Free Always Say Goodbye: A Lew Fonesca Mystery by Stuart M. Kaminsky Page B

cup of coffee, his eyes moving from Lew to Milt to the front door of the deli behind the gray shadow where they sat.
    Lew, I—”
    “I know,” Lew said. “But things changed about an hour ago; a lawyer named Claude Santoro was found murdered in his office on LaSalle Street.”
    “Excuse me,” said Franco, getting up. “I’m going to the men’s.”
    When Franco was gone, Lew asked, “You’ve heard of Santoro ?”
    “Not a criminal defense lawyer far as I know,” said Milt. “Want me to check him out?”
    “Yes.”
    He took out his notebook and wrote.
    “Andrej Posnitki, Posno,” Lew said.
    Milt wrote and said, “Rings no bells. What else?”
    “John Pappas,” Lew said.
    “Maybe.”
    “He’s the son of Bernice Pappas, father of Dimitri Pappas and Stavros Pappas.”
    “Yep,” said Milt writing quickly, “I remember now. A noble family. The old woman, kids. Yeah, I remember John.”
    “See what you can find on all of them.”
    Holiger looked at his list and read: “Santoro, Posnitki, the Pappas clan. Anything else?”
    “Not for now,” Lew said.
    Holiger closed and pocketed his notebook as Franco came back and sat next to Lew.
    “I’d ask you to come to the house for dinner with me and Ruthie, or we could take you out someplace,” Milt said. “But I know better. If you decide down the line while you’re in town to take up the offer, you’ve got my number.”
    “Thanks, Milt,” Lew said.
    “No, Lewis, I mean it. Ruthie would like to see you.”
    “I’ll—” Lew began.
    Holiger held up a hand and said, “Whenever you’re ready.”
    He got up. So did Franco and Lew. Milt said, “Good to meet you, Franco. Take care of yourself, Lewis, and call me tonight about this.”
    He patted the pocket of his jacket where he had placed his notebook.
    “Now?” asked Franco when Milt was gone.
    “Uncle Tonio’s,” Lew said.
    “Right.”
    “You ever hear of Rebecca Strum?” Lew asked as they walked to the garage where Franco’s tow truck was parked.
    “Sure, yeah,” he said. “You kiddin’? Angie’s a reader, read all of her books. They’re lined up in the case in our bedroom, a couple in the built-in case in the dining room. Everybody knows Rebecca Strum.”
     
     
    John Pappas stood against the wall in the kitchen watching his mother lay out the ingredients for her famous Kibbeh Bissanieh , baked lamb and wheat. It was one of his favorites. He enjoyed the smells of the kitchen, the clanking of mixing bowels and wooden spoons, the sound of cracked wheat being crushed.
    His mother, wiping her hands on her apron, looked over her shoulder at Pappas for an instant smile and then went back to work. She sang a medley of random lines she remembered from almost forgotten songs.
    “‘Born free,’” she sang, “‘Free as a rainbow round my shoulder, free as that old devil moon in your eyes, free as the wind and the rain in your hair.’”
    Pappas plucked a pine nut from a small pile in his left palm and dropped it on his tongue.
    Stavros and Dimitri were born into the world of their father and their grandmother. Their mother had disappeared when Stavros was learning to talk and Dimitri learning to walk. Stavros remembered her as tall, thin, pale with red hair. Dimitri remembered her not at all. Her name was Irene and she was not to be spoken of. The few times the name Irene had come up—a television character, a waitress in a restaurant—John Pappas had looked at his sons, seeking a reaction. He got none.
    It was not a world they would have chosen, but they had accepted it without childhood whimper or teenage rebellion. This was a family in which nothing but complete loyalty would be tolerated.
    The brothers didn’t want to walk in their father’s shoes. They didn’t know what might be lurking in those shoes and they did not want to know.
    They did what they were told, what they had to do, to protect father, grandmother and each other. But in the end, Stavros and Dimitri, though they