Private

Chapter 19

 

 

 

 

 

I SHOOK HANDS with the men coming through the door and offered them seats.

 

Attorney Ed Ferrara was wearing a dark three-piece suit. His associate, John Reilly, wore black jeans and a black cashmere sweater. Reilly searched my office with his eyes, checking for hidden cameras in the bookshelves. I don’t think he spotted them.

 

Ferrara said, “It’s nice to meet you, Jack. You come highly recommended by several sources.”

 

“Always good to hear,” I said. “How can I help you?”

 

Reilly dug into a pocket and pulled out a photograph of a very pretty blond woman in her early twenties. I thought I recognized her, Elizabeth something, an actress. I’d seen her on Craig Ferguson once or twice.

 

“This is a picture of Beth Anderson. She’s a film actress,” Ferrara said, “and she’s also Mr. Noccia’s good friend.”

 

Ray Noccia was at least seventy years old. After waiting for two generations, he had just taken over the top job from his uncle Antonio, deceased. And he was “good friends” with twenty-something Beth Anderson.

 

Reilly was saying, “Beth hasn’t been seen in a week. She doesn’t return Mr. Noccia’s calls. He wants to make sure nothing untoward happened to her.”

 

“Sounds like a job for LAPD,” I said. “You should give them a shout. I highly recommend them.”

 

Ferrara smiled and said, “We want to keep this quiet. We don’t want publicity that could hurt Beth’s career. Which brings us to you, Jack. We’d like a quote with a ceiling.”

 

I wondered if Beth Anderson had left town or if she was dead. Either way, I didn’t want Noccia’s business at Private.

 

“Sorry, I don’t do quotes,” I said. “I don’t do ceilings either. And I don’t do business with the Mob.”

 

There was a moment of thick silence, then Reilly and Ferrara got to their feet as one.

 

“You’re doing Andy Cushman,” said Ferrara. “And if I’m any judge of degenerate womanizers, you’re doing the little piece of Killarney sitting outside your office too.”

 

Reilly paused on the threshold to launch his parting shot. “And let’s not forget your father was doing life for murder when he passed. You’ve got a lot of nerve, Jack-off.”

 

I guess I did, but that was part of the reason Private was doing so well.

 

 

 

 

 

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