Part 78 (1/2)

”Rota Films is a front for something. Any ideas what?”

Again, silence.

Ill” said Sha.s.sad, his playfulness turning into annoyance,

”I.

don't know, either. I don't know how it's connected to Jacobus and I don't know how it connects with Thomas Daniels.”

”Daniels?” asked Grimaldi.

”Of course' scoffed Sha.s.sad.

”For Christ's sake, his old man was as dirty as they come when it came to a sneak operation. I got a gut feeling about Thomas Daniels. I say the only difference between him and his old man is that the old man was five times as smart.”

Sha.s.sad glanced at the other faces in the room. There was no disagreement.

Chapter 27 The note arrived late in the afternoon while Thomas was out. One odd aspect of it, in retrospect, was that he'd only been gone a short time. It was as if she'd made a conscious effort to avoid him.

The other odd aspect was that it was typewritten. Where had she obtained a typewriter? And why, suddenly, was she now using one?

He attributed those two concerns to her idiosyncrasies. The important thing was that the note was signed Leslie and she was summoning him to another late meeting. Midnight, this time. But tonight theyd be hiding in plain sight. She gave as a meeting place a discotheque named Suzanne's on East Fifty-second Street. He had no choice. He would go.

Suzanne's, at midnight, was simultaneously colorful, loud, garish, and crowded. Thomas arrived a few minutes before the hour, entered and waited at the end of a long, dim bar which afforded a look at both the front door and the dance floor. The bar and the dance floor were ringed by mirrors. Some enterprising proprietor had had an inspiration in dry ice and a thin, filmy cloud floated around everyone's feet.

Reds, yellows, and greens dominated, mostly in plastic, neon, and then more neon. Cramped tables lined the outer reaches of the dance floor and tobacco smoke wafted around the sound system which hung from the ceiling. On the dance floor, gaudily clad youths moved dispa.s.sionately to the blaring music. Suzanne's was, Thomas Daniels observed, either a dream or a nightmare, depending on one's perspective; the kind of a place which makes one want to dress up or throw up. Again, depending.

There were no laws against bad taste, Thomas reminded himself.

Thomas remained at the end of the bar, studying alternately the dancing area and the entrance. Watching, waiting, growing impatient. No Leslie.

He was aware of movement next to him. He glanced at a man he'd never seen before, then looked away.

”Looking for some action?” The words barely carried above the sound of rock music. When the man repeated the words, Thomas knew he was being spoken to by someone with a vaguely British accent.

”I'm waiting for someone.”

The man smiled.

”Sure” he said.

Thomas looked away, attempting to ignore his new acquaintance.

The man elbowed him and continued to talk.

”Plenty of unattached a.s.s here” he proclaimed.

”Won't find it on a bar stool, though. Got to make the move over there' The man pointed toward the hustling figures in the larger room.

Thomas turned toward him.

”That's not what I'm looking for! All right?” he snapped, raising his voice to be heard.