yet untitled. From behind him the lawyer asked with no small bit of trepidation what he planned to do about the Prokorovs.
“You disappoint me counselor.”
“How? What did I do?”
“After all our time together. No matter how many times I have told you. And still you ask questions you do not wish to know the answer too. Leave them to me.”
“You’re right. You’re absolutely right. I’m sorry.”
Avi Solomon gathered up the papers into his briefcase and bowed his way out of the studio. When the lawyer was gone, Shirokov dipped his brush into the burgundy and made two swift, precision strokes on the canvas.
…
Deputy Sheriff Larry Pembroke of Morris County was cruising his patrol car up Benton Avenue when he saw the perpetrator. He was a big man in a white tank-top leaning up against a black Lincoln Continental, slurping from a star in a cup of iced coffee. Chains of gold draped down around his neck, their pendants obscured just beneath the neck of his shirt.
The Lincoln was parked illegally by a fire hydrant right in front of Mrs. Orsini’s bakery. She was the one who called the Sheriff’s office to tell them. Old Mrs. Orsini made a habit of calling them whenever she suspected that “troublemakers” were around, or whenever she saw something “just a little bit fishy” in or around her shop. When the call came in over the radio the Deputy was idling comfortably in his vehicle, waiting at a speed trap behind the billboard just off the highway exit.
The dispatch told Pembroke that a “weird stranger” was lurking out front of the bakery and that his car was parked in front of the fire hydrant. He laughed at the description when it came in and the deputy had half a mind to ignore the call entirely, but it had been a slow day at the speed trap and he had nothing better to do, so he radioed an affirmative and drove over right away.
Now that he was pulling up outside the bakery, Deputy Pembroke could see why anybody would have been disturbed by the giant man’s presence, let alone fussy old Mrs. Orsini. He was easily over six feet tall and just as wide across. His face looked surly, and despite being clean-shaven there was something dirty, possibly foreign about his appearance.
Deputy Pembroke hung his walkie talkie in its place on the dashboard and got out of the car. Even though the Sheriff’s car was parked right behind his the giant man didn’t even seem to register his presence. Rather than confront him immediately, the Deputy straightened the bill of his hat and marched into the bakery.
“Oh my lord! Thank goodness you’re here,” is how Mrs. Orsini greeted him when he came in through the front door.
“Good afternoon, Marie. Something smells absolutely delightful. What’s in the oven?”
The worried look on the baker’s face disappeared momentarily and she smiled back at the deputy from behind the counter.
“That would be my apple tart. They’re almost done, if you’d care for a bite.”
“Thank you Marie, I may take you up on that. So what’s the story here?”
He gestured outside to the Lincoln and the big ape leaning against it like he didn’t have a single care in the world. Marie Corsini crossed herself and whispered over the counter.
“That man has been out there for an hour now. He just stands there, not moving or talking to anybody, sipping that drink of his.”
“So he’s just standing there. Hasn’t threatened anybody or done anything hostile?”
“No. He hasn’t. But I tell you, I just don’t like the look of him. My nana used to tell me, rest her soul, she told me that you could always tell by a person’s face. And that man out there is no good. I’ll bet my macarons on it.”
Deputy Pembroke chuckled and straightened his hat again.
“That’s quite a bet. Well, thanks for letting us know. So long as he hasn’t hurt anybody I’ll get him moving along and out of
“You disappoint me counselor.”
“How? What did I do?”
“After all our time together. No matter how many times I have told you. And still you ask questions you do not wish to know the answer too. Leave them to me.”
“You’re right. You’re absolutely right. I’m sorry.”
Avi Solomon gathered up the papers into his briefcase and bowed his way out of the studio. When the lawyer was gone, Shirokov dipped his brush into the burgundy and made two swift, precision strokes on the canvas.
…
Deputy Sheriff Larry Pembroke of Morris County was cruising his patrol car up Benton Avenue when he saw the perpetrator. He was a big man in a white tank-top leaning up against a black Lincoln Continental, slurping from a star in a cup of iced coffee. Chains of gold draped down around his neck, their pendants obscured just beneath the neck of his shirt.
The Lincoln was parked illegally by a fire hydrant right in front of Mrs. Orsini’s bakery. She was the one who called the Sheriff’s office to tell them. Old Mrs. Orsini made a habit of calling them whenever she suspected that “troublemakers” were around, or whenever she saw something “just a little bit fishy” in or around her shop. When the call came in over the radio the Deputy was idling comfortably in his vehicle, waiting at a speed trap behind the billboard just off the highway exit.
The dispatch told Pembroke that a “weird stranger” was lurking out front of the bakery and that his car was parked in front of the fire hydrant. He laughed at the description when it came in and the deputy had half a mind to ignore the call entirely, but it had been a slow day at the speed trap and he had nothing better to do, so he radioed an affirmative and drove over right away.
Now that he was pulling up outside the bakery, Deputy Pembroke could see why anybody would have been disturbed by the giant man’s presence, let alone fussy old Mrs. Orsini. He was easily over six feet tall and just as wide across. His face looked surly, and despite being clean-shaven there was something dirty, possibly foreign about his appearance.
Deputy Pembroke hung his walkie talkie in its place on the dashboard and got out of the car. Even though the Sheriff’s car was parked right behind his the giant man didn’t even seem to register his presence. Rather than confront him immediately, the Deputy straightened the bill of his hat and marched into the bakery.
“Oh my lord! Thank goodness you’re here,” is how Mrs. Orsini greeted him when he came in through the front door.
“Good afternoon, Marie. Something smells absolutely delightful. What’s in the oven?”
The worried look on the baker’s face disappeared momentarily and she smiled back at the deputy from behind the counter.
“That would be my apple tart. They’re almost done, if you’d care for a bite.”
“Thank you Marie, I may take you up on that. So what’s the story here?”
He gestured outside to the Lincoln and the big ape leaning against it like he didn’t have a single care in the world. Marie Corsini crossed herself and whispered over the counter.
“That man has been out there for an hour now. He just stands there, not moving or talking to anybody, sipping that drink of his.”
“So he’s just standing there. Hasn’t threatened anybody or done anything hostile?”
“No. He hasn’t. But I tell you, I just don’t like the look of him. My nana used to tell me, rest her soul, she told me that you could always tell by a person’s face. And that man out there is no good. I’ll bet my macarons on it.”
Deputy Pembroke chuckled and straightened his hat again.
“That’s quite a bet. Well, thanks for letting us know. So long as he hasn’t hurt anybody I’ll get him moving along and out of
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