“Nice. But I prefer Rockland County. Lots of wooded areas. Guys I stashed there twenty years ago still haven’t been found.”
“You always were a purist.”
“If something’s worth doing, it’s worth doing right.”
“Words to live by,” I said. “Look, I need a favor.”
“Name it.”
“Kenny blew him away outside Allie’s apartment house. It doesn’t take Charlie Chan to figure out that Ennis now knows where she lives.”
“And you want someone to sort of watch over her.”
“Surreptitiously. She can’t know that she’s being guarded. Allie kind of pushes back when I’m being overly protective.”
“And that someone would be me.”
“Will you do it?”
“In a heartbeat. Allie won’t even know I’m around.”
“Perfect. Now, let’s get back to the individual who was looking for me.”
“Make her for a hooker. Said her name is Gloria. Dawn’s friend. Gave me her number. You want it?”
We met at a ragged-around-the-edges Times Square bar that years ago began life as a jazz club. Now it catered to tourists and conventioneers looking to get laid.
Gloria sat at a table in the back nursing a beer. She’d cleaned up some since I had seen her at Dawn’s apartment.
I took a seat opposite her.
“How’d you know where to find me?” I said.
“Your card. You gave it to Dawn. Remember? Never heard of somebody usin’ a saloon as a business address.”
“Unfortunately, it’s where I spend most of my time.”
She shrugged. “Different strokes.”
“What happened to Dawn?” I said.
“Martine happened to her.”
“Care to expand on that?”
“Dawn and Martine go way back,” she said. “Never did like each other. Rickie saw that Martine was doing real good and.
“Tried to shake her down.”
“That’s about it. Fuckin’ Rickie thought it was a great idea. Said he could handle things if they got rough. Well, they got real rough.” She looked up at the bar and called out, “Where the hell is my beer?”
The bartender threw her a look.
“Fuckin’ place!” she said.
“Let’s get back to Martine and Dawn.”
“So Rickie says a hundred large. Gonna be the score of a lifetime. Get us out of this fuckin’ city. Go someplace warm. The three of us.” She shook her head. “Rickie always had somethin’ workin’. Asshole!”
“So Dawn threatened to expose Another Chance as a prostitution ring. Martine luring the girls in with promises of a new life, and selling their bodies to the rich and famous.”
“And freaky. Shoulda known better than to screw with people like that.”
The bartender brought the beer over and thumped the bottle on the table.
“Jerkoff,” she muttered. “Where was I? Oh yeah, a couple of days after you dropped by, Martine’s apes show up.”
“Where were you?”
“Out in the street. Comin’ back from a … business meeting, y’know? Anyway, I seen Martine’s boyfriend Ennis and the other guy draggin’ Dawn and Rickie out of the building and stuffing them in a car. Last I seen of them.”
“What’d you do?”
“Got my shit out of the apartment and split. That’s where I found your card. Dawn threw it into a drawer.”
“What now?”
She smiled. “Found Rickie’s stash while I was packin’. Enough to get me to Vegas.”
I laid a twenty on the table to pay for the beers.
There was no point mourning for Dawn. I had done that years ago.
I pushed the chair back and got to my feet. “Thanks for clearing things up.”
“There’s more.”
I sat back down.
“You asked Dawn about a workin’ girl who’d be pissed off enough to ice some johns.”
“I did.”
“There’s one that Dawn and I used to talk about. The life truly fucks you up, but with this girl it went overboard. Used to work for Martine. Saved her for the real fuckin’ sickos. If anyone fit your bill, it would be her. I know where she is and can get you to her.”
“Why’re you doing this?”
“Dawn said you were a good guy. She figured that Rickie had his head up his ass with his scheme. And she knew how it would turn out.”
“But she went along anyway?”
“Choice was a rock and a hard place. Martine or Rickie. Either way she lost. She figured maybe you’d see what Martine was up to and put her out of business.”
“She was right, but her timing was off.”
“Life can be a bitch.”
“This girl have a name?”
“Only her street name,” she said. “Randi.”
30
Turns out my meeting wasn’t with Randi, but with a woman named Tiffany. And I was instructed to bring five hundred dollars.
I met her at a diner near Penn Station. The place reeked of bacon grease. An old man with a milky eye and a goiter as big as an orange repeatedly dipped his mop into a pail full of dark gray water and swished at the slop that customers tracked into the restaurant. It was a losing proposition.
Tiffany was a tall black woman who used lots of peroxide on her hair and a heavy hand on her makeup. She looked to be in her early thirties, but I guessed her age at ten years younger. The life tends to wear you down.
“Got the money?” she said.
On my way to the diner, I’d tapped an ATM for five hundred. That left a hundred and twenty-seven until the next pension check hit my account. I pulled out a wad of twenties and fanned them on the table. Her eyes actually dilated.
“If you’ve got Randi,” I said.
“I do.”
“Will she talk to me?”
“For another five.”
“For you, or for her?”
She smiled.
“A girl’s got to make a living,” she said.
“OK. Where is she?”
“I’ll take you to her.”
“When?”
“First thing in the morning.” Tiffany wrote the address on a napkin and slipped it across the table. “Randi’s working tonight and got to earn. Gonna be a full night.”
“You’re pimping her.”
“More like her booking agent. But we’re doing the gig together. Bachelor party. Bunch of Wall Street types. And we’re the headliners.”
“No business like show business.”
Tiffany shrugged.
“Pays the rent,” she said.
“Randi know about our little arrangement?”
“Not yet. But she won’t have a problem.”
“Why’s that?”
“We have a special relationship.”
“I can see that. She takes the risks, and you get the rewards.”
“It ain’t what you think,” Tiffany said. “We love each other. We’re saving up and getting the hell out of this business. Gonna find a little place upstate, and it’ll just be the two of us.”
The snakes in my head stirred. I knew I was close to blowing the deal, but the words came anyway.
“Yeah. With a white picket fence and rosebushes, and maybe a collie to romp around the yard,” I said. “Give me a fucking break!”
“It’s not like that.”
“Yeah, it is. Don’t give me this love shit. You’re a pimp, and that’s all she wrote.”
“Randi is sick. Real sick. After the fire that killed her sister, she ran. And I took her in. Ain’t gonna be much more work for either of us. And I bought the place. Up in Rochester. Where I’m from. Both our names are on the deed. Show it to you if you like. No collie. No fence. And I don’t know shit about rosebushes.”
“Sick, as in AIDS?”
“Breast cancer. Real advanced. Just a matter of time now. The docs wanted to do a double mastectomy, but Randi said no. We needed money for the down paymen
t.” Her voice turned bitter. “And a whore without tits is not a big attraction.”
The snakes went back to their slumber.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “If there’s anything I can do …”
“Our problem. No one else’s. And we’re dealing with it best we know how.” She put the bills in a stack and jammed them in her pocketbook. “And this is gonna help. Our line of work don’t pay benefits.”
“There are other doctors. Have you—?”
“Been to a bunch of them. All say the same thing. A year. Maybe less. Nothing more they can do for Wanda. My turn now.”
A bubble of white heat traveled up from my brain stem and settled just behind my eyes.
“Randi’s name is Wanda?”
“Wanda Klemper. Funny, ain’t it?”
Not from where I sat.
31
Damon Runyon, one of the most perceptive observers of the human condition, once said, “I long ago came to the conclusion that life is six to five against.” For Wanda and Angela Klemper, the odds were off the board.
Birth to death in a few short, terrible years, and everyone responsible gets to skate. Kind of makes you wonder about a beneficent God and His magic wand of redemption.
And it makes you want to make someone pay.
I needed Allie to snap me out of my melancholy. But even though Nick was babysitting her, with Martine and Ennis still out there, my presence would have put her at risk.
I compromised by calling her. Just to check in.
“Hi,” I said. “How’re you doing?”
“Things are settling back to normal. In a fashion.”
“Meaning?”
“How would you like to have dinner at my place tonight?”
With Nick outside playing Cerberus the three-headed dog, it was worth the risk.
“A sterling idea,” I said. “Let’s order in. I’ve got a yen for Mexican.”
“Won’t be necessary. Dinner is going to be a surprise.”
“You’re cooking?”
“A lady has to have some secrets. See you at seven.”
I went home. Cleaned my Glock and loaded it. Dropped it, along with an extra clip, in my jacket pocket. Took a shower and a quick nap. And was out the door by six thirty, stopping only to pick up a dozen roses at Benny Kim’s establishment.
The hallway outside Allie’s apartment had the intense, garlicky aroma of a neighborhood Italian restaurant.
She greeted me at the door with a chaste peck on the lips.
“They’re lovely, Steeg,” she said, taking the flowers. “Make yourself comfortable while I put them in water.”
I walked into the living room while Allie went to fetch a vase.
“So this is where the perfume’s coming from,” I said.
“It is.”
“But you don’t know how to cook.”
“That’s the surprise. I engaged a chef just for tonight.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Would you like to meet him?”
“Sure.”
She took my hand and led me into the kitchen, where Nick, looking for all the world like a crazed incarnation of Chef Boyardee, was laboring at the stove. “What in hell are you doing here?” I said.
“What’s it look like I’m doing? You got veal and peppers, chicken cacciatore, sautéed arugula, linguini, garlic bread in the oven, and a salad of tomatoes and thinly sliced red onion. Lotta dishes working. Is there a problem?”
“Yeah. You were supposed to be invisible. What happened?”
“It was freezing outside, and I felt like a putz standing around in the lobby,” Nick said. “So I went up to the agency.”
I looked at Allie.
“I’m really sorry,” I said. “But … y’ know … I was worried about you.”
“That was very thoughtful, Steeg. And Nick was, for the most part, discreet.”
“What do you mean, for the most part?”
“Other than hitting on every woman in the place, Nick was the model of decorum. He was a really big hit with one of my clients. Apparently, she found him charming.”
“Yeah,” Nick said. “As soon as this thing with you blows over, I could see the possibilities of a relationship. Nice gal. Great body.”
I turned to Nick.
“I asked you to do one simple thing, and you screw it up.”
“What’s screwed up? Allie’s safe, isn’t she? And I may have stumbled across the next Mrs. D’Amico. The way I see it, it’s a win-win all around.”
“Lovely,” I said.
I took a fork from the counter, speared a piece of chicken from the pot, and popped it into my mouth.
“I were you, I’d fire your cook and take over Feeney’s kitchen. You’d make a fortune.”
“Their taste buds are so far gone, the rummies who frequent my joint would never know the difference.”
Fair point.
“So,” Nick continued, “why don’t we all sit down to eat?”
We ladled the food onto our plates and brought them into the dining alcove. Allie contented herself with a slice of tomato and a few onion shards.
“Nick told me Kenny was in the hospital,” Allie said.
I threw Nick a look. Allie knew the work I did sometimes involved an element of risk, but the details were never up for discussion.
Nick gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head and poured himself a glass of Chianti.
“He’ll be fine,” I said. “Should be home in a few days.”
“Good,” Allie said. “I like him, but I don’t understand him. I mean how does an observant Jew work for someone like your brother?”
“Everybody’s gotta do something,” Nick said, ripping off a hunk of garlic bread and plunging it into the sauce.” Besides, I work for Dave too.”
“But you’re …”
Nick put down the bread, and his voice went hard. “A thug, and Kenny’s not?” Nick said.
Nick was never very big on nuance.
“That’s not what I meant,” Allie said. “Kenny wears his faith on his sleeve, while you’re at least consistent.”
Nick smiled, and reached over and patted her hand.
“Was there a compliment in there?”
“Most assuredly so. And the fact you gave up your time to protect me from being collateral damage at the hands of whoever is trying to kill Steeg only makes me like you more.”
“What makes you think someone is trying to kill me?” I said.
“Let’s see. When I left my apartment this morning, Nick is lurking around up the block. I walked to the subway and he’s right behind me, as inconspicuous as a rhino. And then he shows up at the agency with some cockamamie story about how he’s thinking of doing some advertising for Feeney’s and wants to learn how the business works. Please!”
“I guess tailing isn’t one of my long suits.”
This time Nick at least had the decency to look ashamed of himself.
Allie impaled a slice of tomato and diced it into half-inch pieces.
“So,” she said, “pray tell, who’s trying to kill you, Steeg, and why?”
I wasn’t about to go there.
“What’s going on in your world, Nick?”
“Your brother’s stepping up the pressure on Anthony.”
“It sounds very Oedipal,” Allie said.
“More like immigrant shanty Irish,” I chimed in. “The kids do better than the parents, and so on. In a couple or three generations you have the Kennedys. Bootlegger to President. In a way, that’s what Dave wants for Anthony.”
“And look what it got old Joe,” Nick said.
“But the dream remains.”
“Not for your brother. Anthony took a swing at him.”
“Not surprised.”
“Fucker deserved it. Dave was all over him for some bullshit thing Anthony did or didn’t do. Who knows? Anyway, the kid lost it and threw a punch.”
“How did Dave handle it?”
“He grabbed hi
s hand in midair and held it for a bit. I thought he was going to kick the shit out of him, but he just walked away.”
“Dave could never hit Anthony,” I said. “Never lifted a hand to any of his kids. Franny was the disciplinarian.”
“It’s Oedipal,” Allie repeated. “For some reason he wants to hurt his father.”
“Hurt is putting a really fine point on things, don’t you think? As I recall, Oedipus killed his father.”
32
Tiffany and Wanda shared an apartment on 130th Street and Riverside Drive in one of those prewar buildings that sported high ceilings, ornate wall moldings, and long-faded grandeur.
Tiffany, her face scrubbed clean of makeup, wore a loose-fitting neon blue warm-up suit. She met me at the door with a cup of black coffee in her hand.
“We had a rough night, so go easy on her,” she said. “The shitheads made sure they got their money’s worth.”
“No problem. Couple of questions, and I’m gone.”
“Got the rest of the money?”
Thanks to Nick, I did. And he even let the interest slide.
I pressed the bills into her hand.
She slipped them into her jacket pocket and motioned me in.
I followed her into the tiny kitchen, where Wanda, wearing an off-white terry-cloth robe, sat at the table nursing a glass of orange juice. Her lusterless light brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail secured by a rubber band. The dull, glazed look in her eyes told me that she had spent an evening in the company of The Beast, and wasn’t ready for another go-around anytime soon.
Tiffany moved behind Wanda and gently stroked the nape of her neck.
“Wanda, honey,” she said. “This is Steeg. Remember? I told you about him?”
In an attitude that almost resembled prayer, Wanda’s hands were splayed palms up on the table. She kept her eyes fixed on them as if the answers to all the mysteries of the world could be read in their lines and creases.
I took a seat at the table. Tiffany sat between us.
“Wanda, do you know why I’m here?”
She shook her head.
“Last Christmas Eve there was a terrible fire at a warehouse in Hell’s Kitchen. Three bodies were found on the main floor. One of them was your sister, Angela.”
Wanda nodded again. “I was there,” she said, in a voice that sounded like it had snaked up from the bottom of a gravel pit.
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