Two Jakes Read Online Free Page B

Two Jakes
Book: Two Jakes Read Online Free
Author: Lawrence de Maria
Tags: Fiction, thriller, Mystery, Retail
Pages:
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As to the value of the marred set? Scarne
suspected that with more and more books being digitalized, even a slightly
wounded Marlborough might command six figures in the near future.
    On
top of the bookcase was a silver Tiffany frame with a black-and-white photo of
Capitano di vascello Giacomo Scarne resplendent in his Italian naval dress
uniform. Next to that was a crystal frame containing a color photo of Scarne’s
parents flanking his grandmother, all on horseback. Scarne’s gaze lingered on
the faces of the young couple. What little recollection he had of them melded into
a kaleidoscope of discordant impressions: fire, cold, utter silence, urgent
shouts, men on snowshoes. Scarne could see his reflection in the glass covering
the photo. Given the diverse gene pool from which he’d sprung, he was not
surprised he looked so little like his parents. Save two features: the obsidian
eyes and high cheekbones of his half-Cheyenne mother.
    The
phone rang, dissolving the half-formed memories. It was Tierney. After thanking
him, Scarne asked the lawyer if he knew what Shields needed.
    “Haven’t
the foggiest, Jake. He wouldn’t tell me. Hardly know the man. He apparently got
wind of the Barnes thing at the club. He bought me a drink and I told him you
were somewhat useful.”
    ***
    The
“Barnes thing” hadn’t started out promising. Tierney’s firm was outside counsel
for a large Wall Street brokerage house fighting an age discrimination suit.
The broker was awash in securities violations and its regular lawyers had their
hands full. The suit was small change. Tierney knew no one would second-guess a
fast settlement. But he smelled a rat.
    “Jake,
this guy applies for a job as a ‘wealth consultant,’ whatever the hell that is,
and gets turned down by a branch manager who sends him an email saying the
company was looking for someone younger and with more zest.”
    “More
zest?”
    “Yeah.
Talk about a million dollar word. Who the hell writes an email like that today?
My five-year-old grandson knows better. Anyway, the guy sues post haste. You’ll
love this; he also claims that the manager is a homophobe.”
    “He’s
gay?”
    “And
over 60. Thank God he’s not a transvestite. That would be a hat trick. As it
is, it’s a slam dunk before any jury in this city. Hell, I’d find for the guy.”
    “What’s
the problem? Your client has deep pockets and certainly doesn’t need any more bad
press.”
    “That’s
what bothers me. They’re just too easy a target. Something stinks. Do me a
favor; take a run at the guy. I know it’s a long shot. Can’t keep you on it
long. Two weeks, max. My client wants to settle before the rags get it.”
    Scarne
thought about a lucrative month-long personal security assignment for a
visiting rock star he would have to forego.
    Tierney,
who missed nothing, said, “If you can’t, don’t sweat it.”
    “Don’t
be an ass, Donald.”
    “Sorry,
it won’t be much of a payday, Jake.”
    Tierney
wasn’t wrong about many things, but he was wrong about that.
    Jackson
Barnes had recently moved to New York from San Francisco. Unemployed, he and a
roommate shared a one-bedroom in Greenwich Village. Scarne tailed him to
Rugby’s, a Village hangout. He confirmed that the man was voraciously gay. No
great detective work was involved. Barnes propositioned him. Scarne demurred,
hoping he wouldn’t be sued for bar-pickup discrimination. But Barnes was
actually a pleasant fellow, and kept talking to Scarne. After they got past the
normal prattle about the Knicks, he brought up his case. Scarne clucked
sympathetically and kept buying drinks to loosen the man’s tongue. All he
managed to do was get more people involved in the conversation. By the time he
left, he was out a hundred bucks and half the bar was telling Barnes to “sock
it to those corporate cocksuckers.”
    He
next concentrated on the roomie, Byron Taliger, who had moved from San
Francisco with Barnes and was also unemployed.

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