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“But he left here on good terms.”
“Hell, yeah. Like I said, George was a good kid. Worked for me for almost a year, and never stole a nickel.”
“He put in a lot of overtime?”
“More than a lot. He busted his ass to support his mother.”
“So he spent long hours at the deli. Did he know Arthur?”
“Did who know Arthur?” Congressman Shore strode over, hanging his overcoat on the hook beside the table.
“Monty’s asking about George Hayek. I think he’s worried that George had some kind of grudge against us.”
“Why?” Arthur looked startled.
“Why was I asking about him, or why was I worried that he might have a grudge against you?”
“Both.” Still visibly perplexed, Arthur pulled back a chair and sat down. “George Hayek—I haven’t heard his name in years.”
“I’ll fill you in.” Monty repeated the story.
“I see.” Arthur frowned. “Do you have any evidence that George was on Angelo’s payroll?”
“Nope. It was a long shot,” Monty replied. “But I had to run down the lead. I’m running down every lead. And when I saw Lenny’s name on Hayek’s booking sheet, I saw a potential motive.”
“What motive?” Lenny demanded. “I’m still not following.”
“I am.” Arthur pursed his lips, nodding as he contemplated Monty’s reasoning. “You’re asking about George and me because you’re wondering if we got along. We did. Not that we saw much of each other. I was away at college and he was here, working for my father. But I saw him whenever I came home for vacations. I even went with him and my father to the movies a few times.” Arthur gave Lenny’s shoulder a squeeze. “Dad had a soft spot for George, given how much he’d lost. He figured we could include him in some of our father-son time. George appreciated it. He wasn’t much of a talker. But it was obvious how much he respected us. Especially Dad. He never forgot the breaks my father gave him. George’s loyalty ran deep.”
“Well, that shoots that theory to hell.” Monty sat back in his seat.
“You figured that if George had it in for me, even after twenty years, he’d go after my closest friend?”
“It’s not a new motive. Hatred. Vengeance. It’s been used before. You were a state assemblyman, an influential man who was on the political fast track. Plus, it didn’t have to be you he was after. If he’d stayed in New York, kept hanging out with that gang of his, and ended up running guns for Angelo, you might not even have factored into the equation. Angelo was convicted. It was only a matter of time before his flunkies went down, too. One of them might have decided to take care of Jack before Jack could take care of him.”
Again, Arthur nodded. “Good point. Sobering, too. Even though George didn’t fall into that category, there must have been dozens of criminals who did.”
“Yeah, very few of whom were investigated last time. Schiller’s confession took care of that.”
“Hi, all. Sorry I’m late.” Lane wound his way over to the table, putting down his camera bag and eyeing the clock on the wall. “Actually, I’m not late. I’m two minutes early. What time did this meeting get started?”
“It didn’t,” Lenny assured him. “How could it? There’s no food on the table. I’ll fix that.” He stood up, pointing at each of them in turn. “Lane—pastrami, lean, potato knish, and coleslaw. Monty—brisket-and-corned-beef combo and a bowl of matzo-ball soup. Arthur—a hot open turkey platter, a bowl of sour pickles, and a piece of your mother’s noodle pudding, if you know what’s good for you.”
His son grinned. “I’m not dumb. I’ll eat every bite, then call her later and tell her how good it was.”
“Smart boy.” Lenny patted him on the back. “I’ll take care of the order myself. You boys talk.” His gaze settled on Monty. “Thank you for helping Morgan. She’s been through hell and back.”
“I remember.” Monty gave a terse nod. “Don’t worry. I’ll chase down every lead till I find the right one.”
“I know you will.” Lenny turned toward the kitchen, his customarily upbeat mood restored. “And I’ll make sure Sally’s order is ready when you go. Rhoda’s chopped liver beats a dozen roses any day.”
“No argument.” Monty watched Lenny cut through the crowd and disappear through the swinging door. “He’s something else.”
“He sure is,” Lane agreed. “He’s got more energy than I do, his memory’s better than mine, and he’s always chipper and happy. I don’t envy you, Congressman. He’s a tough act to follow.”
“You’re right. And, please, call me Arthur. I already feel older than my father, and you call him by his first name.”
“Good point.” Lane chuckled. “Fine—Arthur.” He sent a sideways look at Monty, then glanced quizzically at Arthur. “I’m not sure how you want to handle this meeting. My role here is a little nebulous, at least as I see it. My editor explained that having Monty and I meet with you together will optimize your time efficiency. That’s fine. But you’re going to have to define my limitations.”
