"Office manager."
"You must pay a hell of a wage."
"Actually, the wage ain't so much, really, but the benefits..." He waved his thumb at me.
"What about Penza Trucking?" I said. "You own that, don't you?"
"Not really no more. It's the bank what owns it now, with the thing mortgaged like it is up the wazoo. First Pennsylvania gave me this loan yous got without any security. Things was a little more flush then. They decided I was good for it. Too bad for them, huh?"
"Is there anything more?" said Sebastian. "It's been four hours already. I think we've covered everything."
Beth leaned toward the lawyer, opened her eyes wide, and said, "Are you sure you're not the singer John Sebastian?"
"Positive," he said.
"Woodstock?" she said. "The Lovin' Spoonful? 'Summer in the City'? Ring a bell?"
"Stop it now," said John Sebastian.
I looked around. It was time. Manley was hot, his lawyer was bothered. The whole deposition had been leading to this moment. Sometimes you get right to the point, sometimes you dance around a bit, get everyone hot and bothered before you spring, with an innocent tone of voice, the crucial question. By then the guard is lowered, by then sometimes, against all odds and counter to all intentions, the truth slips out.
"All right, Mr. Manley," I said. "Just one more topic. You started with Penza Trucking when?
"Geez, I was just a kid. Seventy-eight, seventy-nine."
"And what was your position?"
"I drove. Penza, what owned the place, always hired young kids 'cause he could pay 'em squat."
"So what was your pay?"
"I think the most it went up to was like six an hour."
"And when did you become the owner?"
"A few years later. Penza was getting old, his daughter wanted nothing to do with the business. He was looking to get out."
"And so you got in?"
"Yeah, imagine that. Like Horace the Algerian, it was."
"Horatio Alger?"
"Who?"
"How much did you pay for the business?"
"Not much, really. It wasn't worth much, the trucks was old, the accounts was small. He almost gave it away."
"Fifty thousand dollars."
"What?"
"Mr. Penza is living in Boca. He said he sold the company to you for fifty thousand dollars. Ten thousand down, the rest on a note."
"How is the old guy?"
"Tanned."
John Sebastian piped up, "Is this relevant?"
"Are you instructing him not to answer?" I said, my voice exploding in finely aged indignation. Sebastian's head snapped back with such force that I wondered if it was my breath. "Because if you are, I'll call the judge right now. I'll get on the phone right now. I'm entitled to ask this."
"You don't have to go ballistic on me."
"I'm entitled to ask this."
" 'Do You Believe in Magic?' " said Beth.
"Excuse me?" said Sebastian.
"So the question I have, Mr. Manley," I said, having set Manley's lawyer back on his heels, "the question you need to answer here, is where did you get hold of the ten-thousand-dollar down payment you paid Mr. Penza?"
"I don't know. I saved up."
"On six dollars an hour?"
"Time and a half for overtime. And I was living at home."
"But you weren't a monk?"
"I had some times, sure."
"And some girls?"
"What, are you kidding me?"
"I heard that your girlfriend at the time, who later became your first wife, was expensive. She liked nice clothes, jewelry."
"Who told you that?"
"She did. I assume the bulk of the six an hour went to her."
"Whatever you assume, you ain't assuming the half of it."
"So from where did the ten thousand come?"
"I don't know. I did a guy a favor, maybe."
"Who?"
"Just a guy what I knew."
"Give me a name."
"I don't remember his name right off."
"What kind of favor did you do for this friend?"
"Nothing. I don't know. Let's forget about it."
"Where was this favor done?"
"I told you to forget about it."
"I want to show you a picture. Let's mark this as plaintiff's nine for identification. It's a photograph of three young boys, altar boys. Do you recognize the boy in the middle?"
"Is that me?"
"How old were you there?"
"Truth be told, I can't ever remember being that young."
"Who's the boy on the left?"
"It was a long time ago."
"It's Joey Parma, Joey Cheaps, isn't it?"
"Where'd you get this?"
"And it was Joey Parma with you that night at the waterfront?"
"What night?"
"The night with the moon shining overhead. The night where the two of you waited in the shadows to do that favor for your friend."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Who was the friend who asked for the favor?"
"I told you I don't remember." He lifted the pitcher, poured a shaky stream of water into a plastic cup, took a sip. "Is it getting hot in here?"
"You and Joey Cheaps, with a baseball bat, waiting in the shadows."
"Never happened."
"For the guy with the suitcase."
Manley's head tilted down, his eyes turned hard beneath his brow, his voice lowered into a growl. "Watch yourself, Victor."
"The baseball bat and the guy with the suitcase who was hit in the face and then the splash. Do you remember the splash?"
"Shut the fuck up." Manley stood, threw his plastic water cup at my face. Lucky me, the water landed mostly on my tie. Isn't polyester a wonderful thing?
"This deposition is over," said John Sebastian.
"That's what you and Joey discussed on the phone the morning before he died, isn't it?" I said. "What you did together that night at the waterfront?"
"Are you deaf," said John Sebastian, standing himself now. "It's over."
"What did you do with the suitcase, Derek?" I said. "What happened to the money in the suitcase?"
Derek Manley, his face crimson, his nose fluorescent with rage, leaned over and jabbed his finger at my face. "You don't know shit about what happened."
"And what did you do twenty years later to Joseph Parma?"
"Yo," he shouted. "I didn't have nothing to do with whacking Joey. He was my friend."
Sebastian put his hand on Manley's shoulder as if to comfort. "Don't say anything more, Derek."
"On the advice of counsel I'm shutting up for good. But let me give you some advice, Victor. You like your bowels? You find it convenient having them sitting there between your mouth and your asshole?"
"Let's go, Derek," said his lawyer, the hand on the shoulder now pushing him out.
"You shut up about what it is yous asking about or I'm gonna reach down your throat, pull out them bowels, toss them against the wall so they stick, you understand, you little pissant? You don't watch out you'll be shitting out your ear. Don't think I won't."
"This was totally inappropriate," said Sebastian after Manley had stormed out of the room. "The judge will hear about this and so will the Bar Association."
"Don't leave, John," I said, as he made his exit too. "There are still Danish left."
"They seemed to have marched off in a huff," said Beth.
"What does that mean anyway, 'in a huff'? A huff. It sounds like one of those short fur jackets."
"Is that what you wanted?" she asked.
"Close enough," I said. And it was. Manley had as good as admitted to being there that night with Joey Cheaps when the bat had slammed into Tommy Greeley's face. And he had as good as admitted that he had been there on the behest of a friend. It was the friend's name I needed; all I'd have to do was squeeze a bit to get it. It wouldn't be so hard. I was a lawyer, my entire professional training was in the art of the squeeze.
And it wouldn't end with Manley. I fully expected word would get out about what I was looking for; I fully expected someone other than Manley would start to feel the pressure. I just didn't expect it to happen so fast.
Chapter.
18.