BESTSELLERS & BEST FRIENDS
My book publishing blog, with murder mysteries woven through it.
If this is your first visit, be sure to start with “1. Let’s do it!”
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The buzzer in Randy’s old loft buzzed at 8 p.m. I poked my head out of a window and looked down at the building’s front door. There he was. I buzzed him in.
I took a deep breath, waited a few minutes, and opened the loft’s door as Aaron stepped off the elevator.
I offered him a drink, turned my back, and went to grab my martini.
“No thanks,” he said, “This is all I need.”
I turned around. He had a gun in his hand. It was pointed at me.
That was a first!
I don’t know one handgun from the other but it sure looked deadly.
His finger was actually on the trigger. Holy shit. What if he sneezes?
“What’s going on,” I asked, my voice cracking.
He nodded to a chair, “Sit.”
“May I?” I held up my martini.
“Sure.”
I sat.
“So here’s what going on. You’re going to jump out of the window just like your friend,” he nodded his head toward a specific bookcase, “I know all about the secret room, I read your stupid blog. I’ve already written your farewell note. Yep, I broke into your blog. Worst security ever. Notice how it’s not posted last couple of days? That was me messing around with it.”
Damn! I was wondering, couldn’t figure out why my blog wasn’t posting.
“The story will be that you missed your friend something horribly, your wife is out of town, it follows up perfectly on your last few emotional posts. Vége!” He laughed.
I sipped my martini.
“And you’re half drunk. Perfect,” he smiled.
Then he suddenly sneezed!
I pulled in my shoulders, tightened up, waited for the bang. Nothing. Geez! I caught my breath. I had to focus.
“I’ve got questions,” I said. I figured why not try, to at least keep him talking.
“Sure, ask away, makes no difference now.”
“Who’s Lajos Antal?”
“As you figured out in your blog, he’s Allan Jatos. Like you, he enjoyed a good anagram.
He came up with the name when his first agent, Irene Skolnick, said she couldn’t sell the Hungarian name. Just wasn’t working, and as she pointed out, he was, after all, writing solid American tales.”
“Irene was his agent?” Good god, a small world moment. (Recall this post.)
“Is he dead?”
“Yep, dead and buried, just like you saw.” He sighed, “I told Katie not to do that damn gravestone. Just in case. And you, you idiot, turned out to be the case.” Aaron shook his head.”
Recall this post.
“Was he murdered?”
“Depends on how you look at it. He caught Covid in that first fatal wave in early 2020. But Katie chose not to do anything about it. She pretended to call his doctor, but never did. She just kept him in his bedroom. Guy couldn’t breath. It was ugly to watch. Let’s put it his way – he died of a combination of Covid and purposeful neglect.”
“I don’t get it. His wife, Katie, why?”
“She’s a great writer. Comes from nothing. A fucked up family. Got a job working for Irene then—”
“She worked for Irene?” Unbelievable. I suddenly had that image from all those years ago of Irene standing, after dinner in Tarrytown, in her underwear.
“Yep. That’s how Katie and Allan got to know each other, through Irene. Allan was much older and oh boy, Katie was as sexy back then as she is now. She didn’t have any money. He was nuts about her. He shared his writing with her, she edited it, perfected it. Marrying him could give her a life she wasn’t going to get otherwise. Lots of money, nice house. It worked. Though she never really loved him.”
“And you? When and how the hell did you show up?”
“Larry and I would go up to Tarrytown for drinks. Sometimes stay overnight. The four of us got to know each other well,” he smiled,” Katie and I very well.”
“But you and Larry were married. You did the lifelong vows thing. Till death do us part, blah, blah.”
“I was falling in love with Katie at the same time Larry was driving me nuts.
Larry and I had our tiny one room studio on 13th Street, just a block from his office and right next to the hospital emergency room on 7th and 13th.
The pandemic hit. Larry was on the phone in all these meetings. He never left the apartment. I overheard all his work calls. I saw his emails. I knew the players. I understood all the publishing lingo. Hell, I could finish his sentences. And to boot, our voices were similar.”
I saw where this was going. What was it that Teena said? Something like, “In this pandemic,, my co-workers could be dead for all I know. And it’s just their kids, parents, cat, or kidnapper on the other end using the keyboard.”
Aaron continued, “I could be Larry, and Katie could do Allan’s writing. Katie and I love each other. We didn’t need Allan. And with this stupid pandemic and everybody working from home, well, I could pretend to be Larry. Katie and I now get all the royalties. We have all of Allan’s money without the losers we were stuck with before.”
He paused. He seemed to reflect, pleased with what they had pulled off
“Do you mind,” I asked, pointing to my empty glass.
“Go ahead,” he kept the gun on me.
My hands shook. It was difficult to pour the gin and vermouth, but easy to shake the tumbler.
I sat back down. “So, what about Larry?”
“Our apartment had access to a small roof. I increasingly spent time up there, just to get away from Larry, just to get out of the one room we shared. It so happens that nobody can see that section of the roof. We used to sunbath up there, naked.”
I listened and sipped.
“During those early months of the Covid pandemic, I’d look over the roof’s railing, down to one of those refrigerated trucks in which they stored all the dead bodies.
There was a guard stationed at the truck. They’d roll out a body from the emergency room, the guard would look at paperwork, then the body went onto the truck.
When the guard wasn’t doing that, he was dealing drugs.”
“What?”
“Yep, the pandemic was tough on the street drug supply. Wherever those drugs come from, however they get to the buyers, that, like everything, was disrupted. People weren’t out on the streets.
But this guy guarding the dead bodies was. And I’d watch him from the roof. He did a lot of business.
He obviously wasn’t a good guy. One night I peeked over the other side of the roof’s railing. Down to the trash cans. And an idea started to form.”
Now I saw it. “You killed Larry? You pushed him off the roof. You paid off the corrupt guard. His body ended up on that truck. No paperwork, no identification.”
Aaron smiled. “Oh you are good! Nearly blog-worthy,” he laughed.
I continued, “You pretended to be Larry. Katie started to write the Allan Jacobs books. Both of you—”
“They’re good, right?” Aaron interrupted me, “you’ve read the last four? The ones Katie wrote.”
I had to admit the prick was right. I took a deep breath, “They’re good. Oh god, maybe even better.”
“It’s the editing,” Aaron burst out laughing.
I finished what I guessed was going to be my last martini. Ever.
“He continued, “Then you, fucking Brallier, had to do your cute little visit to Dorothy Parker’s grave and blab to the world about it.
You had to poke around.
You fucked up everything,” he did that awful smile again, “and now it’s time to fix everything.
Lajos Antal / Allan Jatos
Let’s go. Stand up. Your drink’s done. And I’m done talking.”
He pointed to the bookcase that was actually the door to the secret room. The room with the window. The window from which, as Randy had proven, a jump is fatal.
I hesitated. Would this jerk really shoot me? Right here? Had he really ever shot anybody? Does Aaron even know how to use that gun?
“I don’t think so,” I said, “This ends now.” I’m recalling classic TV shows and movies. I’ve been in this script. I looked Larry in the eyes, “It’s over Larry. You’re a better man than—”
His hand jerked to the right. BLAM! He shot the aquarium.
Glass shattered, water poured out, along with a few fish.
Holy shit! He’s not messing around.
Now the gun was pointed at my head, not my body.
“You’re next. I’ll blow apart your head. Move!”
I figured another minute or two is better than just one more second of life. Something might happen, Like a sudden earthquake.
I slid the hidden switch. The bookshelf turned. The hidden room was revealed. I walked in with Aaron behind me.
Tomorrow: to be continued