Then, turning the corner to the next room, I saw a wide section of a party wall had been torn out, right where a heating duct rose from the floor below. The duct serviced both the office we were in and the one next door— Cowles's office— its vent set at a height of about eight feet. Plaster and old lathing and sheet metal lay strewn heavily over the floor. Jay had cut out his side of the heating duct, vent and all, and built a hooded observation structure in this torn-out space, about the size and height of a linesman's chair at a tennis tournament. The hood's black fabric, crudely attached with a staple gun, completely enclosed the chair so that no sunlight from the windows could penetrate within. In this high position, I understood instantly, Jay could peer through the vent that serviced Cowles's office. A second vent had been exposed six feet away, and several lipstick-sized cameras had been jammed into it, their cables feeding a computer humming on the floor. But that was not all. A phone cable, no doubt a secret splice off of Cowles's office line, hung down through a broken dropped-ceiling panel and split into two wires, one of which led to a phone sitting on the floor. The other arrived at the same computer that serviced the lipstick cameras. Jay was recording everything Cowles did in his office. Every gesture, every word, every breath.
I returned my attention to the large hooded chair and stepped closer to it. What was hidden behind the fabric? I lifted the flap a bit and saw a leg and a man's shoe dangling. I dropped the flap in surprise. Dead? A suicide? Maybe Jay had heard us coming, maybe— I pulled the flap back, ready for any murderous horror— and here Jay was, in the chair, wearing a jacket and tie, leaning forward against the wall, asleep, an oxygen bottle set in a crude cradle built for it, a tube rising toward his head. A plastic breathing mask covered his nose and mouth. For a younger man, he looked enormously tired, as he was of course, dragging himself everywhere with not enough air. His lungs took shallow, too-rapid breaths, like a child with a fever. How many hours had he silently peered through the vent— studying Cowles, watching him, living his life vicariously, studying the cameras' digital footage? What did this prove to him? The impossible distance that lay between him and his daughter, now captive downstairs? Was he studying the man who would care for her after he himself was gone? And, ridiculous as it sounded, was it for this reason that he'd bought the building in the first place, unable to resist further acts of voyeurism? Or had the idea lived in the shadows of his unconscious? It didn't matter. Here he was.
"Wake him up," Gabriel told me.
I put my fingers to my lips.
"If you want this done quietly, then let me do it," I whispered. "He's liable to react. If you make a big noise, you'll have more problems."
Gabriel conceded nothing, just motioned with the gun that I should wake Jay. I leaned forward and positioned one eye behind the vent.
There was Cowles, in his suit, talking on the phone. Papers on his desk.
"Yes," he said, "we'll get it over to you. Brilliant." He hung up. His assistant came in. Cowles handed him a piece of paper. "These are the numbers for the Martin thing."
"Okay."
"What's happening to the euro?"
"Up a bit."
"How big are the blocks?"
"Varies."
"Are the Japanese buying?"
"Can't tell."
"I'll come look."
Cowles followed his assistant out of the office, and I took this opportunity to wake Jay.
"Hey," I said softly. "Jay, wake up."
I would have expected him to be startled but he wasn't, instead opening his eyes slowly and lifting his head.
"You found me," he said softly, not seeming to mind.
"Wake up, guy."
He shifted in his chair.
"You need to come downstairs," I said, handing him his coat.
"Why?"
"They've got Sally."
"Sally?"
I nodded.
"I don't get it."
"You will."
That was Gabriel, stepping forward, gun up.
* * *
Outside, the limo door opened as we approached.
"Get in," said Gabriel, and Jay and I did as we were told.
Sally, pressed between Denny and Jay, looked at each of us, stricken. She didn't recognize me, or Jay, for that matter. "What's going on? What're you going to do with me?"
I answered, trying to sound as firm as possible. "Nothing is going to happen to you, Sally."
"Something already did." She began to cry again. "How does everyone know my name?"
"If anyone touches you," said Jay, "I'll kill him."
But this, I saw, didn't comfort her, just scared her further. She looked frantically from one man to another, lips tight, hands gathered tightly over her school blouse. "Are you— am I going to be—?"
"Okay, Gabriel," I said, "you can let her go now."
"We need money first."
"Jay?" I said. "The man needs his money. Where's the cash?"
No answer. He hadn't taken his eyes off of Sally. But for the moment he'd stood behind her at the Steinway hall, he hadn't been this close to her since she was an infant. "I want to talk with her."
This only scared Sally more. But I wondered if somewhere deep within her she might sense her connection to Jay. You could see him in her. You could see the fierceness in her eyebrows and her good shoulders. She was leggy and would be more so.
"Do it fast, then," said Gabriel.
Jay leaned toward Sally. She pulled backward, frightened by his scrutiny, turned her head to one side.
"Easy, Jay," I said.
"Are you happy?" Jay asked his daughter.
"Who are you?" she said.
He breathed heavily. "Are you happy?"
"Well, not now."
"No, I mean—" Jay coughed violently. "I mean— in life."
Even Sally understood the absurdity of the question, under the circumstances. "Yeah, sure."
"Very nice chitchat," interrupted Gabriel. "But we have to—"
Jay turned toward Gabriel. He wasn't afraid of Gabriel, and Gabriel saw this.
"A minute," Gabriel conceded.
Jay turned back to Sally. "You have a nice family?"
"Yes."
"You miss your mum?"
The girl looked at him, blinking. "Who are you?"
"I was an old friend of hers."
She was suspicious. "When?"
"Years ago."
"You knew her?"
"Sure." Jay smiled, painfully.
"I miss her," she admitted. "I think about her lots."
"You look like her, you know."
"Yeah. But it just makes me sad."
Jay nodded, gnawing his lip.
"Okay," called Gabriel. "That's it!"
"Listen," Jay said to Sally Cowles, his voice hoarse with sorrow. "I've got to ask you a little favor."
"What?" She looked around to check on the others. "Is this what all this is about?"
"Hurry up, Rainman," said Gabriel.
"I want to ask you if you'll let me feel the inside of your ear. Real quick."
"That's pretty gross."
"A little, yes," Jay agreed. "That's the last thing I'll ask you."
"Well, I guess." She flipped her hair back behind her ears and leaned forward a little.
Jay took a deep, troubled breath, then reached out with his right hand. His daughter jerked in surprise when he touched her. "Easy," he murmured. His fingers touched her ear in front of her long hair, and his thumb gently ran along the inside ridge of cartilage. She looked at him and at me.
"Duck your head down a bit," he instructed.
This she did, trying not to cry.
"It's okay," I said.
Jay rubbed his daughter's ear.
"Is this—" Sally began, pulling away.
"Don't move," Jay commanded. "There." He closed his eyes, remembering, measuring the time since he'd last touched his daughter. Thirteen-odd years earlier, in a park in London, Eliza already married to Cowles, alread
y stolen away. Jay let his fingers fall from Sally's ear.
"Yes?" I said gently.
He nodded in silence.
Sally hunched fearfully, cutting her eyes back and forth.
"Sally," Jay began, his voice grieving.
"Don't!" I said sharply. "Don't do it, Jay."
"Why?"
"Because there's no need." I matched his gaze. "It only amounts to cruelty."
Sally looked back and forth between us. "What's everyone talking about?"
"Nothing," I said. "Nothing you need to worry about."
"The money," Gabriel said.
"In a leather tool bag," answered Jay. He pulled a single key from his pocket. "Utility closet, first-floor hallway."
"Hold them here," Gabriel told Denny. He took the key and left the car.
We waited. I watched. I watched a father study his child. Jay's eyes traced the line of Sally's forehead, then her eyes, down her nose, across her lips, under her chin, caressing, holding, knowing her. "Your mother was a fine person," he said finally.
Sally didn't answer.
"And—" He coughed, then gathered something from deep within, a certainty, a will. "And, your father— your father loves you very much."
Jay had said it, had brought it forth out of himself.
"Thank you," Sally said, trying to sound cheerful and appreciative. "I love him, too."
Gabriel returned, carrying the bag. He was on the phone as well. "Bring him anyway? Fine. She can go?" He hung up.
"Miss," he said brusquely, "leave us immediately."
"I can go?" said Sally.
"Yes, get out of the car, now." He tossed Jay's keys into the car, hitting me in the head. He told me, "Here, put your fucking fingerprints all over these. Every one."
"Okay," Sally said, grabbing her backpack. "Actually, my dad works right here."
Gabriel looked to Jay and then me in confusion.
"Let her out," I said, taking the keys in my hand.
He opened the door. "Scram."
Sally leapt past him, landed on the sidewalk, and turned around to be sure she wasn't pursued. I could see that the whole episode baffled her. She'd been kidnapped for perhaps half an hour only to be delivered to her father's office. So it hadn't quite turned out like a kidnapping, really, just a bizarre episode. The anxiety drained out of her face, replaced by loveliness and curiosity. She actually bent at the waist and peered back into the car. I think she was looking for Jay, and he returned her gaze, his eyes sad.
Then the door shut and we were on our way.
* * *
Jay turned to his interrogators, coughing. "What do you need us for?"
"Boss wants a final word," answered Gabriel. "Every key," he said to me. Then he inspected the bag of cash. "Very beautiful, the sight of money," he said. "Causes optimism in human beings." He reached under his seat and slid out a leather case and nudged its lid open with his foot. Inside were small boxes of ammunition. He grabbed one and slipped it into his breast pocket. Then he noticed me watching.
* * *
Ten minutes later the car glided up to the restaurant. Gabriel had Denny make sure the heavy door was open. Lamont came out and hustled Jay and then me inside.
The main dining room was empty, all the places set perfectly, awaiting the roar of customers in a few hours. Would the restaurant's staff start to arrive as late as four, as Allison had said? Somebody had to put the wine in the cooler, start counting out steaks.
"Down the stairs, gentlemen," Gabriel directed, and we descended the nineteen marble steps.
In the Havana Room Jay confronted the sight of Allison and Ha in the far booth, H.J. waiting. Something passed between Allison and Jay that I didn't understand.
"All right," H.J. announced. "We are almost done. What time you got?"
"Two fifty-eight."
"What time your waiters start coming?" he asked Allison.
"Soon," she said. "Four."
"That's a long time. I'm hungry."
"Boss, we should just go," said Gabriel. "You should go. Denny and I will finish up here."
"Not until I get my answer about my uncle Herschel," said H.J. "I'm workin' off a debt here. That man visited me in prison like fifty times. Drove all the way upstate." He pointed at Jay. "Your man Poppy said my uncle had a heart— wait, wait, dag, I'm hungry. You got anything to eat, any decent food?"
"Boss," said Gabriel. "Listen to me!"
"I'm hungry. Can't think without calories. Brain uses the most, you know that? I'm fat but I'm dangerous, yo. America loves the fat black man, thinks he ain't dangerous."
"What?" said Lamont.
"Hey, George Foreman, he's fat and rich, you got Bill Cosby, you got Al Roker, the weatherman, you got Sinbad, you got that fat guy in the beer commercials." He looked at Allison expectantly. "All these black men rich because the white man ain't scared of a fat black man."
"We don't have much down here," said Allison. "We've got some bar food, nuts, pretzels, things like that."
"Fuckin' paste," said H.J. "No good for you."
Denny pointed. "There's a little kitchen behind the bar."
"Does the gentleman like fish?" asked Ha.
Allison stared at him. "I don't know," she said slowly, though the question had not been addressed to her.
"Fish? No shit. You got fish?" said H.J.
Ha looked dryly at Allison. "We have good fish here, very fresh."
H.J. pointed at Ha, head hung meekly. "You said he can cook?"
Allison glanced at Ha. "Yes, his specialty is fish."
"What, swordfish? Tuna steak?"
"What do you have, Ha?" asked Allison, her voice a confection of sincerity.
Ha nodded, as if in thought. "I have the special fish, very good delicacy. Makes sushi."
"You do? In a steakhouse?" asked H.J.
"Very good, yes. We have the fresh fish in the aquarium you see, behind bar, under shelf."
"I need to fill myself up," said H.J. "Fish ain't goin' do that."
Denny went around the bar. "It's here." He bent down for a moment and we couldn't see him. "Goddamned ugly fish!"
"But it's a specialty," said Allison. "Sort of Chinese sushi. Ha was Mao Tse-tung's chef, you know that?"
"I'm hungry, too," admitted Denny.
"The old Chinese guy, the emperor or some shit?"
Ha nodded humbly.
"Gimme that fish you used to make for the Chinese emperor," said H.J. "We'll get some burgers on the road." He pointed his gun at Jay. "Then I'm going to talk to this guy. 'Cause it ain't just about the fuckin' money." He looked back at Ha. "Get started."
"If you wish."
"Yeah, we're hungry here." H.J. smiled at Lamont. "Got to keep up the strength. We got a big party tonight."
Ha lowered his head. "I work very fast, you see."
He stood up from the table where he'd been sitting and shuffled under the bar bridge. He disconnected the bubbler in the tank and rolled back through the bar. Then he laid his table piece on top of it and retrieved the rolled white cloth filled with knives. "Before I open this," he said, "I have to tell you, these very sharp knives. I need these to prepare fish. Please do not shoot Ha. These knives just for fish."
Denny nodded impatiently. "We know. That's fine."
He trapped the fish in the tank, then speared it through the nose.
"So, I take this—" Ha deftly slit open the wriggling fish. "We were going to have this fish served for tonight," he said, setting out his little bowls for the different organs.
"People pay a lot for this fish," Allison said, "you'd be surprised."
"H.J.," Gabriel said, watching Ha's progress. "I've worked for you three years, okay? I've been loyal and true. I only argue when I think I should. I think we should go. You should go. You got a problem Denny and I got to deal with. These people saw everything."
H.J. shook his head. "We got ten minutes, maybe, we got time. Traffic's already bad. I'm going to get my fish first." He pointed at Jay.
"Then I'ma deal with you, muthafucka."
The Havana Room Page 39