Milo sipped his beer. “What about Crimmins? Derrick Crimmins. He might have come in with a woman, younger, long blond hair.”
” ‘Might,’ ‘maybe’-this is still about Richard?”
“Maybe,” said Milo.
“Sorry, no Crimmins either, but people come in without reservations, we don’t know their names.”
“We’re talking eight, nine months ago. Would you remember every name-even with an excellent memory?”
Lew looked hurt. “You want me to check the reservation books, I’m happy to do it, but I can tell you right now, weird names like that I’d definitely remember.” He closed his eyes. “Tall and skinny, huh? Richard’s customer?”
“Could be.”
“I am thinking of one guy, never gave me a name, just waltzed in expecting to be seated-but no girl, just him. I remember him clearly because he caused problems.
Monopolized Richard’s time to the point where the other customers weren’t getting their food. They start complaining to the bus-boys, the busboys gripe to me, I have
to deal with it. Another reason I remember was it was the only time I had any kind of problem with Richard. Not that he gave me any lip-it wasn’t his problem, it was the guy’s, just kept gabbing to Richard and Richard didn’t know what to do. He’d just been working here for a few weeks. We drum into ’em, The customer’s always right, so this musta put Richard in a situation, know what I mean? So I have to deal with it, doing my best to be polite, but the guy is not polite about it. Gives me the look, like who am I to tell him, know what I mean?”
“Did Richard say what the guy was talking to him about?”
“No, but the guy did. Something like, ‘Hey, I could be his meal ticket, you think he wants to work here for the rest of his life?’ Richard’s off at another table, looking at me out of the corner of his eye, letting me know this isn’t his idea. I offered the guy some comp wine, but he just said something nasty, threw down money, and left. Barely covered the check, not much left over for Richard. Caesar salad, veal parmigiana, German chocolate cake.”
“So tell me,” said Milo, “what song was the piano playing?”
Lew grinned. “Probably ‘You Talk Too Much.’ ” He shrugged. “I’m just lucky, always had a memory, never bother with that elderberry stuff, Ginkgo biloba, any a that.
Tell the truth, sometimes it’s not fun. I got two ex-wives I wouldn’t mind forgetting.” His laugh was phlegmy. “You got pictures of this Wark guy, I can tell you right away if it’s the same one.”
“Not yet,” said Milo. “Can you describe him?”
“Six-two, maybe -three, skinny, those all-black clothes like they do now, the so-calleds. My day, that was going to a funeral.”
“Hair?”
“Long, dark. Not curly, though. Straight down-like a wig. Come to think of it, it probably was a wig. Big nose, little eyes, skinny little mouth. Not a good-looking guy. Hungry like, know what I mean? And tan-like he baked himself under a lamp.”
“How many times did he come in here?”
“Just that once. One thing that might help, I saw his car. Corvette. Not a new one-the style with the big swoop in front? Bright yellow. Like a taxicab. I saw it because after he left, I cracked the door, made sure he was really leaving. You’re saying he had something to do with Richard getting killed? Sonofabiteh.”
“Don’t know,” said Milo, finishing his drink. “You’ve been very helpful. I appreciate it. Is there anyone else working tonight who might remember the guy?”
Lew ran his finger around his wineglass. The sauterne was brassy gold. He hadn’t touched it. “Maybe Angelo-I’ll check. Want a refill?”
“No, thanks. You didn’t happen to get a look at the Corvette’s license plate? Even a few numbers.”
“Ha,” said the maitre d’. “You’re one a those cockeyed optimists, huh? Like in the song-think I’ll go tell Doris to play that.”
25.
ANGELO WAS A short, bald waiter of the same vintage as Lew, rushing flush-faced between two large tables. When the maitre d’ beckoned him away, his frown turned a pencil mustache into an inverted V and he approached us, muttering under his breath.