“What happened?” I asked as I rose to meet her.
“Just the usual,” she growled as she slammed some books down and kicked the leg of the chair.
“What?” I asked.
“Just that one commissioner, the one with the big grin and eight hands.”
“Yeah, I always have to walk way around him,” I said. “Look, I’ll take your place. I have a plan.”
“Really, Lane? I know some of the women think it’s just cute. But I don’t. I hate it. I’d really appreciate it. I just . . . don’t have the patience for him today.”
“You shouldn’t have to have the patience. Sheesh!” I said, slamming down my own pile of papers in righteous indignation. “Here, hand me the notebooks that need to be taken in.”
I got the notebooks and peeked in the meeting room to get the lay of the land. The men were not quite ready to begin and some were getting up and down, filling their coffee cups or chatting in small groups around the room. Perfect. The grinning schmuck was in the corner.
I walked in and started placing the notebooks around the large table, slowly making my way closer to the smirking target. I heard him mucking it up with another cohort. The other guy, to his credit, looked a little awkward as if the guy was being too loud. He’s such an ass. I was going to use the plan that I made in case I got groped in the subway. I only had to use it once before. Worked like a charm.
Just as I got near him, I felt him pat my fanny as he said, “Thanks, doll. Can you get me more—”
But his sentence was cut off nice and sharp. When he patted my posterior, I straightened up in mock surprise, yelling, “Hey!” and took a big step backward. Right into his insole. As if by accident. With my nice, pointy high heels.
He yelped and bent over in pain, holding his foot.
“Oh. Are you all right?”
“No! You stepped right on my foot!”
I looked around at all the men now gawking at both of us. “I did? So sorry,” I said, deadpan.
He straightened up. I smiled nicely and said, “That won’t happen again.” Then added, “Will it?”
He didn’t know what to do with that. He seemed a little dim; I hoped he realized that every time he touched my ass, I’d be stepping on him. The others were watching us with eagle eyes. The only other guy I stepped on happened to be in the room. I looked at him and he winced, obviously remembering. Two others fought a smile, taking big gulps of coffee, eyeing us over their cups.
Commissioner Eight Hands’s face turned even redder, his anger boiling over. “Look here, I don’t know who you think you are . . .”
Fio erupted into the room. Everyone snapped their attention to him.
“She’s my trusted aide, is who she is. Lane, give this message to Morris, this one to Carter—tell him to go to hell—and then see what he says, and I want you to write up a press release on that health care idea that we talked about yesterday. And I want that Pickering guy for the inspector of Hell’s Kitchen,” he declared, as he sat down at the head of the table.
My opponent had lost his grin as Fio had given me more responsibility than he was used to seeing given to a woman. Then, as Fio mentioned Pickering, the grinning, eight-handed commissioner made a fatal error.
“Pickering won’t do for that tough neighborhood. He’s too small,” he blurted out.
The room collectively took an audible gasp. Fiorello was only five-foot-two. But his manner made him feel like he towered over everyone. His size—not to mention Fiorello means “Little Flower” in Italian—was a thorn in his side. He had a bust of Napoleon in his office.
Fiorello leaped up, quickly gathering a head of steam. “What’s the matter with the little guy? What’s . . . THE MATTER . . . WITH . . . THE LITTLE GUY?”
Holy crap.
Later in the day, as all the ruckus died down, and I was certain the office women would not be having any more difficulties with our octopod commissioner, we got down to business. I finished my press release. I sent the messages and noted that when I told Carter that Fio said to go to hell, he laughed appreciably and said, “Okay. Okay. I’ll work on my proposal and resubmit it.” Fio had been delighted. He often tested his favorites. He liked to see what they were made of, and if they’d just quit or if they’d grow.
Fio peeked his head out of his office, and I noticed the tiger grinning at us. Fio yelled, “Come on! In my office, Lane. Get Roxy and Val, too. I have a plan.”
“Oh dear.”
“What was that?” he screeched.
“On my way! I’ll go get them.”
I went out to retrieve Val and Roxy and said, “Come on. Your presence has been requested with Hizzonner. He has a plan, he says.”
“Oh dear,” said Val.
“I know.”
We all trooped in, Roxy giving quizzical glances at my chair that I brought in with me.
We sat down and waited for Fio as he shuffled around papers and got himself together. Roxy and Val were crossing and uncrossing their legs trying to find a comfortable position that wouldn’t have them sliding off their chairs. I smiled serenely.
“First of all, the police confirmed that the prints on Hambro’s knife are not his. They had some smudges on them that were most likely his, but two clear prints that most certainly were not.”
“Great! Is that enough to clear him?” I asked.
“Well, let’s just say he’s pretty clear.”
I parried with a raised eyebrow and, “Is that the technical term?” “Heh heh. Yeah, he’s still in the middle of suspicious circumstances, so they’re still of course looking for him. But between no motive, the fact that there’s good evidence that he was an injured party at Lenox Hill Hospital, and that there are unknown prints on the weapon . . . he’s still a person of interest, but not the number one suspect.”
“Now we just have to find him,” said Val.
“And on that note . . . Gals? You’re going to the ball Saturday.”
“Saturday!” we all yelled.
Fio’s horrified look belied that he had been expecting us to jump up and down with glee. But women need to prepare for a ball. I was excited, but I didn’t have a full-length gown. With limited finances, that could take some ingenuity.
“What ball?” I asked.
“The Ball. Mrs. Rockefeller’s.”
The three of us looked at one another, quickly mentally trying to work out how we could get ball gowns and shoes immediately. The thrill of the potential of the night—the elegance, the dancing, the spectacle—started to dawn on us, making us giddy. Of course, sometimes these affairs were infinitely more attractive when you read about them in the magazines and papers. In real life, I’d heard that they could be stuffy, the journalists making the tantalizing glitz come alive. But this particular ball was a different story. It was the event of the year.
“So, Chief, what’s this plan?” I asked, catching a notable gleam in his eye.
“Well,” he began as we all sat forward, intent on his words. “I’ve heard some rumors of a meeting about to happen—an important meeting. VIPs coming into the city for a chat with movers and shakers, and none of them aboveboard movers and shakers. It’s actually supposed to be over a high-stakes poker game. But I find it interesting that the red envelopes have surfaced right when this secretive game is being organized. I heard that there’s some sort of ultimate gamble. It has to be connected to this case. I don’t believe in coincidences.
“I figure this ball will be a highway of information: lots of people, security going in, but once you’re there no one will be watching, people will be pairing up while dancing and mingling . . . I think it can’t hurt to have several of us there listening in on the goings-on. Are you three game? I trust you implicitly and because of the enormous publicity, it should be plenty safe.”
I’d heard that before. But this was a fantastic opportunity on several levels. Fio’s logic made sense and it sure couldn’t hurt to be picking up more information. Plus, I just wanted to go.
“I’m in,” said Roxy with a smirk.
“Me too!” said Val.
They looked at me. “Of course.”
Over lunch we talked about the ball; Roxy and I didn’t have a ball gown. Val surprisingly did, but was quiet about where she had gotten it. Other than that tiny respite, we worked hard and fast as we always did. With the president’s reelection complete, we now were focusing on Fiorello’s campaign for his election next fall. He had a sublime ally in FDR, but Fio’s Republican supporters weren’t as thrilled with that as he would have hoped. So, as he was accustomed, he walked a political tightrope.
Later in the day I received a call from Finn, asking me to meet him in Bryant Park after work. I couldn’t tell if we were going there on business or on a date. Either way, though, I was pleased to meet up with him. We walked through these funny worlds together. It was so strange to have something fantastic happen, like all the incredible events in Rochester, then go right back to everyday life.
Then again, my everyday life tended toward the spectacular these days. Things were really starting to pick up with the case. We needed to find Mr. Hambro and Marty’s killer, and we still had a lot of loose ends to tie up with this heir of Rex Ruby’s. It had to be Tucker or Donagan. I hoped Fio’s plan would dig up the information we needed before this high-stakes poker game happened—before anyone else got hurt. Or worse.
CHAPTER 44
That evening, I decided to head to Bryant Park right from the office. I still had a tail, and I was still quite happy to have one. I waved at Scott, the policeman, as I walked down the steps of City Hall. I took my usual subway route, but as frequently happens, I must have taken an exit and stairway that I never used before and I popped out of the subway at a completely different block than I usually did. It was along 42nd behind the monumental public library overlooking Bryant Park like a gentle giant.
The scene before me was absolutely breathtaking. I stood there for quite some time, looking up and around in complete awe. It was an incredible moment that I happened to stumble upon. In New York there could be magic and mystery just around the corner at any given moment, and I loved the possibility. I looked around and wondered who else felt this way. Did they see, really see it? I paused to enjoy it and soak it in.
The trees in the park had surprisingly kept their leaves much longer than the rest of the trees in the city. And the ice skating rink had begun its open season. The white light that reflected off the rink illuminated the surprisingly still-green leaves of the park from underneath, creating a lacy, delicate, light green canopy. Above and behind the trees were the tall skyscrapers encircling the park with their windows aglow like glittering mountains. Music from the rink soared into the air. The fountain remained on, surprisingly, and was even more beautiful as its spray froze around the base creating diamonds of ice. I walked over toward the outdoor restaurants that I had fully figured to be closed, but the beer garden was open. The restaurant had placed several fire pits around where people were roasting chestnuts and occasionally a marshmallow while enjoying mugs of frothy beer. Over to the right, Finn was smiling at me from a bench by a fire. He never ceased to send a thrill right through me when I caught those dark eyes searching for me.
I walked over and sat down next to him on the bench, still looking around, spotting the quaint carousel lit up with its own twinkling lights and colors.
“Hi, love, you look rather stunned.”
“I am. I guess I’ve never been here at night in December.”
“It’s incredible, isn’t it?”
“You could say that again.”
“Here you go.” He handed me a foamy beer and despite the chilly air, it tasted perfect.
“Thanks, Finn, wonderful. So, what made you pick this enchanting spot?”
“Oh, I was walking around town last night and happened upon it. Couldn’t believe my eyes. I figured you’d like it.”
I smiled and said, “I do.”
We talked a little about the ball coming up. He told me that he had Miles working on the case, too, and that he was going to arrive in New York by the weekend. Finn had him trying a different approach than we could at the ball, another avenue to find the necessary information about this high-stakes game.
“So what’s he doing exactly?”
“Oh, it’s too good to tell. I’ll let him reveal it to you himself when he gets here.”
I happily took a drink of the frothy beer. The firelight was glowing, the fairy lights strung about were shimmering, the general noise of people meeting, talking, and laughing made it all very festive.
I took a close look at Finn. It looked like something was on his mind, probably many things . . . “Got a lot on your mind, Finn?”
He breathed out a sigh. “Oh yeah, I do. You know, I loved having you all to myself in Rochester.”
“Those were the best nights of my life, Finn. So far,” I said with a grin.
He put his beer down on the table next to him, the firelight flickering on his earnest features. I looked at his neck, his jawline, his lips. He took his fingertips and touched my cheek and chin, then twirled a curl of my hair around his middle finger. I leaned into his kiss. Then we chatted about the day, about being tossed right back into our regular routine. He’d heard about the findings concerning Hambro and the prints. I also told him about my interaction with the handsy commissioner and it had him chuckling. Before long we were interrupted.
“Heh hem,” came a voice from directly behind Finn.
Finn looked up at a deliveryman holding a large package, his face hidden from mine between his hat coming down on his face and the box in his arms. He whispered urgently, “You two better get going. You’re being followed.” Then he left rapidly, melting quickly into the crowd.
Finn and I darted our eyes to each other, clasped our hands, and got up to walk away. We tried to look natural while making quick progress to one of the exits of the park, near the Bryant Park Hotel. We passed the carousel and walked around it, its tinkling circus music a contradictory tone to our distressing predicament. We got to 40th and turned east toward busy Fifth Avenue and picked up the pace.
I took a quick look behind and saw two men most certainly in pursuit. They weren’t running, but they had the piercing look in their eyes of predators on the hunt. I fought the urge to flee, knowing that if we decided to run, they would, too.
“Two behind us,” I said quietly.
“Yep. Here, follow me closely,” he said in a low voice, hardening the grip he had on my hand.
Just as we got to the very front edge of the library, he pulled me quickly to the left and shockingly boosted me up and on top of the four-foot cement step that led along the front of the library. He jumped up and we ran between the bushes and the building itself. It was dark and hidden, the two men surely saw us go left, but it would be hard to distinguish our forms. We walked stealthily, trying not to brush the bushes and making them rustle, giving us away. We got to the front steps and slid ourselves up onto them, staying close to the ground. In a dress, this wasn’t the easiest thing in the world, but manageable. We stood up slowly in the shadows, moving backward into the even darker recesses of the front entrance, closed up for the night.
We stood silently side by side. And then we heard them. They found us.
The two men came up the steps, the clip of their heels bouncing around and echoing in the vaulted entry.
A deep, stern voice said, “We know you’re there. Come out.”
I felt Finn move his arm back behind him in an automatic check to see if his gun was in place. The two men came into the dim light of one of the lamps. I looked at Finn and was shocked to see his smiling countenance.
“Gentlemen,” he said affably. “I don’t think you want to take another step closer.”
“Oh really? I think we do,” said the slightly taller one on the left. I couldn’t make out his face too well, and I hadn’t recognized his voice. “You, Missy, have something we want and we aim to get it.”
The shorter one’s head pulled back a bit and he said, “Who’s Tucker?” He didn’t seem bright enough to fabricate that kind of genuine response. Okay. Not Tucker. Was that good or bad?
I stole another look at the smiling Finn and said exasperatedly, “What? You’re enjoying this?”
“Oh yeah.” Oh brother.
From the fact that Finn was obviously taking pleasure in this and from his confident remark, both men took a step backward, having bet on a much more compliant prey.
The taller one braced himself and the shorter one decided to just plain take off running. My head was spinning at the quick turn of events. The big guy took a swing at Finn and was so slow that Finn had time to duck and get in two punches before the guy had a chance to reevaluate. He swung around and landed one punch to Finn, which made my stomach clench, but Finn took it and gave it back. Then suddenly he was behind the guy, shoving him to the ground with the guy’s arm pinned behind his back.
Finn was slightly panting with the exertion and the look of having fun was still etched on his face. I rolled my eyes.
“How ’bout you tell us what you’re after?” said Finn, his Irish brogue nice and clear.
With some “convincing,” the guy said with a muffled voice close to the ground, “I don’t really know what it means. They just said that you would have it with you, that it was some kind of chess piece, and that it was valuable to them.”
“Them?” asked Finn.
“Well, really it’s a her. But I know she doesn’t work alone.”
“Who is she?” I asked with disgust, already knowing.
“Lady Red.”
“Eliza?”
“Yeah.”
CHAPTER 45
“. . . but in the law of God, there is no statute of limitations. Ay, it must be that; the ghost of some old sin, the cancer of some concealed disgrace: punishment coming, years after memory has forgotten and self-love condoned the fault.”
The Gold Pawn Page 25
