Seth pulled out his wallet as well, and the guy chuckled as he peered at it. “The truck is fine. You’re not going to have any trouble. Listen, if you guys want to help me finish loading it, you can get out of here that much faster.”
“Sure.” I draped my jacket over the tailgate of a pickup parked nearby and the three of us got to work.
It took about ten minutes to load the truck and pay the guy, and it took another hour to pick our way through St. Petersburg’s rush hour traffic. Seth bitched the entire way about teenagers, old people and crazy tourists.
The drive down through the beach towns wasn’t much better, and I was glad I didn’t have to do that every day. I made a mental note to cut truck drivers more slack in the future. In the meantime, I went over everything I’d learned so far with Seth. He agreed that Marco bore looking at more closely, and wanted to know about the other two employees with rap sheets. Two blocks from Salvatore’s, we were sitting at a long light when an idea struck me.
“Get out of the truck,” I told Seth, sliding across the seat to take his place.
“What?” He gaped at me. “What do you mean?”
“I mean get out, now, before the light changes. Hurry up.” I reached across him and popped the door open.
“Dino...”
“I don’t have time to explain right now. Just get out and wait for me right over there.” I pointed to a bus stop bench on the corner. “I’ll pick you up again after we get the truck unloaded. Go.”
“You are such an ass,” he muttered, but he jumped out of the truck and darted across the street just before traffic began to move. I looked in the side view mirror as I drove away and he flipped me off. I rolled down the window and waved.
When I got to the restaurant, I did my best to back the truck into their loading dock. It wasn’t a stellar job, but it would do. A band of cooks and busboys rushed out and started hauling food at a frantic pace.
I went inside to find Gigi. She was in the kitchen with Angelo, Marco and the senior line cook, making hasty rewrites to the menu of specials for the night, and planning out how they’d work around the late delivery.
She looked up at me and smiled. “Dino, you’re a lifesaver. I can’t thank you enough.”
Activity in the kitchen picked up as food was brought in, and I drew her out into the hallway for a few seconds of privacy.
“Listen,” I said, “I know you’ll have to work late tonight, but do you think you could swing by my apartment when you’re done? I want to talk to you about our next step here.”
She nodded. “Sure, I can do that. I’ll give you a call when I’m leaving.”
“Great. Oh, and ah, if you have any real good leftovers of anything, pack that up and bring it with you, we’re gonna need it.”
“Need it? Won’t that be kind of late for dinner?”
“Just do it,” I said, pressing up against the wall as a guy rushed through with a flat of tomatoes. “I gotta’ go, I have someone waiting for me. I’ll see you later.”
She only had a moment to look confused before the greater concerns of dinner rush grabbed her attention, and I slipped out to go pick up Seth.
Chapter 7
In order to stall Seth’s curiosity, I dropped him off at the shop to finish the car he was working on and drove the truck back myself. With the pressure off, I could take my time and the traffic didn’t pose as much of a problem.
The guy was pleased to see me return with it in one piece, and before I left I gave him some bull about Salvatore’s having a disgruntled employee and got him to agree to call back and check any unusual instructions directly with Gigi until further notice.
Matilda was no worse for wear, and all’s well that ends well, I guess. Since I was already in that part of town, I thought I’d make a run past the construction company where Frank worked. I checked my notes against a city map and headed north. JH Construction was owned and run by John Holcomb. Hence the clever name. What little information I’d dug up on them was pretty run-of-the-mill. Small time operation, a few complaints and disputes from unhappy customers, and a pretty steady rate of turnover in employees. I was willing to bet the books were a testament to creative financing.
I pulled into the parking lot of a florist across the street and parked facing JH. From the outside, it looked pretty shoddy, but most of these places do. A painted sign propped up on the roof advertised: Kitchen Remodel; Bathroom Remodel; Interior Construction; Concrete, Fence & Yard Construction. Behind the main office stood a larger building for tools and supplies, the garage door open. In the parking lot there was a motley assortment of vans and trucks.
I didn’t see anything matching the description of Frank’s truck, so I got out of my car and trotted across the street. I wasn’t exactly sure what I planned to do, but sometimes you just have to dive in and get a feel for a situation.
Inside, the place was a little nicer. The walls were all brown paneling with carpet to match, and the furniture had obviously been around a long time. None of it matched anything, but it was clean. A window air conditioning unit cranked away feebly next to the desk of a woman in her late fifties, who appeared to be serving as both bookkeeper and receptionist.
“Can I help you?” she asked. Polite, but not what I would call friendly.
“Ah, yeah.” I stalled for a minute to assemble a game plan. More often than not, the truth works just fine. “I’m in the middle of remodeling my office, and I’m not getting very far with it. I’m thinking it’s time to throw in the towel and see about having it done. You guys handle something like that?”
“We could probably help you.” The voice was not the lady at the desk, but a large, bear-shaped man who’d appeared from out of the tiny hallway. The offices must have been close enough for him to keep tabs on anything going on. “How big a job is it?”
“Not too big. Just a few walls, really. I’m creating an office out of an old store front. Two rooms and an entryway, nothing fancy.”
“Yeah, that sounds fine. We’ll need to have someone come over and take a look to give you a proper quote.” He held a hand out to me. “I’m John Holcomb.”
I shook it and said, “That’ll be great.”
“What’s your schedule look like?” He moved over near the desk and waved hastily to the receptionist, who turned and flipped open a large calendar book.
“I’m pretty flexible. Say, I know a guy who works here, Frank Novak.”
He glanced up at me. “You’re friends with Frank?”
“More like friend of a friend. I like to try and help out people I know.”
John scoffed. “He needs all the help he can get.”
“Ah. Like that, huh? Can’t say I’m all that surprised.”
“I do most of the quotes myself, but if you
