Body Copy - Michael Craven [54]
Tremaine sat in his car watching the goings-on in the Think Big parking lot. That same look of employee, young, decked out in ironic clothing. He saw a guy, looked to be about thirty-five, wearing a Dukes of Hazzard T-shirt. He saw some Fonzie memorabilia hanging from the rearview of an Audi A4. One woman sported the Catholic high 169
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school girl look—pigtails and a plaid skirt. Tremaine could have used another second or two of her before she disappeared inside the building . . .
Then Tremaine saw Tyler Wilkes come out of the Think Big entrance. Some of his employees waved to him—he’s the boss—but Tyler, Tremaine could tell by his body language, was nervous and in no mood for small talk. Tyler was looking around for Tremaine. Tremaine stuck his hand out the window of the Cutlass. Tyler spotted him and rushed over.
Tyler got to Tremaine’s car, and Tremaine smiled and said,
“Good afternoon, Tyler,” through his opened window.
“What’s this about?” Tyler said. He was frantic, even angry.
“This is about you, Tyler. Specifically, this is about your relationship with a man named Paul Spinelli. Do you know him?”
Tyler Wilkes looked at Tremaine and said, “Yes, I do.
I’m in business with him. He has a cement company.”
“Yes, he does.” Tremaine said. And then continued,
“Can I borrow an hour of your time?”
“Right now?” Tyler Wilkes said. The movements his face made suggested that right now wasn’t an option.
“Yes, right now.”
“I’m busy, Tremaine.”
“Did the private eye, the one you hired to tail me, give you my message?”
Tyler didn’t say anything. He just looked at Tremaine, worried.
Tremaine said, “I suggest you get in my car right now.
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See, Paul Spinelli doesn’t trust you anymore. He thinks you’re the kind of guy who might get him into trouble.
Who might want to get him into trouble. And when he thinks someone is out to get him in trouble, he gets angry.
Very angry.”
“Paul Spinelli does not think I’m out to get him in trouble. He’s a cement man and I gave him some money.”
“Get in the car, Tyler, and I’ll prove it.”
Tremaine and Tyler Wilkes drove down Lincoln Boulevard, then right on Washington toward Culver City.
“There are some smokes in the glove if you want one,”
Tremaine said.
Tyler Wilkes didn’t go for one. Or respond.
“Well, if you’re not going to have one, will you hand me one?”
Tyler Wilkes did as he was asked. Tremaine lit up.
Tremaine pulled down Chapin Street in Culver City, the street Paul Spinelli’s office building was on. Tyler looked nervous. Tremaine thinking, the closer we get to the L.A.
Stone offices, the closer my accusations are to becoming real to Tyler.
Tremaine and Tyler Wilkes sat in the parked Cutlass, sat right where Tremaine had sat those two days he’d come to watch Spinelli go to lunch.
Tremaine said, “I want you to watch something.”
At one, Spinelli exited the building, his two lunch buddies in tow. Tremaine and Tyler, sitting in the Cutlass, watched Marvin Kearns, dressed like a tough guy, a mob 171
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guy, walk toward Spinelli and the two men. Tremaine and Tyler then watched Marvin reach the men and, with a big smile, shake hands with them. Marvin was introducing himself, but Tyler didn’t know that.
Tremaine said, “That man, the bald one with the leather jacket, is one of Paul Spinelli’s right-hand men.”
“All right,” Tyler Wilkes said.
Tremaine and Tyler watched Marvin hand Spinelli an envelope. In it was a gift certificate to a nearby restaurant, Herman’s. Marvin was telling Spinelli that he worked for Herman, and that Herman wanted to reach out to a successful local businessman with a gift certificate to his restaurant. And that he’d be honored if Spinelli, a man of great stature, would accept the gift certificate and come by for an expensive dinner any time. Free of charge. Spinelli took the envelope, smiled wide, and put it in the inside pocket of his blazer.
In the Cutlass, Tremaine said to Wilkes, “That envelope he handed Spinelli? That was