Page 57 of Meet Jon, the Billionaire

He unbent as much as he could from the seat, his posture still stooped even when standing. He motioned for me to follow him, and we walked about all of five feet away.

I glanced at his fellows quizzically, and he shrugged.

“None of those fuckers can hear worth a shit anyway. Now, what do you want? Money? I already ate the croissants and donuts I got in exchange for my silence. I guess I can buy you some, if you want—”

“You were paid in donuts?” I gasped.

“Yeah… it was never about the money. I just didn’t want that sweet widow to lose her business because a couple of rats from the tenement next door gnawed their way through the basement floorboards.”

“I don’t suppose you told the reporter this little caveat?”

He frowned. “I never spoke to a reporter. It was a woman, only she was dressed like a man. Or a pimp from the future, I’m not sure which.”

“How did she get you to come clean? How did she even find you?”

“I only told a handful of people about the bribe… I’m not sure how, frankly, since most of them are dead or so senile they couldn’t remember such trivia.”

My eyes narrowed. “This strangely dressed woman, did she have a name?”

“Yeah. Here.” He reached into his back pocket, very slowly, and dug out his wallet. His liver-spotted arms trembled with the effort of laying it open. He extracted a small purple business card and handed it over. “This is her card.”

I stared at the card. Purple background, silver lettering that readJack Palance, Freelancer.

“What kind of freelancing?” I frowned, turning the card over, but there was nothing more than a cell number.

“I don’t know, but I think I know where she hangs out. Around the Golden Apple comics shop. I remember seeing that coat. At least, I think it was the same coat…”

It wasn’t much to go on, but at least I had a number. The name had to be a gag, a riff on the deceased actor. I decided that before I called, I would try the comics shop just to see. After all, I didn't want to warn my quarry that I was hunting for it.

I hate driving in downtown traffic, so I hopped a bus and slowly crawled my way across town. When I reached the Golden Apple shop, I spotted a woman in a loud purple coat chatting with a man who had antennas in his hair at one of the coffee lounge tables.

I stepped up to her. “Jack Palance, I assume?”

She glanced up, diamond filling fading from view as her smile waned. “Who wants to know?”

“The manager of the bakery you just smeared in a hit piece.”

She arched a brow at me. The young man looked uncomfortable and confused.

“Yeah, what of it? Nothing I did was illegal.”

“No, just unethical.”

“Hey, your aunt’s the unethical one.”

I gasped, and she grinned.

“Yeah, I know all about you. Amelia Faulkner, former Wall Street mover and shaker, current manager of a two-bit Greenwich bakery.” Then she laughed, though I didn’t feel much relief. “I’m just messing with you, sweetheart. I tried to dig up dirt on you, but you’re squeaky clean.”

“I suppose I should take that as a compliment,” I grumbled.

“It was meant as such.”

“When you leaked the story to the press, did you mention HOW the inspector was paid off?”

She looked a bit sheepish. “I’m not sure if I mentioned that or not…”

Jack couldn’t even look me in the eye.

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