Ninety-Seven Jimmy

NINETY-SEVEN

Jimmy

THOMAS MCKENZIE LIVES ON Lily Pond Lane in East Hampton. The father has more ocean frontage than the son. And his place is much, much bigger.

Jimmy decides to just show up, not give him the same courtesy of calling ahead he gave to Chief Paul Harrington.

What's McKenzie going to do, kick him out of his fund?

A tall redhead in a white bikini that covers so little of her that Jimmy wonders what the point is of wearing it answers the door. Jimmy could never guess in a million years what brand the bikini is, or how much that little swatch of material costs. But her body, as Mickey Dunne used to say, is by God.

She's very young. Too young? Jimmy's not sure what that even means anymore.

He flashes the badge he keeps in his glove compartment, one out of his endless collection of badges. Never leave home without at least one.

"Tommy," she calls over her shoulder. "There's a policeman here to see you."

"Don't worry, kid," Jimmy tells her. "If you're carrying a fake ID, I don't want to know where you keep it."

Maybe all these rich old bastards like them young. Rob Jacobson's father did, when he was a lot younger than McKenzie is now.

McKenzie appears a minute later. He's wearing cargo shorts and a faded polo shirt of indeterminate color and is holding what appears to be a five-o'clock-somewhere margarita. He hands his glass to the girl and pats her on the ass as she walks past.

"Relax, Chelsea," McKenzie says. "Not only isn't he a real cop, he doesn't even play one on television."

"Whatever," she says.

"Why don't you go take a dip?"

"I just got out."

"Get back in and I'll be there in time to watch you get back out."

She walks away. McKenzie watches her go. So does Jimmy. And has to admit. It really is some ass.

"Not going to ask me in?" Jimmy asks McKenzie.

"No."

"Curious about why I'm here?"

"Not even a little bit."

Jimmy plows ahead.

"I realized I've got a few more questions about you and the late Anthony Licata. And the late Robinson Jacobson."

"And that, Mr. Cunniff, is your problem. I've already given you more of my time than you deserve. And said more to you than I should have in the first place."

Behind him, Jimmy sees Chelsea dive into the pool. He feels a little sad, knowing he won't get the chance to watch her get out of the pool.

McKenzie starts to shut the door.

Jimmy holds it open with his hand.

"What I'm starting to wonder is just how many clients like you Licata and his partner used to have. And just how big a business it was for them."

McKenzie pushes his sunglasses to the end of his nose, so Jimmy can see his eyes. They're blue, but not much more than the color of spit.

"I told you at my office. My business relationship with Mr. Licata ended a long time ago."

"But what if it didn't?" Jimmy says.

His hand is still on the door.

"What if it just went on and on and on, every time you had a problem with your son you dialed him up? 1-800-ANTHONY. Or maybe it was a problem of your own, maybe with one of your Chelseas?"

McKenzie smiles now. It's not much more than a twitch of his thin lips.

"You really have no clue about what you've gotten yourself into," he says. "Do you?"

"Wouldn't be the first time."

"You're out of your depth, and so is the lawyer lady," McKenzie says. "Do you know what can happen to people like that, whether I once had a business relationship with them or not?"

"Help me out."

"Sometimes they end up at the bottom of the ocean."

McKenzie pushes his sunglasses back up his nose. He could as easily have been talking about getting himself another drink. Or another girl. The threat came out of him that casually.

"One last thing before I go."

"Before I call the real police and tell them you're harassing me?"

"What if your son not keeping it in his pants is an inherited trait?"

Then Jimmy lets McKenzie slam the door.