Free Long Island Noir by Kaylie Jones Page A

for. I learned a long time ago that favors never turn out to be favors. They turn out to be work. For work, I get paid. And I doubt that’s going to happen with you. How much have you brought in since you got disbarred?”
    “That’s personal.”
    “I rest my case.”
    “Hey, I’m no deadbeat. You wanna get paid, I’ll see to it you get paid.” He pulled a wad of money out of his pocket and waved it in my face.
    “What’d you do, mug an old lady for her life’s savings?”
    “Very funny. You may not believe this, Swann, but I provide valuable services to people and for those services I get paid.”
    “What kind of services?”
    “They vary. I may not be able to practice law anymore, but I know how the law works. I’m a consultant. I’m a facilitator. I get things done.”
    “I’m sure you do. How do I fit in?”
    “I want you to pick up a package for me.”
    “Do I look like the FedEx guy? I’m a skip tracer. I find people. I don’t make deliveries.”
    “FedEx don’t pick up packages where I need them to.”
    “Where’s that?”
    “Long Beach.”
    “As in California?”
    “As in Long Island.”
    “I’m pretty sure FedEx services Long Beach.”
    “Not when and where I want them to. You familiar with the town?”
    “Yeah. My father grew up there. He’d take us back there to visit my grandmother and grandfather. It used to be a dump, now it’s a poor man’s Hamptons, overrun with weekenders and religious Jews.”
    He slapped the table. “I knew you were the man for me.”
    “Not so fast, Goldblatt. Truth is, it turns my stomach to go out there. I’m not a man who likes change. No more family to visit …”
    “Do I detect the beating of a heart, Swann?”
    “Not unless you’ve got a stethoscope hidden under the napkin covering that belly of yours. I need to know what I’m getting into and for how much.”
    “What’s the difference? You take the train out there, because I know you don’t have a car …”
    “… and you’re not about to spring for a rental.”
    “You pick up the package, you take the train back and give it to me. Simple as that.”
    “Do you think I’m stupid?”
    “Why would I think that?”
    “Because you didn’t think I’d ask why you can’t do it? A man like you, Goldblatt, four years of college, three years of law school, knows how to figure out a train schedule.”
    “There are reasons.”
    “Give ’em to me,” I said, knowing that whatever he said would be a lie or at the very least a souped-up version of the truth. Goldblatt was an operator. And he knew that I knew he was an operator.
    “I got a bad knee. You saw me limp in here.”
    “That’s not enough.”
    “Okay, I’ve got a little problem with some people who live in Long Beach, so if I show my face out there I might find myself in a little trouble.”
    “That’s almost believable, so you know what, I’m not even going to ask what kind of trouble, because I don’t give a shit. What’s in the package?”
    “That’s confidential.”
    “Find someone else to be your errand boy,” I said, as I pushed myself away from the table and stood up.
    “Wait. What about dessert?”
    I had to smile. There was no way to deal with Goldblatt other than to treat him as a joke. But he was a friend. The kind of friend you can’t trust but you know it so you still make like he’s a friend. So I sat back down.
    “You think you can stuff dessert into that fat gut of yours after what you just ate?”
    “I left some room,” he said, patting his stomach which seemed to have expanded at least a couple of inches from when we walked into the joint.
    “Jesus, Goldblatt, you never cease to amaze me.”
    “Stick around, Swann, there’s more where that came from.”
    He couldn’t make up his mind between the apple pie and the chocolate cake, so he ordered both. Me, I had nothing. Trying to watch my weight while Goldblatt increased his.
    The deal was simple, or so he said. The next night, I’d go out