Barak picked up the photograph and smiled.
“Thank you,” he said. “They are my world. Everything is for them.” He replaced the photograph on his desk. “So, I ask again. How can I help you?”
“It’s about my friend Danny Reno.”
“Ah yes. The elusive Mr. Reno. So, you represent him?”
“Yes.”
He nodded. “It’s good to have friends,” Barak said.
“What will it take to square things?”
“A great deal of money, I’m afraid. With interest compounding at a rather alarming rate, Mr. Reno’s debt to me is approaching a million dollars. Very serious money, Mr. Steeg.”
“We both know that Reno doesn’t have that kind of money.”
“Does one truly know what is cooking in another’s pot? I’m a businessman, Mr. Steeg. Nothing more. And Mr. Reno is a businessman. He understood the risks when he approached me.”
“So, you both lost. It happens.”
“Without question. But I relied on his guarantees. And now”—he shrugged—“I find that his assurances were worthless. I have no recourse to the courts, and to be seen as weak by my competitors is fatal. Your friend has left me with no choice.”
“Look, there’s got to be a way to work this out,” I said. “Reasonable people can reach reasonable outcomes.”
His lips curled into a smile. “I’m listening,” he said.
I glanced over at Kenny Apple, hoping for a glimmer of a suggestion, or at least some inspiration, but he just sat there looking impassive.
“Let me think about it a bit, and speak to Reno,” I said. “Maybe we can come up with something.”
“Of course. Take all the time you need. But not too much. Unlike God, my patience is limited. And while you are thinking, I will continue to look for Mr. Reno and his associates. If I happen to find him, I will kill him and those who help him hide from me, in ways that will serve as an object lesson to those who even consider fucking with me.”
“Are you threatening me?”
His lips stretched over his teeth in what passed for a smile. “In my business there are only facts.”
CHAPTER
17
That went well,” Kenny said. “I don’t know about you, but I nearly soiled myself.”
We were on the train heading back to Manhattan.
“Barak is a very serious guy,” I said.
“You think? Any ideas?”
“Yeah. Danny had better find a new place to live, pronto.”
“Did you catch Barak’s suggestion that Reno might have some money stashed away?”
“Hard to miss.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Kenny said.
“Me either. This whole thing is an infinity of scams. Have a chance to go through Torricelli’s files yet?”
“I just started.”
“Anything look promising?”
“You know, hanging around with you is turning into a job. When I have something, I’ll let you know.”
“Fair enough.”
“Do you have any thoughts on who might have iced Ferris?”
“Not a one.”
“Let me see if I understand this,” Kenny said. “You were winging it when you met with Barak, and you’re basically doing the same thing with Ferris’s murder. Is that about right? No wonder the crime rate is on the upswing.”
“ ‘Winging it’ is too harsh. ‘Letting it play out’ is more accurate.”
“I’m not following.”
“Murder is the most ambiguous of acts, and the people who engage in it raise ambiguity to high art. What you think are facts are really idle speculations, and things are never what they appear to be. Getting to anything approximating the truth is all a matter of whether the Universe is benevolent or not.”
“You mean the Hand of God.”
“No. God and I have been on the outs for a long time now.”
“Why is that?”
“Look around. If He truly exists, He should get down on His knees and beg our forgiveness. Each and every one of us. If we’re all His children, that makes Him the adult, and He should know better.”
He regarded my blasphemy with something approaching shock.
“It’s the Universe, Kenny. And if you want to make the Universe laugh, make a plan.”
“But without a plan you don’t even have a fighting chance.”
“You have just stumbled upon the voodoo that I do so well.”
Kenny got off at 14th Street, promising to delve further into Torricelli’s files and divine their secrets. I got off at 34th Street to see a man about some photographs.
It had started to rain. Again.
Duck’s Choppers, on the south side of Thirty-fifth, was wedged between a car wash and a diner the Board of Health somehow missed. A gray van was parked at a nearby hydrant. Four guys stood out front working on their tricked-out machines. One had a shaved head and a spiderweb tat on his scalp. They looked like they lived in a Petri dish.
“I’m looking for a fat fuck with a shamrock tat.”
Three of them glared at me through sullen eyes. But the guy with the scalp art giggled. “That’s Big Tiny, a guy you truly don’t want to fuck with. You’d just be inviting a world of shit into your life.”
“Thanks for the tip. Where is he?”
“Inside.”
“Get him. Tell him Steeg is here to talk about peace in the valley.”
The puzzled look on his face said he had no idea what I was talking about. “Whatever,” he said, scampering into the building.
While waiting for Big Tiny to make his appearance, I reached down, grabbed a ball peen hammer, and turned every window in the van to splinters. The three jerkoffs stared goggle-eyed but made no move to jump me. Apparently, my special brand of single-minded lunacy was a new thing for them.
A few minutes later, Big Tiny ambled out.
His eyes lit on the van. And then they lit on me. There was the briefest glimmer of recognition before I hit him in the mouth with the iron. In a spray of blood and teeth, Big Tiny fell in sections.
I knelt beside him and spoke very slowly, but loud enough for his buddies to hear.
“It’s time to drop photography and look into a new hobby. If I hear that you or your shit-for-brains friends were in the same zip code with anyone even remotely associated with me, I’ll fucking kill you. Understood?”
The Neverland look on his face told me it would be some time before he understood anything, but I was sure his storm-trooper buddies, who continued to want no part of me, would fill him in on the details.
“By the way,” I said, “tell Liam Doyle I said hello.”
I went to Feeney’s. Nick met me at the door. “There’s a problem,” he said.
“With the kind of a day I’m having, that’s not a surprise.”
“Ginny’s here, and so is Allie.”
A surfeit of joy beyond imagining.
I wasn’t surprised. With Ginny back in Hell’s Kitchen, the three of us were now stuck in the same tight geography, and sooner or later, we were bound to be tripping over each other. Apparently, that moment had arrived.
“Where are they?”
“Allie’s at the bar, and Ginny’s in a back booth having lunch. What do you want me to do?”
“I think it’s time for the two women in my life to meet.”
“Are you fucking nuts?”
“Some have claimed. Don’t worry, I’ll handle it.”
“I can hardly wait,” Nick said.
“And I’ll have the corned beef hash.”
I walked over to the bar and planted a kiss on Allie’s cheek.
She beamed. “What a pleasant surprise. I was hoping to find you here.”
“But the surprise doesn’t stop here.” I took her hand. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”
I led her over to Ginny’s booth.
Ginny looked up, glanced at me, then took her measure of Allie. The corners of her eyes tightened. All
ie was doing some appraising of her own. I had the feeling that neither was particularly impressed.
“Steeg. When did you get here?” Ginny said, never taking her eyes off Allie.
“Just now. Ginny, this is Allie. Allie, this is my ex-wife, Ginny.”
Allie’s smile turned hollow, but she handled herself with aplomb. “Steeg told me about your husband,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”
The tightness in Ginny’s eyes loosened. “Thank you. That was kind.” She scootched over to make room. “Please join us,” she said.
Artfully done, especially the us part.
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to take a rain check. I have a meeting. Just thought I’d stop by. Besides, I’m sure you two have a great deal to discuss.”
“Are you sure?” Ginny asked.
“Absolutely.” Allie gave me a peck on the cheek. “See you later, Steeg?”
“Sure. We’ll have dinner. I’ll call you.”
“Great! Nice meeting you, Ginny.”
I slid into the booth.
“She’s very pretty,” Ginny said. “What does she do?”
“Allie’s an advertising exec.”
“How long have you been dating?”
“Going on six months.”
“Is it serious?”
“I hope so.”
Nick brought my hash and another beer for Ginny. She fiddled with her sandwich—tuna salad, I think.
“I can’t bear living with Jeanmarie and Ollie, and I can’t stand being alone. I think I made a mistake moving back.”
“At least you have company.”
“She and Ollie are not exactly what I had in mind.” Her fingers slid across the table until they touched mine.
“What do you have in mind, Ginny?”
She leaned forward, and her hand covered mine. “It was good for us, wasn’t it?”
I drew my hand back. “Let’s talk about your marriage.”
“I was about to say you don’t know what you’re missing, but I guess you do.” She sat back in her seat. “I know. That was inappropriate. Shame on me. Now, let’s get back to your question. Our marriage was good. Tony understood me.”
“What does that mean?”
She pushed her plate aside. “Next you’ll be asking me if I have an alibi for the night Tony was killed.”
“Do you?”
“It goes back to your last question. Tony did understand me, but he also understood that I . . . sometimes indulge in other interests.”
“By that you mean . . .?”
She took a dainty sip of beer and her eyes locked on mine.
“You know exactly what I mean. In fact, that’s what I was doing the night he was murdered. I can supply you with the gentleman’s name and address if you’d like.”
I passed her a napkin and a pen. “I would.”
As she wrote, she said, “He claims that I’m his first shot at adultery—what a horrible word! — and he’s a little skittish about the whole thing. It’s kinda cute, actually.”
“Did anyone see you together?” I said.
The grieving widow giggled. “My bedroom is hardly a public place,” she said.
“Did you mention any of this to Pete Toal?” I asked.
“Never asked. Guess he figured Steeg’s ex-wife was pure as the driven snow.”
Another myth shattered.
“And Tony was fine with this.”
She smiled seductively. “I guess he figured I was worth it,” she said. Glancing at my plate of hash, she added, “Your food’s getting cold.”
“Lost my appetite.”
“Why, because I don’t measure up to your exacting standards?” she said, her voice rising. “Don’t judge me, Steeg.”
“I’m not in that business.”
“I know what’s on your mind,” she said.
“What might that be?”
“You’re wondering if I didn’t have other interests when we were married. Aren’t you?”
As a matter of fact, it was exactly what I was wondering, until I realized it didn’t matter anymore. Not at all.
I got up from the table.
“See you around, Ginny.”
CHAPTER
18
I called Allie later that afternoon. She begged off dinner, mumbling something about a client meeting. The woman who divorced me now wanted to be with me, and the woman I wanted to be with didn’t. Funny how life goes.
I was down to my dinner companion short list. On the off chance I might get an update, I called Pete Toal. Dinner was a swell idea, he said. He suggested Feeney’s.
I tried to change his mind.
He insisted. For old times’ sake.
I arrived a little after eight, and the place was packed. Toal was already there. Swede was with him. Kenny and Nick were deep in conversation at the bar.
I walked over to Toal’s table and pulled up a chair.
He nodded at Swede. “Hope you don’t mind. Old Swede here wanted to tag along.”
“Not at all. How’re you doing, Swede?”
“Good.”
A man of few words. There’s something to be said for that. Toal appeared to be enjoying himself. His collar was unbuttoned and his tie was pulled way down. His face was flushed, the only sign that he had already had a couple of Johnnies. Swede, in contrast, nursed a Coke and went for a very coplike look.
Toal reached for a menu, quickly scanned it, and put it down.
“So,” Toal said, “what’s good? It’s been a while since I did anything but drink here.”
“Nothing.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Swede said.
“Order something. Doesn’t matter. It all sucks.”
“What are you having?” Swede asked.
“Corned beef and cabbage.”
“There you go,” Swede said. “I could go for that.”
“Trust me, it’s shit.”
“Why’re you having it?”
“Reminds me of my mother’s cooking.”
Swede reached for the menu. Guess he had to find out for himself.
“Keeping busy, Steeg?” Toal said.
“In a manner of speaking. What’s going on with the Ferris investigation?”
“Do we have to talk shop?”
“For you, it’s shop talk. For me, it’s personal.”
“OK, we’re nowhere.”
I noticed that Swede was still studying the menu with the concentration of a scholar poring over Norse runes.
“How could that be?”
“Because we’ve got a caseload that would daunt Eliot Ness. Isn’t that right, Swede.”
I suddenly realized where the term “cop out” came from.
Swede wedged the menu between the napkin holder and the salt and pepper shakers.
“I think I’ll have the brisket,” he said. “How can you fuck up brisket?”
“The proof is in the pudding,” I said. “Good luck.”
He made a tentative reach for the menu again but thought better of it and drew his hand back.
“Sometimes you just gotta jump in,” Toal said. “Anyway, like I was saying, in the past couple of weeks, Death hasn’t taken what you would call a holiday. I don’t know what the hell is going on.”
“Let’s start with the ME’s report,” I said to Toal. “Anything new there?”
“No. Ferris was beat to shit, but the cause of death was blunt-force trauma to the head. Appears that someone popped him in the back of the skull with a metal object, maybe a wrench. Several times. Hit him so hard that Forensics was able to recover some filings. Death was pretty much instantaneous. His last meal was endive and radicchio. I’d have gone for a steak.”
“Was the murder weapon recovered?”
“Nope. We even had divers go into the river to look for it. The perp must have taken it with him.”
So far, Pete was doing his job.
“Did you check the restaurant to see whether Ferris was a guest, and if he was, was he
with anyone?”
“No one remembers. Busy night.”
“How about the waiter?”
“In the wind. Probably an illegal.”
Not so good.
“There was nothing, Steeg,” Swede said. “We canvassed the area. No witnesses. No nothing.”
There had to be witnesses. One area rife with opportunity that Toal and Swede should have followed up on crossed my mind, but I wasn’t about to share it just yet.
Été was pricey, therefore an expense-account restaurant. If Ferris was there and used a credit card, the size of the bill and the number of entrées ordered should indicate whether Ferris dined alone. If he used cash, that fact alone should tickle someone’s memory. It wasn’t much to go on, but it was a start.
“Anything else?” I said.
“We interviewed his boss, guy named Torricelli, and a couple of his coworkers,” Toal said. “The usual crap. No known enemies. Did his job. Nose to the grindstone kind of guy. Spoke to Ginny. Pretty much the same story.”
“So, your theory is?”
“Well, like I told you initially. Lot of passion went into the killing, and the force of the blows tells me it’s a guy. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Ferris bought it in a known trannie hooker area. The way I see it, he ventured into the dark side one too many times. Wouldn’t surprise me if he took his he/she sweetie to dinner, tried to break it off, and the guy went nuts. Happens!”
It did happen, I had to give Toal that.
“Did you interview the neighborhood regulars?”
“I left that up to Swede, here. Some things I’m just not good at.”
I turned to Swede. “And?” I said.
“Showed Ferris’s picture around, and came up with zilch. It’s like a sisterhood down there. They protect each other.”
“So, you’re . . .?”
“Like I said. Nowhere.”
Swell! Now my list of suspects possibly included a guy in an evening dress. As I scrolled through my mental checklist, my cell phone rang. It was Luce.
“How come I’m the only one in the NYPD to have your cell phone number?” she asked.
“I didn’t want anyone bothering me.”
“Well, you certainly know how to screw up a birthday party.”
“You gotta admit it was kind of fun. Just like the old days.”
“That it was,” Luce said. “Reminded me of the night at Crotty’s Pub where you turned one of New York’s Bravest into a battering ram. How many saloons did I have to scrape your sorry ass out of?”
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