Holden lifted him up. “You should have thought about that, Jeremías, when you visited Oliver Street.”
“I didn’t visit. Your whore let me in.”
“It amounts to the same thing,” the bumper said and broke Jeremías’ neck. The madrina pounced on him with a knife. He stepped out of her path and dug his hand into the shelf between her eyes. She collapsed with a hissing sound.
“Dada,” the little goddess said, breaking out of Gottlieb’s grip and grabbing Holden’s leg.
“I’m your tío,” he told her. “Nothing more.”
“Dada.”
“Holden,” Gottlieb said. “Jeremías is finished, but the madrina is a little alive.”
“Gottlieb, I didn’t ask for a body count. Let’s go.”
They crept out of the shack. Pancho Villa lay with his head in the grass. Holden carried the girl into the trunk with him, and Gottlieb steered the Dodge up to the gate.
“Did you have a good time?” Punto said, but he didn’t open the gate. He pressed the buttons on his phone. “I have to get Jeremías. That’s the law at this estate ... hello ... hello?” And suddenly Holden was behind him, slapping Punto’s head with the cordless phone.
“Gottlieb, open the gate.”
And they drove off with the bumper behind the wheel.
They stopped in El Norte. Holden went looking for Dolores while Gottlieb sat in the car with Santa Barbara. But Dolores’ sewing shop was gone. Gypsies sat inside the window, beckoning to Holden. He drove around the block to Isham Street. But there wasn’t a body or a mattress in Dolores’ mattress pad. Holden wondered if the madrina and her favorite godson staged their seances in different parts of town.
He drove to Chelsea. Gottlieb had to suck in his bowels, because he still believed Holden meant to kill him.
“Do you have a pad?” Holden asked. “Someplace where the Cubans won’t find you.”
“I’ll get one.”
Holden slapped a key into the kid’s hand. “It’s a storefront on White Street. A few blocks from the river. You can’t miss it. It’s got black window blinds. You stay there. It’s equipped. I’ll come and collect you.”
“Where does the girl go?”
“With Fay and me,” Holden said.
“The Abruzzi bitch.”
“What about it?”
“Nothing,” Gottlieb said.
“It doesn’t feel like nothing on your face.”
Better walk, Gottlieb muttered to himself. The bumper’s letting you break free. But like an imbecile he had to prove to Holden his worth as a rat.
“She’s Paul’s girl.”
“I know that. The district attorney’s daughter-in-law.”
“I didn’t say daughter-in-law, did I?”
Holden’s temples tightened into a pyramid. He sat the little girl in the car, so she couldn’t listen. “What did you say?”
“Paul’s been jobbing the bitch.”
“Stop it,” Holden said. “That’s like incest.”
“Almost.”
He touched the kid, not to menace him, but as if to reassure himself with the feel of flesh. “How did you know about them?”
“Holden, I’m your rat ... but it wasn’t such a secret. Mikey knew. He wanted to hit Abruzzi where it hurts.”
“They were having a number, Paul and Fay?”
“The old man was crazy about her. That’s why he couldn’t run for another office. The pols would have crucified him with the tale of his daughter-in-law. Holden, he went everywhere with her. He kept a room at the Algonquin ... for him and Fay. I saw them kissing at some government ball.”
“What were you doing there?”
“I was with Edmundo. A thousand-dollar-a-plate deal. And Abruzzi was behind the curtain, with his silver hair in her neck.”
“He stole her from his own son?”
“Rex doesn’t give a damn. He’s into his plays and Muriel’s girls. He’s a real collector.”
“And I was in the dark about the whole shebang.”
“You’re too busy bumping, Holden, that’s your problem. You’re always making plans.”
“But I had a goddamn intelligence team,” Holden said. “You ran it with Loretta.”
“I can’t give you everything. It would have clogged the pipes.”
“Who told you not to tell me about Paul and Fay?”
“Infante. You wouldn’t have gone to fetch the bitch if you’d known about her and Abruzzi.”
“All right, it’s established. Paul kissed Fay behind the curtain. But why does Infante send me to tickle his wife?”
“Shit, Holden, I’m not sure.”
“But that can’t be a bigger secret than a district attorney and his daughter-in-law. You have to have some opinion on the subject.”
“He hates you, I think. Because you’re private, like your dad.”
“You never met my dad,” Holden said.
“But Infante did. He’s setting you up for a long-range kill. But I could be wrong. Infante never trusted me much. Maybe he figured I’d always be your rat.”
Holden marched up the stairs with Santa Barbara. He’d have to get her a new set of dolls. But he couldn’t concentrate. He imagined Paul Abruzzi hugging Fay. Holden didn’t have silver hair, like the district attorney. And suddenly Paul didn’t seem old or out of fashion in his undertaker’s suit. A distinguished gentleman. Mature. And Holden was a boy clutching his own death certificate. His color schemes weren’t right. He should have gone around in black or gray, wearing a mourner’s melody.
His darling was at the door. She’d heard him twist his key in the lock. Her eyes went from Holden to the little girl. She didn’t seem surprised at Holden’s gift. He might just as well have brought a poodle.
“Barbara,” Holden said. “Meet Barbara. She’s a friend I have to guard.”
His darling took to the girl. Holden wouldn’t have to worry about two women fighting behind his tail.
“Have you eaten yet?”
“No. I had to get her out of a jam.”
And Fay prepared some tortellini in a red sauce. It was Red Mike’s favorite dish. Mike was a genius at cooking all kinds of noodles. Holden sulked at the table while the leopard girl gobbled with a pair of forks. His darling sat with a glass of wine, her skirts bunched around her thighs.
“Sidney, your hand is shaking.”
“It’s been a rough afternoon. I had to sock a whole lot of people.”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“There’s nothing to be sorry about. I got Barbara back.” They finished eating, and Fay put the girl to bed in a cot. “Dolls,” Holden said. “We have to get her dolls and lollipops.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I heard something. About you and Paul.”
“Sidney, don’t duel with me, please. What did you hear?”
“That you kissed him at a banquet, at a government ball. That he kept a room for you at the Algonquin. That you married Rex and made love to his dad.”
“It’s not as—”
“Did you kiss him behind the curtain, or not?”
“Is that all you care about? The yes or no of a kiss?”
“Well, it’d be a start. I’d have a piece of information.”
“Yes. I kissed him behind the curtain.”
“At a thousand-dollar-a-plate dinner? In front of all the pols?”
“I can’t say who was watching, and I don’t care. We kissed.”
“And that’s why Paul grabbed me off the street. It wasn’t politics and it wasn’t ballet. He wanted you.”
“It doesn’t matter what he wants. I’m here. With you.”
“But I’m not your black knight. And I never played chess. I know Paul. He’ll try to get me bumped.”
“He wouldn’t dare.”
“Dare? He’s the district attorney. He can dare day and night. How did it start? ... you and him?”
“I told you. We went to the ballet. He’d lost his wife. He was lonely. Rex wasn’t aroun
d. Paul was gentle with me. We didn’t kiss for months and months. He barely held my hand. We’d talk for hours ... and then he kissed me one night. He was trembling. It was like his body had started to scream. I’d never sensed that in a man. And I didn’t care if he was my father-in-law or not.”
“How long did it go on?”
“Years,” she said.
It was like Carmen’s hammer all over again, a knock in the head. “Years?” And Holden had a thought. “Did Red Mike ever see you and Paul together?”
“Once. At a restaurant in Brooklyn. Gage & Tollner. Paul liked it because it was near the federal courthouse. And Michael came in. He stopped at the table and looked at me ... that’s all.”
“And that look cost him his life,” Holden said.
“I couldn’t stop him from looking, Sidney.”
“It’s like a big ballet. And Paul is the director of it, moving bodies everywhere. Some of the bodies are alive and some are dead.”
“But I didn’t ask Michael to pull me into his car and ride me out of Manhattan under a rug. I was going to my dentist, for God’s sake.”
“But tell me, dear. Did you look back at Michael in the restaurant?”
“A little. He brought me a flower from another table. He smiled. That was it.”
“Jesus. I can’t say who was the trigger and who was the gun. Paul has to get rid of Mike, because Mike is a threat to the Cuban machine. He can arrest the simple son of a bitch, but Mike would go to his lawyers and dance right out of court. So he picks at Mike’s family, gets him mad, and what else can Mike do? He’s probably half in love with you by now ... what kind of flower was it at the restaurant? A white rose?”
“It could have been. I can’t remember.”
“You remember,” Holden said.
“Yes. It was a white rose.”
“I grew up with Mike. I know his habits. He wouldn’t go courting without a white rose.”
Holden turned silent and the telephone rang. The bell startled him, because this telephone wasn’t meant to ring. He’d installed it under the name of Lucky Jack Lohrke, another ballplayer his father had loved. Fay went to the phone.
“Don’t touch it,” he said. “Let it ring.”
“Suppose it’s important. Life and death.”
“It doesn’t matter. Let it ring.”
They sat there while the bell sounded ten or eleven times. “Fay, did you give the number to anybody? I mean, the butcher, or somebody like that.”
She wouldn’t answer him. The phone stopped ringing and started again. Holden felt trapped by the bell. It could have been the noise of his own existence. He picked up the receiver. “Hello?”
He heard that familiar static of France.
“Holden, are you there? ... don’t play possum. This is costing me money.”
“I wouldn’t irritate your pocketbook, Swiss. How are you?”
“That’s not the question. You’ve been doing damage, Holden. I don’t think we can afford you much longer.”
“It’s funny, Swiss. I was thinking the same about you.”
“I’m quite sure of that. But you’re a little leaguer, Holden. You have no sense of structure without us. Aladdin made you.”
“I made Aladdin too. How did you get my number, Swiss?”
“Who else would have a listing under Lucky Jack Lohrke? Your father worked for me, Holden. I haven’t forgotten any of his passions. Baseball. Women. Wine. You’ve disturbed our Cuban friends. That wasn’t nice.”
“Swiss, I’ll be flying to Paris one day soon. Watch for me.”
“I will. But before you get to Paris, I’d like you to sit down with Don Edmundo.”
“Why? So he can turn me into cat food.”
“Don’t be morbid, Holden. Meet with him. At the office. Bring a dozen bodyguards. ’Mundo doesn’t mind. Tomorrow, Holden. Tomorrow at ten.”
And the Swisser rang off, leaving Holden as he always did, with a dead wire in his hand.
Oyá
16
HOLDEN BROUGHT THE LEOPARD girl under his own blanket, and she slept with him and Fay. He could have gone with them to another mattress pad, but the telephone would ring, and he’d have to chat with Swiss in the middle of the night. He put a couch in front of the door, screwed down the window guards, and got into bed with his Beretta Minx.
He woke to the clutter of Santa Barbara in the kitchen with his darling. They were frying bacon together, singing songs like a couple of grandmas who’d been together fifty years. It’s women, Holden muttered. They get along without men. All he needed was Andrushka on the other side of the kitchen table, and he’d have a regular chorus.
The two women insisted that he eat in bed.
“Hey, hey, I’m on the go.”
But they wrestled him into the blankets and Holden started to laugh until he remembered Paul Abruzzi. His face went dark. He felt miserable. His darling was everybody’s catch, like some chicken of the sea. He chewed his breakfast, watched the two women, got into one of Goldie’s velvet jobs, and then decided to dress Santa Barbara and bring her to his office. She was safe around Holden. How could he trust that darling of his after what he’d learned about Paul? He stood near the door, kissed Fay and hugged her, his jaw twitching half the time.
“When will I see you, Holden?” she asked.
His name sounded broken to him, after she’d started calling him Sidney. But he didn’t answer. He walked down the stairs with Santa Barbara and traveled north to the fur market. Aladdin was filled with Edmundo’s men. They picked their teeth around the nailers and cutters, stared at Nick Tiel’s dummies, but they all turned to look at Holden and the santita. Some strange carpenters were with them, wearing blue hats and pants rolled up to their knees; not one carpenter had socks or shoes that matched. They were sanding the edges of an enormous wooden box. Holden had never seen a crate like that at Aladdin. It could have housed oranges, furs, or a dead man.
The carpenters were shy around the santita. They took off their hats. But she wouldn’t flirt with them. She held Holden’s hand. He went into his office and waited with the santita. Don Edmundo knocked on Holden’s door and wouldn’t come in until Holden said so. The Batista babies had unbelievable manners. They were grandees in a fur market that thrived on oils and fats and specific delicatessens. Edmundo didn’t have Holden’s tailor, but he liked to wear suits from Saville Row. He was bald, with a big round head. He’d earned his bones at the Bay of Pigs, the mysterious soldier who sat in Castro’s jails until he was ransomed with American medical supplies.
“Ah, you brought the santita,” Don Edmundo said. “That’s kind.”
“She’s not for you.”
“But I could steal her, Holden. What would ever stop me?”
“Swiss. He said I could bring as many bodyguards as I wanted.”
“So she’s your bodyguard. You’ve chosen well ... I have no need for her now.”
“Why’s that, ’Mundo? You went to an awful lot of bother killing someone I loved to get the little girl.”
The grandee blew on his fingers, opened the door, and pointed to the carpenters and the wooden box. “Have a look, Holden ... come on.” Holden walked out among the carpenters, who shoved back the lid of the box. Huevo was lying in a bed of straw. La Familia had built him his own manger. He had marks under his eyes. His lips were puffy. It seemed to Holden that someone had taken a bite out of his face.
“It’s finished,” Edmundo said. “Our game with Big Balls. He got careless. He abandoned all his nests and went looking for the santita in Riverdale. But he wasn’t as lucky as you. He got lost with a hook in his head.”
Holden felt a body flit around his arm. Santa Barbara had come out of his office. She had to stand on her toes to see inside the box. There was no alarm in her eyes, no loss. The man in the manger could have been a shipment of minks.
He returned to the office with the little girl. It was Holden who raged, who wanted to hurl Edmundo into the straw. “Beautiful. My stepmo
ther gets killed, you grab the santita, and Huevo falls into your lap.”
“Stepmother?” the grandee said. “I never knew your dad had married Mrs. Howard.”
“They didn’t have to marry. She was around long enough to qualify.”
“But I didn’t ask Jeremías to hurt Mrs. Howard. Only to take the santita.”
“You’re a liar,” Holden said.
Edmundo scratched his chin. “I could have your tongue cut off. But I like you. I always did. That’s the reason you’re still alive. You remind me of a monk. You have your craft ... and no family, nothing.”
“Your whole family stinks,” Holden said.
Edmundo scratched and scratched until his jaw turned red. “Yes, I had the woman killed. And your Brooklyn chauffeur. And Jeremías marked her face, so you’d think the Marielitas had done the job. But I told Jeremías it was futile. You’d smell Gottlieb behind it. And I took a risk. Because Gottlieb was a perfect spy. But now he’s not so perfect and he’ll have to suffer.”
“You didn’t want the Parrot, did you?”
“What? We were talking about your whore.”
“Someone must have tipped you that the Parrot was holding the little girl. And you had me grab her for you, like some kind of a dummy. You knew Huevo would come after me, and that was good for business, because he wouldn’t burn so many of your betting parlors. You were hoping I’d bump him in the end. But it didn’t happen.”
“Holden, I would never have trusted the santita with you. She was much too important. And a man like you has to see conspiracies everywhere he goes. It’s your craft, and your craft is killing you. But you took Jeremías, and I have to get even. Give me your whore, and everything will be all right between us, Holden. I have to have him. As payment for Jeremías. How can I let Jeremías go unavenged like a dog? He was with me twenty-five years.”
“You can’t have Gottlieb. He belongs to me.”
“But he’s worthless. He betrayed you, Holden.”
“It doesn’t matter. Gottlieb is mine.”
“I’ll catch him,” Edmundo said. “You don’t gain by not giving him up. And what should I tell my family? That the paradise man would rather die than be without his whore? They won’t consider it funny. Holden, I cried when I saw what you did to Jeremías’ neck. When Big Balls kidnapped him, I paid whatever was asked. I can’t desert him only because he’s dead. If you’re not a gentleman, it’s out of my hands.”
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