by Bob Mayer
Morticia shook her head. “He might be as crazy as you. Speaking of which. What do you do? I thought maybe you were a cop when I first saw you, but you’re definitely not a cop.”
“I’m a part-time investigator for a law firm.”
“Thao did say you got him out of Vietnam when it fell. Brought him here to the States. That he owes you his life.”
“I owed him my life,” Kane said. “So, we’re even.”
“What about his family?”
“They didn’t make it. What’s with the inquisition?”
Morticia pointed with a long, pale finger. “What happened to your head?”
“I got shot.”
“In a diner? Just checking.”
“No. Vietnam. The end of my first tour.” He glanced at the kitchen. “That’s when Thao saved my life. He found me after I’d been shot. Kept me alive.”
“Didn’t you have other Army guys around to tend to you?” Morticia asked.
“Most of the Army guys around me were dead or dying.”
“Oh.” Morticia was silent for a few moments. “Thao sent those peppers as a warning,” she finally said, not a question. “He saw those guys coming down the street. He’s got that little window in the door on the side of the kitchen. He can spot any car coming by on Gansevoort since it’s one way toward the river or down Washington, which is also one-way coming from uptown. He’s got a mirror angled on the far wall of the kitchen so he can see that way. Pretty neat.”
“Very observant,” Kane said. “Makes this a nice place, doesn’t it?”
“For what? A last stand?” Morticia continued. “And he’s got a wood crossbow in the kitchen. He hides it, but the kitchen isn’t that big. Specially to hide a crossbow. He had it out when I went back there after the visitors yesterday. He was covering you, wasn’t he?”
“Sounds like it.”
“A crossbow? That big machete he has isn’t for cooking. Living on the roof?” Morticia put both hands on the table, long, pale fingers spread, no rings. “Here’s the thing, Kane. I’ve been asking you all these questions, but you’ve never asked me a single thing. All the times you come in here, every morning. You wouldn’t know my name if it wasn’t on my nametag, would you?”
“I’m not good with names. Is that your real name?”
An upward twitch of her thin pale lips. “That was honest. And no. It’s not my real name. It’s a persona.”
“A what?”
She lifted her hands and indicated the diner. “I work the early shift at a diner in Greenwich Village. Do you expect Peggy-Sue from the farm in a joint like this?”
“Are you Peggy-Sue from the farm?”
“No.”
“Who are you then?”
“In here? Morticia. That wasn’t much of a question.”
Kane sighed once more in exasperation. “Okay. How old are you?”
“Jesus Christ, Kane. That’s the last question you ever ask a woman.”
“I just come in for my paper and a cup of coffee.”
“I was twenty-two at Woodstock.”
“Oh. Peace, love and revolution?”
Morticia smiled. “There was some of that.”
“Did you have a good time?”
“Second best moment of my life. Did you do the math? You know when Woodstock was?”
“Summer ’69.” Kane calculated years by where he was. “I was in LBJ.”
“’LBJ’?”
“Long Binh Jail. Vietnam.”
“You were a bad boy?”
“I was accused of murder.”
Morticia stared at him. “Murder in Vietnam? Is that possible?”
Kane nodded. “That was my problem with it.”
“Did you kill a fellow American?”
“I killed the enemy. Allegedly.”
“I thought that was the concept of war, although the whole thing is pretty insane.” She returned to the present. “Can I ask you something?”
“It would obviously be better than the reverse although I did try.”
“You work for a lawyer, right?”
“Just told you that.”
“I’ve got a friend who needs some legal help,” Morticia said. “She—“ she paused as the Gansevoort door opened. “They’re back. Every Saturday morning like clockwork.”
Two Chinese men entered. They were dark haired, identical in every way, including their black silk suits with white shirts and thin black ties. They were stocky, five and a half feet tall, and their fingers were crowded with gold rings. They wore wraparound black sunglasses. They walked to Kane’s booth, bowed in concert, several gold chains around their necks dangling. Kane bowed his head in reply. They executed an about face and marched into the kitchen.
“Who the hell are they?” Morticia asked.
“Van Van.”
“What?”
“Ting Van and Tong Van, but we called them Van Van.”
“Is that a joke?”
“No, that’s what they go by. You talk to one, you’re talking to both of them. I’ve never seen them apart.”
“Still not telling me why they come in here every Saturday and bow to you, then go talk to Thao.”
“They’re Nung,” Kane said.
Morticia waited for more of an explanation, but when none was forthcoming, she looped back. “Okay, I’ve got a friend—“
She was interrupted as the Kid entered. He was dressed in tight, short shorts, a tie-dyed t-shirt, and flip-flops. He looked achingly young to be living his persona. He had a big smile and was bopping in his head and singing to himself.
He paused seeing Morticia in the booth with Kane, then plowed forward, tossed the paper and took the money. He nodded hello to Morticia. “Morning, lovely lady.”
“Good morning, sweetie,” Morticia said.
“Gonna be another sunny day,” the Kid said.
“You ever work on cars?” Kane asked.
“What do you mean work on?”
“I’m not asking you to rebuild an engine. Do you think you could replace the headlights on my Jeep?” Kane peeled two twenties from his money clip. “You know where it’s parked?”
“The old garage around the block from the Stonewall. With the big padlock.”
“There are replacements in a cardboard box to the right as you enter.” Kane removed the key for the steering wheel lock and a spare for the garage and handed them to the Kid. “Bring the keys back to Thao when you’re done.”
“When do you need it?” The Kid pocketed the money and keys.
“I’m taking my motorcycle today,” Kane said. “Any time before tomorrow is good.”
“That 125 Kawasaki dirt bike? Better not get on a highway with it. Does that thing even hit fifty?”
“Downhill with a good wind behind you,” Kane said. “But where can you hit fifty in the city?”
“A valid point.” The Kid smiled. “I’ll do it after the movie.”
“What movie?” Morticia asked.
“Star Wars,” the Kid was bouncing on his feet, anxious to be going.
“You told me you already saw it,” Morticia said.
“I’ve seen it four times. Today will be five.”
“I’ve heard good things,” Morticia said.
“It’s like nothing you’ve ever seen,” the Kid insisted. He made a swooshing noise as he pirouetted, pretending to have a sword and slashing through the air.
“What’s that?” Kane asked.
“Light saber.”
“’Light saber’?”
“Luke Skywalker has to learn to master the Force,” the Kid said. “So he can defeat the bad guys with his light saber. It’s like a laser sword.”
“They don’t have guns?” Kane asked.
“Yeah,” the Kid said. “They got guns, but real warriors, the Jedi, use light sabers. And the bad guy does too. Darth Vader. He’s a really bad cat. But Luke is part of the Force. The good Force. He’s a Jedi. And Vader is the bad Force. He works for the evil Emperor.
Darth Vader dresses all in black. Black helmet covering his whole head. His voice is freaky.”
“Do the good guys win?” Kane asked.
“Of course,” the Kid said. “Except Vader gets away.” He was abashed. “Sorry. Shouldn’t have told you that. Now I messed it up for when you see it.” He waved a hand in front of his face. “Poof! Forget I said anything!”
“Done.” Morticia turned to Kane. “What was the last movie you went to?”
“I don’t remember,” Kane said.
“Oh, you have to go!” the Kid insisted. “Fucking far out, man. Really.” A stray synapse connected. “Oh, yeah, that junkie who ripped off Dino’s?”
“Yes?” Kane waited.
“His street name is Wiley. You know, like the cartoon. Always chasing the smack. If you want to find him, he lives on the West Side Highway, the other side of the plywood.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Close to where the hole is.”
“’On’ the West Side Highway?” Morticia asked.
“He means the closed section,” Kane surmised.
“You’re not going to mess him up, are you?” the Kid worried.
“He served in my old unit,” Kane said. “I’d never mess up a fellow Sky Soldier.”
The frown disappeared from the Kid’s face in a flash and he was back with the Force. “Cool.” He checked the clock above the counter. “I gotta run to catch the first showing.”
“Enjoy,” Morticia said.
“May the Force be with you!” The Kid bounced away.
“Hey, Kid!” Kane called out before he got to the door.
The Kid looked over his shoulder. “Yeah?”
“Be careful out there.”
As the Kid opened the door, he stepped back and waved Toni Marcelle in with a flourish. She gave a terse smile in appreciation.
As Toni approached, Morticia slid out. She met Toni halfway. “Coffee?”
Toni nodded. “Thank you. Black.” She was dressed for an evening out, not breakfast in Vic’s. A short black leather skirt that displayed her legs to great advantage and a red blouse. A small purse was tucked under her arm.
Kane stuffed the Times into his map case as Toni sat across from him.
“What’s wrong?” Kane asked.
“What’s right?” Toni said. “I got your message yesterday. There’ve been some developments. Delgado is losing his shit. Cappucci received your photos.”
“That’s not good.”
Toni was staring at him. “They were delivered to Cappucci by courier late yesterday. The same service we use at the firm. And the firm was on the return address with attention my name. You told me you didn’t have the negatives or make copies, Will.”
“How do you know Cappucci got them?”
“Because Alfonso Delgado confronted me outside Studio 54 earlier this morning. He said he still has the pictures and negatives you gave him. Said you lied. He was pissed to say the least. Frank and the bouncers had to protect me. I left by the back.” She recited it like a summation in court.
Kane considered this development. Out of the corner of his eye, through the kitchen door window, he spotted Van Van as they departed via the side door.
Toni tapped the Formica with a long, red fingernail. “How did photos that only Delgado had get couriered to the last person he’d want to see them?” She gave Kane only a second to ponder. “You lied to me, Will. You made copies. Did you send them?”
“Why would I do that? Someone broke into my apartment yesterday and stole them.”
“You lied to me.”
“You already said that.”
“Fuck,” Toni muttered. “If I can’t trust you, Will, who can I trust?”
“I was covering my ass,” Kane said. “You cover your ass, don’t you?”
“Do you keep copies of everything?”
Kane leaned forward. “We burned the interrogation transcript of the double agent in Vietnam. That was before we knew we were going to get charged with his murder. We destroyed a key piece of evidence in our favor. His confession. Pretty stupid. I learn from my mistakes.”
“You don’t trust me,” Toni said.
“Of course, I trust you,” Kane said. “This has nothing to do with that. I don’t trust the world, Toni. Don’t take it personal.”
“What else was stolen from your apartment? You’ve done a lot of work for the firm.”
“For you,” Kane said. “Just the photos. I don’t keep anything sensitive there. I was mailing them to my cut out.”
“Your what?”
“A person who keeps my stuff safe. He’s a cut out, because I don’t know where he hides it. That makes it secure.”
“It’s not your stuff, Will. It’s our stuff. My stuff. Who did this?”
“Someone from your firm?”
“Good thing you didn’t become a lawyer. Let me follow your logic. Someone from my firm broke into your apartment and stole photos, which I didn’t believe you had, but needed for my case, and sent them to Cappucci?”
“Okay. Who would want to shit on Delgado? His wife? Does she know I’m on the case?”
“She knows I have someone following her husband, but same questions. No way she’d know where you live and that you had copies.”
“Maybe they weren’t my copies,” Kane said.
“You just said they were stolen from your apartment.” She tapped the table. “This is my job, Will. I’m a lawyer. I follow logic.”
“All right.”
“Let’s stick with facts. You did have copies, correct?”
Kane nodded.
“They were stolen from your apartment?”
“Yes.”
“Cappucci got a set. The only other set we know of was in Delgado’s hands along with the negatives. He’s the last person in the world to want Cappucci to see them.”
“Maybe someone took them from him? Or stole them from him and made another set?”
“No,” Toni said. “Delgado said he still has the photos and the negatives. These were the ones stolen from your apartment. By the way, Delgado is pissed at you too. Says you lied to him. Like you lied to me.”
“Hey—“ Kane started, but tamped it down.
Toni continued her logic train. “Which brings up the question of how did someone know where you live? And who would break in?”
“Fuck me,” Kane said. “He was there.”
“Who? Where?”
“Quinn. The other night at the pier. He must have been following Delgado. He saw me snap the pictures. He followed me home.”
“If he saw you take the pictures, he could have stopped you.”
“He could have tried,” Kane allowed.
“But he didn’t.”
This logic was more Kane’s expertise. “Quinn was following Delgado, like I was. Except I never spotted him. I was focused on Delgado. Then he tracked me home. I should have picked up on that. Another mistake.”
“And you made copies,” Toni threw in. “That’s three.”
“Could you please stop tapping the table,” Kane asked.
Toni rolled her fingernails in a staccato. “Does it bother you, Will?”
“Maybe we can find a blackboard?”
Toni stopped finger-nailing. “Why would Quinn do this?” She didn’t give him a chance to answer. “He wants leverage. The leverage we should have had. I don’t think there’s any love lost between Quinn and Delgado. The way things stand, if Cappucci dies with no son, and it isn’t likely his wife is going to produce one at her age, Delgado might be the next Don, or more likely his wife, Sofia Delgado, the Don’s daughter, will run it from the shadows through him. Quinn wants to own Delgado as he’s the anointed one.”
“But he wouldn’t send them to Cappucci,” Kane pointed out. “He’d keep them. Hold over Delgado’s head.”
“Maybe. Our immediate problem is Delgado thinks I sent the photos,” Toni said. “He was foaming at the mouth.”
“Why would Quinn set you up as the source?”
>
“I’m Mrs. Delgado’s lawyer.”
“Where is Delgado now?”
“No idea. But some muscle-bound freak was standing outside my apartment when I tried to go home, so I had Frank drive me around for a couple of hours. Then drop me here.”
“That’s Cibosky,” Kane said. “Delgado’s pet. Wanna-be Jeep mechanic.”
“Great.”
“Why not go to the cops?”
Toni gave him the stink eye.
Morticia floated up. “Can I get you anything?”
Kane shook his head.
“Some orange juice?” Toni asked.
“Sure thing, darling.” Morticia looked at Kane. “I think Thao is cooking you something with peppers.” She glided away.
“Did I interrupt the two of you when I came in?” Toni asked in a lower voice, indicating Morticia.
“Nope. We were chatting about jewelry. The usual. Why didn’t you call your dad?”
“There’s stuff going on,” Toni said, “at the firm. Father wants to bring me further in, but there’s a lot I don’t know.”
“Further or deeper?” Kane asked, watching both doors.
“What does that mean?”
“I’m just the guy that digs dirt,” Kane said. “How deep the hole is? No clue. Apparently, you don’t either. But that doesn’t explain why you didn’t call your father. He’s got a lot of pull in the city. He could have Delgado locked up with one call. And he’s got investigators who are willing to do more than I am. Like Frank.”
“I solve my own problems.”
Kane arched an eyebrow.
“Oh, fuck you,” Toni said. “This is your screw up and your problem too.”
“He’s across the street,” Kane said, as if he were asking for the ketchup.
“What? Who?” Toni looked over her shoulder. Cibosky was in the shadowed space underneath the stub of the High Line, arms folded across his large chest, glaring into the diner.
“Since you didn’t go home, Delgado probably told Cibosky to come here and ask me about the pictures.” Kane was looking past her. “Train still runs on the High Line a couple times a week. Used to go all the way to the Battery, before they started dismantling it. You know why they elevated it?”
Toni turned from watching Cibosky. “What?”
