Thirty-Four Jimmy

THIRTY-FOUR

Jimmy

DANNY ESPOSITO, THE STATE cop who annoyed Jane in almost record time at the murder scene, takes a seat next to Jimmy at his bar.

"I feel as if maybe we got off on the wrong foot," Esposito says.

"No wonder you made detective as fast as you did."

Esposito tells Kenny the bartender that he'll have what Jimmy is having. Kenny walks over with a Montauk Ale for Esposito and places it in front of him.

"Cheers," Esposito says, raising his glass.

Jimmy leaves his glass where it is.

"What do you want?" Jimmy asks. "You can buy a beer anywhere between your headquarters and here."

"I think there's a chance here that we can help each other out on the Parsons thing. You know the lay of the land out here a hell of a lot better than I do."

"True," Jimmy says. "So we've established I have something you want. The problem is that you have nothing I want."

"You sure about that?"

He's out of his hip-cop look tonight. Black sweater. Jeans. The chin stubble looks exactly the same, but Esposito appears to have checked at least some of his attitude at the door. Maybe all. It occurs to Jimmy it might be one more pose because he does want something.

"My partner took an almost instant dislike to you," Jimmy tells him.

"Gotta admit," he says, grinning, "it'll only get worse once she gets to know me better."

Behind them is a big round table filled with cops, East Hampton cops tonight. But then there are almost always cops in here, from East or the Sag Harbor station just up the block. It was always one of Jimmy's goals, turning this into the East End version of one of his old NYPD bars in the city. Even when some of the local cops were royally pissed at Jimmy during the first Jacobson trial, they kept coming in, as much as they wanted Jacobson to get his ticket punched for murdering the Gates family.

Esposito turns and gives the cops a thumbs-up.

"Listen, we both know you wouldn't be here if you didn't have something you at least think I might want," Jimmy says. "If it's any good, I might buy you that beer in front of you."

"Are you trying to bribe an officer of the law?"

"Absolutely."

Esposito moves his chair closer and leans in. "It's about the dead woman's husband."

"Ah," Jimmy says. "Mr. Carl Parsons himself. Richer than shit, which means he fit right in out here. What about him?"

"Carl liked to gamble, as it turns out. Like maybe it was the only thing that got his motor running at the end."

"And I'm sure it was legal, him being a pillar of the community and all."

"No, sir, it was not."

Esposito is now wearing a truly world-class shit-eating grin.

"Seriously, it probably was the only fun the old bastard was getting at the end, because from what I gather he sure wasn't getting any from Elise. She was too busy screwing her way all the way to Montauk and back. But if it was on television, and just about every game is these days including cricket, old Carl had some action going. You should see his old-man cave at the house, which Elise looks to have left in place as some kind of shrine, maybe to remember the only room in the house where Gramps was happy. Six flat screens. I wanted to freaking move in myself."

"You gonna get to where you're going while your beer is still cold?"

"I drove all the way out here. Let me tell it my way."

According to Esposito, Parsons's gambling only turned up because his name turned up in another Suffolk County investigation. "You can't turn on the television these days," he points out, "and not be bombarded with commercials about that DraftKings shit."

"I actually found myself wondering, all this time after Parsons kicked," Esposito continues, "if Elise might have put a pillow over his head before he blew any more of what she stood to inherit."

"So he was betting big."

"To the end, and with both hands," Esposito says. "But that's only partly what I drove out to tell you."

"You may have noticed, and maybe against all odds, that you now have my undivided attention."

"The name Artie Shore ring a bell?"

Hank Carson's bookie. Lieutenant in Bobby Salvatore's operation. As in mob operation. The same Artie Shore who shot himself in Garden City after Jimmy and Jane first started looking into the murders of Hank Carson and his wife and daughter. Shot himself with Jimmy on the other side of his door, trying to get inside. Artie died knowing things Jimmy wanted to know.

"You know I know who Artie Shore is."

"What you don't know is that Artie was Carl Parsons's bookie, too."

"Which means that old man Parsons was doing business with the mob, too," Jimmy says.

"Small world, isn't it?" Esposito says.

Jimmy tells Esposito that his beer is most definitely on the house now, as he finally does get around to clinking his glass against Danny Esposito's.

Finally, and with a flourish, Esposito takes a folded-up piece of paper out of his wallet and smooths it out on the bar in front of Jimmy.

"What's this?"

"This, my friend, is Artie's old client list," Esposito says. "Or at least as much of it as we could put together after the fact."

There's one other name on it besides Carl Parsons that Jimmy recognizes.

Jumps right off the page, like they say.

Edmund McKenzie.