Read Online Murder on Location by Howard Engel - Free Book Online Page A

returned promptly to the table. I pulled out a chair for her, and took the one opposite for myself. Ma brought in the soup.
    The meal went without incident as far as I can recall. All the little family rituals were observed: Pa asked where my mother’s soup was, and she explained to the company and to my father, as though for the first time, that she never ate soup. Pa quizzed me about brands, bottles, sizes and temperatures of wine until I wanted to sit the next course out in front of the TV. Linda kept her eyes on her plate and smiled at everything. Ma kept rolling her eyes in Linda’s direction, so I wouldn’t miss my last chance this side the grave to have a well-rounded family life.
    â€œPa, you were telling me about the mob before supper. What else do you know about it?”
    â€œSuddenly I’m an authority.”
    â€œSuch a subject for the table,” said my mother.
    â€œI’ve got a case,” I explained to the three of them, “and the mob might be involved.”
    â€œPaolo Nigri used to hang around with them, I remember. He disappeared just after the war.”
    â€œBenny,” Ma said leaning toward me, “why don’t you take part in plays any more? Remember when you did Shakespeare in the park?” And then she added to Linda: “He was wonderful in my green hat and the gold belt from my Paris Star suit. I couldn’t take my eyes off him.”
    â€œFrom what I hear,” my father said, “there are two mobs: the Italian mob and the Jewish mob. They used to fight all the time. Now things are more businesslike. But it’s not just gambling, drugs and prostitution—excuse me, Linda—it’s loansharking and …”
    â€œMore pie, Benny? Linda?”
    â€œThank you.”
    â€œToday, the mob dress in business suits and put up money for charity. Diversified, that’s what they’ve become. They take an interest in politics, they are big in real estate, property development, telephone-answering services, soft drinks, ice cream, fruit juice …”
    â€œImport-export.”
    The last contribution had come from Linda, who was looking at her pie plate. When she became aware, because of the silence, that we were all staring at her, shelooked up and gave each of us a share of the same wan smile. “That’s why I left Jason. I couldn’t go on living like that: not knowing anything, not being able to find out where he was, or when he was coming home. That’s why I took Paul-David and caught a plane out of there. You asked about the mob, Benny. They are wonderful, friendly, family people. And then suddenly you don’t see someone anymore, and your husband tells you to shut up when you ask why. I left, Mr. Cooperman. I just up and left everything.”
    It took a minute for my tongue to recover. Ma was rubbing crumbs into the tablecloth. Pa looked at Linda like she’d dropped out of the crystal chandelier. “What about real estate?” I asked playing it calmly as I could.
    â€œIn New Jersey a lot of them are into fast-food chains. You know the ones that specialize in breast of turkey sandwiches. They also get someone very low in the ranks to buy up a lot of property cheap, then sell it to the mob, under one of their front corporations, at a much higher price. That way the can clean up some of the dirty money that they can’t declare as income.”
    â€œThe call that laundering,” my mother added, getting into the act at last. “They do it all the time on television.”
    â€œThe mob is made up of all kinds: Italian, Jewish, even English. They’re all trying to move into more respectable lines, as Mr. Cooperman was saying. I know of an amusement pier near Atlantic City, some apartment buildings there, and a few weeks ago I heard that one ofthem was investing in a movie being shot at the Falls. They get into all kinds of things.
    I spilled my brandy, and Pa poured salt on the