Death by the Book - Lenny Bartulin [12]
‘Does your father know Edward Kass?’ asked Jack.
Annabelle reached into her bag and pulled out a small black case. Inside were some reading glasses with narrow rectangular frames and pale pink arms. The lenses were slightly tinted. They suited her. No doubt everything suited her. She slid them on and walked over to one of the bookshelves.
‘Susko,’ she said, running her finger down the line of books. ‘That’s a strange name, isn’t it?’
‘Should’ve seen what it was before I changed it.’
She looked up, her finger stopped on a book.
‘Jones,’ said Jack and shook his head in despair. Her smile lasted longer this time.
‘Jack Jones does have a certain ring to it,’ she said, returning her attention to the book spines. ‘You could have called yourself Jay Jay.’
Jack came out from behind the counter. He leaned against it, crossed his arms over his chest. ‘What about Kasprowicz? Bet you’ve had fun spelling that.’
‘Sure have,’ she said, coolly. ‘It cashes all the cheques.’
‘That’s handy. Polish?’
‘Very good, Jay Jay. My mother hated it and never took it as her own. She stayed Temple. Except when she signed the cheques.’
Jack walked over to the bookcases. He could see Annabelle through the gaps on the shelf. Her cowboy boots clicked across the polished concrete floor. Muddy started the riff to ‘Whiskey Blues’.
‘Australia via … ?’
‘London,’ she said. ‘The old story, running away from the Nazis. Easy when you’re loaded.’
‘What isn’t?’
‘Love.’
‘Let me guess. Your favourite Beatle was Paul.’
She did not reply. Jack tried again. ‘So who’s Edward Kass?’
Annabelle walked around the end of the aisle. She stopped beside Jack and passed him a book.
‘This looks interesting. Do I get a discount?’ Jack took the book without looking at it.
Annabelle lingered beside him. ‘He’s my uncle,’ she said. ‘On my father’s side.’
The door to Susko Books swung open and a customer entered. Cold air rushed down the steps: dead leaves and a page of soiled newspaper blew into the shop. Jack looked around to see who had come in. A man was closing the door behind him.
Annabelle gathered her bag off the counter. When she turned towards the front door she froze.
The guy was grinning like a cartoon cat. He had a lean, tanned face, all blue-eyed and square-jawed. Except the tan looked a little tandoori to Jack. His straw-coloured hair was short and thinning, styled to look like all he ever did was run his hand through it, casually. A tight little paunch said that he was not as young as he wanted to look. He had splashed on about a hundred bucks’ worth of aftershave. He wore faded blue designer jeans, pale yellow leather slip-ons, and a loose grey blazer over a white T-shirt and black knitted vest. Overall, he seemed pretty fit. He had a couple of inches on Jack, both up and sideways. A BMW key ring dangled between the fingers of his clenched right hand.
Jack recognised him. It was the guy he had seen in the car with Louisa at Kasprowicz’s house.
‘Hello, Annabelle,’ he said, still grinning. His teeth were as white as cream cheese. ‘Fancy seeing you here.’
Annabelle looped an arm through her bag. ‘I suppose you expect me to believe it’s a coincidence.’ Her voice was cold. ‘Leave me alone, Ian.’
Ian walked towards her. He jingled the keys in his hand. ‘I was driving past before and saw you come in. Thought we could have a coffee.’
‘You’re joking.’
‘You know I never joke, Annabelle.’ He turned to Jack. ‘You got to watch this one. Needs a tight leash.’ His voice turned slimy, like warm suntan lotion. ‘Yep, a real tight leash.’
‘Fuck you,’ said Annabelle. She pushed past him to the door. Ian smiled as he watched her disappear up the steps.
‘You need some help?’ said Jack.
The man’s smile dissolved. He ran a hand through his hair, walked over and put his finger in Jack’s airspace. ‘Keep away from my fucking wife.’
Two seconds went past as Jack considered his next move. Two seconds too long. The man shot a dirty right fist into Jack’s stomach, BMW keys and all. He stepped back. All the air inside Jack blew out fast enough to break the sound