. Panko requests a meeting with you in your capacity as agent for the band HIGH FLYER. He would like to meet at his offices. He will send a car for you. Would 3:00 this afternoon be convenient?”
“Well, you may tell Mr. Panko that this is awfully short notice. Nevertheless, as a courtesy, I will postpone my previous appointment. No need to send a car. I will see him at three.”
She gave me the address and thanked me for my cooperation. My previous appointment was with a cold beer while I scrubbed the deck, but I didn’t tell her that. The car . . . I shuddered to see who the driver might be. I figured I had already met the staff of the carpool. I fixed a bite of lunch, but I was completely out of pate and caviar. I chewed a soggy potato chip while I contemplated my wardrobe. Now just what would be appropriate attire for a powerful agent about to meet with the president of a high-class talent agency and were my sunglasses dark enough?
I pulled out my only pair of khakis and a spiffy orange golf shirt. It even had an alligator on it. I rubbed a wet towel over my topsiders. It wasn’t winter, yet. No socks. I didn’t have any gold jewelry to dangle from my neck or wrists. My old college class ring would have to do even though it was only ten-karat. I stood at the end of the dock and waited. Unfortunately the cabbie wasn’t impressed.
He dropped me off in front of a glass high rise. I went through the revolving door and looked at the list of tenants. Lots of attorneys, several brokerage offices, two shipping concerns that each occupied an entire floor, and miscellaneous business types with clients to impress. Talent Pro was on the ninth, just high enough to carry some clout.
My shoes sank into the carpet and I noiselessly pushed open a 10-foot oaken door. Sherry reminded me of a Penthouse centerfold I had lusted after in my misspent youth. A water fall of jet black hair partially covered on eye and cascaded over her shoulder. I figured the clingy electric pink dress had been made on her. The cleavage stopped just before it got obscene. Her eyes were like two huge emeralds. I instantly realized I had chosen the wrong profession and wondered if Panko had room for another associate. She smiled and rose to near six feet of feminine glory, then floated toward a mahogany door. She turned the knob and stepped aside for me to enter.
President Panko was holding the phone to his ear, nodding and mumbling something barely audible. He turned in the chair and rose, his silver sharkskin suit, probably Armani or Hugo Boss, tailored to a tee, black open collar polo beneath the dapper fabric. His hair was flattened straight back over his head with something greasy and shiny, but all in all he looked the part of the smart, quick businessman. He slid me a serpentine smile and pointed at the over-stuffed burgundy leather chair in front of his desk. I heard a shuffle on the carpet behind me and glanced to see the source. Lurch had been behind the door when I walked in and the fireplug was in the adjacent corner.
“My apologies, Dr. Fleming, but I believe you’ve met my associates Lawrence and Albert.”
The big man nodded. He held a gleaming switchblade in his right hand. He flicked the blade at me in greeting, smiled and pretended to clean his fingernails. I got the message.
I don’t know what I expected . . . maybe some dems’ and dose’ and a nasal Jersey accent, maybe even south Boston. It always goes well with my image of thugs, but his speech was measured and precise. I noticed a diploma on the wall, J.D. Georgetown University, class of 1981. There were several other frames on the wall, most with photos of what I assumed were people of some dubious distinction. I decided to examine them more closely on the way out.
“It is a great pleasure to meet you, Dr. Fleming.” he said and extended his hand with all the grace and charm of a Cobra. I shook it, “. . . and please call me Leo. I believe you have met my associates.”
Yeah . . . we had already developed a rapport that was a little too close for me, but I suspected he was aware of that. I hadn’t packed the .38. I knew if they wanted me, it wouldn’t be here. It’s expensive to replace carpet of that grade and red didn’t quite go with the rest of the décor.
“Dr. Fleming, forgive me if I dispense with the small talk. I’ve done some research. You are obviously an intelligent and capable man, not to mention a writer of some merit. I must have missed the part about your previous experience in the entertainment business. Nevertheless, I am informed that you are the legal agent for HIGH FLYER. So we both know the purpose of this meeting.”
He slid a paper across the desk and handed me an ebony Mont Blanc pen which must have cost $500. I didn’t reach for either one. He waited and I heard footsteps closing behind me. Leo put up his hand like a crossing guard and the footsteps ceased.
“I assure you, Dr. Fleming. Our terms are quite generous. The little lady and her little husband will be very well compensated and your share will easily finance a more suitable yacht, perhaps even an appropriate automobile.”
I found that one a little snarky, but I bit my tongue like the good boy Momma raised. She always said, “If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.” Damned good advice. It had kept me out of trouble more than once.
“Mr. Panko . . . my apologies. . . Leo. My clients are considering other offers at this time. I have advised patience and caution.”
“Ahh . . . caution. An excellent choice of words. If it’s a matter of money, I can have those figures adjusted before you leave the office. Sherry is very efficient. There could possibly be a signing bonus in the form of a cashier’s check made out to you. But to be very clear, it is your well-being and theirs that concerns me above all else. It gets very cold here in the winter, but there are places that get much colder . . . and it is not necessary to go north to find yourself in one.”
He flashed snake eyes at me. I had visions of frozen ground or the muddy bottom of the Chesapeake Bay.
“I hope we can reach an understanding. I feel it rather imperative for your sake. Please give it your utmost consideration. But you must forgive me, Dr. Fleming. I do have further engagements this afternoon. Please peruse these things seriously, discuss them with your clients and relay my regards. I hope to see you again very soon.”
I got up and scanned the photos. Leo with various local dignitaries, one of them a group. I paused. The image was old and a bit faded, but at least one face looked very familiar. There was also a picture of a pleased Panko shaking the hand of the owner of the Washington Redskins, one of their parade of former coaches standing dutifully beside them. I nodded and looked back at the President of Talent Pro.
“Oh . . .” he said, “Daniel Snyder and Mike Shanahan. Our agency still maintains a corporate box at RFK stadium. It’s good for business. I often have extra tickets if you’d like to take in a game sometime.”
I thanked him and left his private space. Sherry got up and showed me to the door of the office. Heart be still. That perfume and the curves had me gasping and trying not to drool all over my shirt. I decided not to tell Sunny that part.
I got back to KAMALA just before 4:00. I eyed her rocking gently in the slip and saw the trusty Schwinn tethered to the piling on the dock. I could understand Panko threatening me in his pointed and officious manner, but why insult my boat and my bike. Some people might have money, but that didn’t mean they had class. The tailored Armani be damned.
I called Pam and gave her a general summary of my meeting with the Georgetown dandy. I didn’t want to tell her anything that might be scary. They were playing at the AUSTIN tonight and I promised the lady I would stop in. “Good job, T.K., “she said. I hoped she was right.
I was due at Sunny’s at six. This time I did strap the Taurus to my be
lt and stuffed it up under the waistband of my faded Wranglers. I fired up my turbo-charged Schwinn – well, maybe not – and headed for her apartment.