New York Minute

by Bob Mayer

  He looked about.

  There was much to do in the dark of night.

  Wednesday Morning, 13 July 1977

  PORT AUTHORITY BUS TERMINAL

  A hooker wearing a short skirt and halter-top bladed by on roller skates, spinning artfully to give potentials a three-sixty of the wares, especially as she wore no underwear. Pimps enthroned on benches made no pretense at evaluating the girls disgorged by the buses from all points outside the city. People hustled to get in or get away.

  Mostly away.

  Dawn was a half hour away and the Port Authority was moving people.

  Kane escorted Farrah to the numbered slot where her ride awaited. Not surprisingly, there were a handful of soldiers in Class-A’s boarding the bus. Fayetteville, North Carolina bordered Fort Bragg, home of the 82nd Airborne and the Special Forces JFK Special Warfare Center and School along with the 5th and 7th Special Forces Groups.

  Farrah didn’t look like the ingénue in an expensive dress. Her face was pale, dotted with beads of sweat, and bore no make-up. Her hair was limp and pulled back in a scrunchie. She wore faded bell-bottoms and a loose, billowing top; underneath her back was swathed in bandages. Kane carried a small bag.

  Kane indicated the bus parked on an angle. “This is it.”

  Farrah stared as if confused.

  “You all right?” Kane asked.

  “I’m not feeling well,” Farrah said. “But that’s to be expected. This is just. I don’t know. No one has ever . . .” She shook her head.

  Kane handed her the bag. “The money is in it along with some other stuff. Don’t let anyone see it. You can trust Trun in Fayetteville. His wife’s name is Tam. Stay away from the soldiers.”

  “I know how to do that,” Farrah said. “I know how to be a nothing.”

  “You’re not a nothing,” Kane said. He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. “This is their phone number, just in case, but they will be there at the bus terminal. And this guy—“ he indicated another name and number—“He was with 5th Special Forces. Retired now. Call him if something bad happens. He knows Trun and Tam, too. He can help. He’s your emergency rally point. But nothing bad is going to happen. I also put a knife in your bag. In case.” He smiled. “It’s bigger than the last one.”

  She looked him. Her eyes were red-rimmed. “Do you think of everything?”

  “I wish I did.”

  She reached up. Her hand trembled as she touched the side of his face. “Why?”

  Kane forced himself not to flinch as her fingers reached his skin. “You’ll be safe in North Carolina. Don’t come back or you’ll really upset me.”

  “I don’t think I’d want to see you upset.” Her hand was still on the side of his face.

  The driver shouted for everyone to board.

  Kane reached up and gently removed her hand. “Good luck.”

  Farrah nodded and walked to the door. She looked over her shoulder. “My name is Sarah. I’ll be seeing you, Will Kane.”

  Hydraulics hissed and the door shut.

  Kane didn’t move. The bus backed up with a rumble of diesel and choking exhaust. Brakes squealed. The bus lurched as the driver shifted into drive and it rolled from the darkness underneath the Port Authority into the burgeoning new day that already promised to be sweltering.

  “Sarah,” Kane said to himself. He reached for the moleskin notebook in his pocket, then stopped. “Sarah,” he repeated.

  MEATPACKING DISTRICT, MANHATTAN

  Strong occupied Kane’s spot, a cup of coffee in front and Morticia across the way. Kane didn’t pause, going to the counter, reaching across and pouring from the warming pot. He took the cup to the booth.

  “Do you mind if I join you?” he asked Morticia and Strong.

  “You forgot your water and ice cubes,” Morticia said. She made to slide out. “I’ll get it.”

  Kane put a hand up. “I can do without.”

  “Living dangerously?” Morticia asked.

  “Always.” Kane sat next to her. She didn’t move very far toward the wall. “Good morning, Detective.”

  “Good morning, Kane.” Strong nodded at Morticia. “We were discussing poets. Did you know Morticia wrote a paper in college on Sylvia Plath?”

  “I did not,” Kane admitted. “Head in the oven chick?”

  “Funny guy,” Morticia said. “We were talking about the time Plath visited the city from college and was distraught to have missed seeing her hero, Dylan Thomas. She hung out at the White Horse Tavern over on Hudson and Eleventh, desperately hoping she could run into him, as he was known to frequent it. When that failed and she went back to school, she slashed her legs to see if she had the courage to kill herself.”

  Kane blinked. “How did this subject come up?”

  “We were talking about the neighborhood,” Strong said. “The White Horse is frequented by poets and writers. You know how conversations go.”

  “I’m not sure Kane does, Omar,” Morticia said, easing the words with a smile. “Jack Kerouac hung out at the White Horse a lot since he lived across the street for a while.”

  “On the Road,” Kane said. “He died from drinking.”

  “Finding the gold in everything,” Morticia said.

  Kane was very aware of Morticia’s closeness. “It’s what happened. An interesting book but he really wasn’t going anywhere, nor did he ever make it anywhere.”

  “Why did he have to?” Strong asked. “Maybe it’s the journey?”

  Kane shrugged. “I haven’t figured it out.”

  “’It’?” Morticia asked.

  “Life,” Kane said.

  “Perhaps there’s nothing to figure out?” Morticia suggested.

  “Getting a bit deep to start the day,” Kane said.

  “Is he always like this?” Strong asked Morticia.

  “From the short time I’ve known him,” Morticia said, “yes. But I’m working on him.”

  “Lucky man,” Strong said to Kane. “This is what happens when my brain meanders and brushes up against another intriguing brain meandering.” Something occurred to him. He shifted toward Morticia. “Were you aware that Melville worked in this area on Gansevoort?”

  Morticia nodded. “When he was in the Customs Office.”

  Strong looked at Kane. “Did you know that?”

  “Yes. After he wrote Moby Dick and couldn’t make a go of it as a writer.”

  Strong raised his hands in a helpless gesture. He smiled his thanks at Morticia and returned his attention to Kane. “I was waiting for you.”

  Morticia pressed a hand against Kane’s side. “I think that’s my signal to leave.”

  Kane got out of her way and she went to tend to a pair of lingering ladies-of-the-early-morning.

  “I’ll watch the door for you,” Strong said as Kane sat back down. “I know it makes you twitchy.”

  Kane nodded his appreciation. “Whose body did you find now?”

  “I’ll give you one guess.”

  “Alfonso Delgado.”

  “Yeah. He’d been dying for a while, so he probably got picked up by Cappucci’s people shortly after he beat his wife.”

  “What do you mean a while?”

  “He was given a concrete enema, his asshole sealed with superglue, and then chained to a pipe where he wouldn’t be found right away.”

  Kane winced. “Someone was making a point. Where?”

  “Pier 42,” Strong said. “It’s the last working dock on the lower west side, so he was discovered earlier this morning. He was alive when he was found, but you can’t do much with someone whose bowels are full of concrete. He expired on the way to the hospital.”

  “Definitely making a point,” Kane said. “Cappucci was acting as much on the photos as his daughter getting beat up.”

  Strong nodded. “Yeah. Thought you’d want to stay up to date on the body count.”

  “Is that all?” Kane asked.

  “I don’t know,” Strong said. “Is that all? Are you do
ne with the Cappucci crew?”

  “I hope so,” Kane said. “As long as they’re done with me.”

  “Did you get your Jeep?”

  “I will right after this.”

  “Let me ask you something,” Strong said. “I read the hospital reports on those Delgado soldiers you beat up the other night. I saw what you did to Cibosky the day before he was killed. Why the hell do you even need a gun, Kane?”

  “Other people have them,” Kane said. “That negates what I can do with my body.”

  Strong nodded. “Makes sense.”

  “’Only dumb guys fight’, Kane quoted.

  “What about it?”

  Kane indicated Strong’s massive hands. “The scars. You boxed.”

  “I did. I was dumb.” Strong changed the subject. “Heard you were out at the 109 over the weekend.”

  “Nathan invited me.”

  “Heard the meeting didn’t go well.”

  “You cops are as bad as old women,” Kane said.

  “Nathan wasn’t far off base asking you for help,” Strong said.

  “No,” Kane admitted, “he wasn’t. He went about it the wrong way.”

  “Is there a right way with you?” Strong asked.

  “What’s that mean?”

  Strong ignored the question. “What do you think of Son of Sam?” he asked. “We’ve both seen some rough shit. I’ve caught all sorts of killers, but he’s different.”

  “Crazy.”

  Strong nodded. “Yeah. But the letters and the taunting. I don’t get it.”

  “There are people who don’t feel a thing when they kill,” Kane said. “You must have had a few in the One Nine.”

  “Yeah,” Strong said. “But that was war. I doubt they returned stateside and kept on killing.”

  “Take someone like that,” Kane said, “and add in that they get a sort of high from doing it? Ever see anyone like that?”

  Strong thought for a second. “A high? Maybe someone who didn’t feel alive unless they were on the edge?”

  “I’m talking about getting a charge from killing.”

  “I don’t know,” Strong said. He was quiet for a few moments. “Not sure this is what you mean but we had a guy who put a starlight scope on a fifty-caliber machinegun mounted on a tripod. Zeroed it in exactly at range to the NVA lines. He’d sit there at night and squeeze off a single round whenever he had a target. He could tag someone out to a mile and a half. He must have killed thirty or forty. Problem was he seemed to get into it a little too much.”

  “Think he fit back into society?”

  “One night a mortar round landed in his hole while he was looking through the scope,” Strong said. “But I get your point. Do you think Son of Sam is having fun?”

  “’Fun’ might be the wrong word,” Kane said. “He’s fulfilling a need.”

  “So he’s found it,” Strong said. “His purpose in life.”

  “It would appear so.”

  “You didn’t tell your uncle this?” Strong asked.

  “He pissed me off first. You tell him. But I don’t think it will make much difference. It’s what you said: details. Some detail will be the key to catching him.”

  Strong nodded. “You listened to me.”

  “I did. As a matter of fact, why aren’t you on the Task Force?”

  “No one’s asked me,” Strong said.

  “Do you want to be?”

  “I don’t want to be,” Strong said, “but I’d be of help.”

  “I’ll call my Uncle Nathan. Hell, he offered Conner a spot.”

  “That would be a joke,” Strong said.

  “What happened between the two of you?”

  “That would be for him to say.”

  “All right. I’ll talk to Nathan. He owes me.” Kane leaned over his coffee. “Let me ask you something, Strong. You’ve seen the worst of people on the job, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you believe some people are evil? Pure evil?”

  Strong’ nostrils flared as he took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “Yes.”

  “And what if the law can’t do anything about it?”

  “Whom are you talking about?” Strong asked. “Not Son of Sam?”

  “No, no, no. We’re having a theoretical discussion,” Kane said. “Making conversation like you were with Morticia. Brains meandering and brushing up against each other. Just on a different topic.”

  “Morticia’s right. You’re not good at it.”

  “You didn’t answer the question.”

  “That’s what the law is for,” Strong said. “To stop the bad people.”

  “I’m not talking bad,” Kane said. “I’m talking evil. Everyone they touch they destroy. They enjoy hurting and killing. What do you do?”

  Strong puts his large hands flat on the table. “You follow your convictions. But remember you have a disadvantage with an evil person.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Your conscience,” Strong said. He slid out of the booth. A broad wall of man facing Kane. “Whatever you do, Kane, remember you have to live with it the rest of your life. And I think your conscience is already pretty crowded.” He stuck out his hand. “Good luck.”

  Kane shook it and switched sides as Strong left.

  “More comfortable?” Morticia asked, gliding by.

  “More secure.”

  “I like him,” she said, nodding toward the closing door.

  “You like everyone,” Kane said.

  “That’s not true,” Morticia protested. “I didn’t like you for a long time.”

  “Now you do?”

  “You’re warming on me.” She headed away to deal with new customers.

  The Kid came in looking exhausted. Jeans, construction boots, red t-shirt.

  Kane belatedly put the five on the table. “Tough night?”

  The Kid nodded. “Yeah. Long one. And it’s hot. Going to be a burner today.”

  “But sunny,” Kane said.

  The Kid smiled and he was momentarily transformed. “Yeah. You got it.” He reached in a pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. “For the Cadillac.”

  “Told you. Keep it. Find a safe place to crash for as long as it lasts. The car’s gone, right?”

  The money returned to the pocket. “It’s in pieces and parts that can’t be traced.”

  “Good. What do you know about the old Nabisco Factory? By the High Line?”

  The wary Kid shook his head. “There’re monsters there, man.”

  “Monsters?”

  “The toughest tricks in town. Drug dealers. And worse. You don’t want to go around that place. People disappear.”

  “Okay,” Kane said. “You want a job?”

  The Kid’s guard came further up. “Doing what?”

  “Here.” Kane indicated the diner. “Work for Thao in the kitchen. Bus tables. Maybe wait on some. I don’t know. Thao would tell you what needs to be done. Stuff.”

  “’Stuff’?” The Kid sat down. “How can you offer a job? You got pull with the owner?”

  “We own it,” Kane said. “Thao and I.”

  “Who’s Vic, then?”

  “The guy we bought it from.”

  “Why didn’t you change the name?”

  “To what? Thao’s? People will think it’s an Oriental joint. Vic’s is fine. It’s been here for years. We’d have to change the signs and the phone number and all that shit if we screwed with the name. Plus, the locals consider it an institution. We don’t want to mess with the locals, right? You gonna ask forty questions or you gonna answer my offer?”

  “Can I think on it?”

  “Sure,” Kane said. “Let Thao know.”

  The Kid frowned. “Why don’t I let you know?”

  “My future is uncertain,” Kane said.

  “What?”

  Kane waved it off. “Nothing. It’s safe here, the work would be steady, and the pay, I don’t know, Thao will figure it out. But he’s a good guy. Genero
us.”

  The Kid laughed. “You’re as good at being a boss as you are negotiating.”

  “Yeah, a man of many talents.”

  The Kid got up. “I’ll let you guys know.”

  “Hey,” Kane said.

  “Yeah?”

  “It would be safe here.”

  The Kid slowly nodded. “Yeah. It would.” He headed for the door, but paused halfway there and turned. “Thanks.”

  Before the door shut behind him, Morticia glided over. “You own the place?”

  “Thao and I,” Kane said. “He hired you, didn’t he?”

  “Jesus, Kane. You’re just full of secrets. I thought Thao was the shift manager and Vic was like most of the landlords. Absent. I didn’t know you were my boss.”

  “I’m not the boss, okay? It’s Thao’s place. He does all the work. Forget I said anything.”

  “Yeah, like Darth Vader gets away at the end of the movie. You know, you guys could class the place up a little.”

  Kane sighed and closed his eyes. “Talk to Thao. Like you have about the seat covers already.”

  “That was just talk,” Morticia said. “I didn’t know he could do anything about it. I got some ideas. And seriously. Good food!?”

  “It’s true isn’t it?”

  “We can do better with the sign.”

  “’We’?”

  “And you’ve got company.” She glided away.

  Kane opened his eyes. Toni approached, dressed for business.

  Kane stood as she arrived and waited until she was seated.

  “What’s with the sudden gentleman act?” Toni asked. “Remembering your cadetiquette classes?”

  “Delgado is dead.”

  “And good morning to you too,” Toni said. “I heard.”

  “From Mrs. Delgado?”

  “I heard. Let’s leave it there.”

  “Okay.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Kane said.

  Toni lifted a dark eyebrow. “Expand?”

  “Ted.” Kane tapped the scar on the side of his head. “A quarter inch and I’d be with Ted in Section Thirty-Four. Just would have taken six more months and happened on Hill 875 instead of 1338. That’s war. It’s random.”

  Toni was shaking her head before he finished the second sentence. “He wouldn’t have gone to—“

  “You’re not remembering rightly,” Kane said. “Did you invite Ted to visit West Point or did Ted ask to go with you? That visit was at the end of his junior year in prep school. Ted had to have already started his paperwork for the Academy by then. We all did. Takes a long time and you gotta get the congressional nomination in early. I thought about it the other night going through some old photos and remembered. We did talk about it in Beast. He asked me why I was there. And I told him. To get away from my dad. No way I wanted my old man to pay for my college, not that he was planning on it. Ted laughed and said ‘ditto’. We were both escaping our fathers. He was trying to get away from the life your father had planned. He was going to West Point regardless of you or the guy you dated or that trip he took with you.”