“Be specific, Mr. Manley. How much stock?”

“Who knows from numbers. Ike said I would get a third of everything, but that’s been a third of nothing. And that was before the IRS started chewing on his butt.”

“Is the club liquid?”

“We got ourselves a liquor license, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“If you requested Mr. Rothstein to buy you out, could he accommodate you immediately?”

“Nah, the club ain’t got no cash flow. Truth be told, a club like that is worse than a boat. I thought the only thing swallowed more money than a vagina was a boat until I got involved with Rothstein and his club. But I never done it for the money, I only done it for the girls.”

“And how did that part work out for you, Mr. Manley?”

“Don’t answer that,” said John Sebastian.

“Not so good,” said Manley, ignoring his lawyer, as clients are wont to do. “A couple of hand jobs is all.”

“Keep quiet, Derek,” said Sebastian. “I object to the question. The purpose of this deposition is to search for assets, nothing more.”

“On advice of counsel,” said Manley, “I ain’t gonna say nothing more about the hand jobs. But is that what yous looking for, Victor? Would that make yous happy? He leaned forward, raised an eyebrow. “Ever see that Esmerelda down at the club? They call her the Brazilian Firecracker. That I can maybe set up, but the money, forget about it. By the way, I got regards from a mutual friend. Earl? Earl Dante? He said I wouldn’t have no trouble here. Sos I don’t understand why yous coming down so hard.”

“That was off the record,” said Sebastian.

“Like hell it was,” I said.

“Let’s go off the record and talk this through,” said Sebastian.

“Absolutely not. Keep typing, Mrs. Mumford. Your client just mentioned his connection to an alleged organized crime figure. I take his mentioning that connection as an implied threat and believe any such implied threat should be on the record.”

“Well, ain’t you the blue-nosed son of a bitch,” said Manley. “I was just passing on a hello.”

“And thank you for that,” I said. “Now, there’s a Cadillac registered in your name. Where is that located?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I lost it.”

“A black 2002 Eldorado? You misplaced it?”

“One day it’s there and then I can’t find it no more. The day before I lost my keys. The next day I lost my reading glasses. Funny, ain’t it?”

“I’m sure the judge will find it hysterical too. But you do own the Lincoln you drove up in today.”

“Well, that one, you can check the papers, it don’t belong to me. It belongs to my girlfriend.”

“What about the luxury apartment you live in on the waterfront?”

“My girlfriend’s.”

“And the time share in Florida?”

“Same.”

“This is the girlfriend who works as your secretary?”

“Office manager.”

“You must pay a hell of a wage.”

“Actually, the wage ain’t so much, really, but the benefits…” He waved his thumb at me.

“What about Penza Trucking?” I said. “You own that, don’t you?”

“Not really no more. It’s the bank what owns it now, with the thing mortgaged like it is up the wazoo. First Pennsylvania gave me this loan yous got without any security. Things was a little more flush then. They decided I was good for it. Too bad for them, huh?”

“Is there anything more?” said Sebastian. “It’s been four hours already. I think we’ve covered everything.”

Beth leaned toward the lawyer, opened her eyes wide, and said, “Are you sure you’re not the singer John Sebastian?”

“Positive,” he said.

“Woodstock?” she said. “The Lovin’ Spoonful? ‘Summer in the City’? Ring a bell?”

“Stop it now,” said John Sebastian.

I looked around. It was time. Manley was hot, his lawyer was bothered. The whole deposition had been leading to this moment. Sometimes you get right to the point, sometimes you dance around a bit, get everyone hot and bothered before you spring, with an innocent tone of voice, the crucial question. By then the guard is lowered, by then sometimes, against all odds and counter to all intentions, the truth slips out.

“All right, Mr. Manley,” I said. “Just one more topic. You started with Penza Trucking when?

“Geez, I was just a kid. Seventy-eight, seventy-nine.”

“And what was your position?”

“I drove. Penza, what owned the place, always hired young kids ’cause he could pay ’em squat.”

“So what was your pay?”

“I think the most it went up to was like six an hour.”

“And when did you become the owner?”

“A few years later. Penza was getting old, his daughter wanted nothing to do with the business. He was looking to get out.”

“And so you got in?”

“Yeah, imagine that. Like Horace the Algerian, it was.”

“Horatio Alger?”

“Who?”

“How much did you pay for the business?”

“Not much, really. It wasn’t worth much, the trucks was old, the accounts was small. He almost gave it away.”

“Fifty thousand dollars.”

“What?”

“Mr. Penza is living in Boca. He said he sold the company to you for fifty thousand dollars. Ten thousand down, the rest on a note.”

“How is the old guy?”

“Tanned.”

John Sebastian piped up, “Is this relevant?”

“Are you instructing him not to answer?” I said, my voice exploding in finely aged indignation. Sebastian’s head snapped back with such force that I wondered if it was my breath. “Because if you are, I’ll call the judge right now. I’ll get on the phone right now. I’m entitled to ask this.”

“You don’t have to go ballistic on me.”

“I’m entitled to ask this.”

“ ‘Do You Believe in Magic?’ ” said Beth.

“Excuse me?” said Sebastian.

“So the question I have, Mr. Manley,” I said, having set Manley’s lawyer back on his heels, “the question you need to answer here, is where did you get hold of the ten-thousand-dollar down payment you paid Mr. Penza?”

“I don’t know. I saved up.”

“On six dollars an hour?”

“Time and a half for overtime. And I was living at home.”

“But you weren’t a monk?”

“I had some times, sure.”

“And some girls?”

“What, are you kidding me?”

“I heard that your girlfriend at the time, who later became your first wife, was expensive. She liked nice clothes, jewelry.”

“Who told you that?”

“She did. I assume the bulk of the six an hour went to her.”

“Whatever you assume, you ain’t assuming the half of it.”

“So from where did the ten thousand come?”

“I don’t know. I did a guy a favor, maybe.”

“Who?”

“Just a guy what I knew.”

“Give me a name.”

“I don’t remember his name right off.”

“What kind of favor did you do for this friend?”

“Nothing. I don’t know. Let’s forget about it.”

“Where was this favor done?”

“I told you to forget about it.”

“I want to show you a picture. Let’s mark this as plaintiff’s nine for identification. It’s a photograph of three young boys, altar boys. Do you recognize the boy in the middle?”

“Is that me?”

“How old were you there?”

“Truth be told, I can’t ever remember being that young.”

“Who’s the boy on the left?”

“It was a long time ago.”

“It’s Joey Parma, Joey Cheaps, isn’t it?”

“Where’d you get this?”

“And it was Joey Parma with you that night at the waterfront?”

“What night?”

“The night with the moon shining overhead. The night where the two of you waited in the shadows to do that favor for your friend.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Who was the friend who asked for the favor?”

“I told you I don’t remember.” He lifted the pitcher, poured a shaky stream of water into a plastic cup, took a sip. “Is it getting hot in here?”

“You and Joey Cheaps, with a baseball bat, waiting in the shadows.”

“Never happened.”

“For the guy with the suitcase.”

Manley’s head tilted down, his eyes turned hard beneath his brow, his voice lowered into a growl. “Watch yourself, Victor.”