Around dawn she threw herself down on the mattress and shut her eyes. Wasted effort. She thrashed the bedding to the floor, then stalked into the kitchen to put up a pot of coffee. It came to a boil about the same time that she did, and she dialed the Sixteenth Precinct again. To a fit of smoker’s cough she responded, “Detective Bucyk, please.”
“Doesn’t work here any more.”
“Do you know where I can reach him, Officer?”
“If you have to ask, I can’t give out the information.”
“That’s great. Is Detective … um, Detective Infante on duty?”
“Just came in the door.”
She had to wait several minutes to talk to him. The good part was she didn’t have to listen to Muzak while she did.
“Infante here.”
“Detective Infante, this is Kate Shapiro.”
No answer. Then she could have sworn she heard gears meshing. She tapped the earpiece. Then, “Still knocking them dead?”
“You remember me …?” she said. “It’s been more than six months.”
“Bucyk didn’t give me a choice. Two things he never gets tired talking about, the time he murdered an eight-point buck at Tobyhanna, the night he went backstage at the Starlight. Trouble there again?”
“No, not there. I gave that up.”
“Better than the other way around,” Infante said. “How’d you make out in court with that African?”
“Not too badly. They fined me two hundred dollars. And I had to promise not to hit him again.”
“So what’s your pleasure now?”
“It’s no pleasure. A man with a gun broke into my place early this morning and took … and took something of great sentimental value. When I tried to report it stolen, the police weren’t interested.”
“Brooklyn cops are like that,” Infante said. “That’s why they’re in Brooklyn.”
“This was on the West Side.”
“Coming up in the world, aren’t you?”
“I was beginning to think so,” she said, mainly to herself. “But this could be a real setback. Detective Bucyk told me if I ever had a problem, he could help.”
Infante exhaled hard into the mouthpiece and Kate heard his lungs wheeze. Had he been nicer the last time, she’d suggest a dry climate. “If the precinct can’t handle it, I don’t see what Bucyk can do,” he said.
“That’s what I’m trying to find out. Can you transfer the call, or tell me where to find him?”
“No.”
“That’s it? No? Pretend I was calling to give him a million dollars.”
“As long as we’re pretending, why not give him a tumble. I’ll pass on the message, do that for you. Let me have your number.”
Her fingers wrapped themselves in the cord, reeled in the clock, nearly snapped off the alarm button before she realized it was in as far as it went. Forcing open her eyes, she saw the phone beside the pillow and swiped at it, quieted it on the second try. “Hello?” she called out of the fog.
“M. Anita?”
“Unh?”
“This is Stanley Bucyk.”
“Oh, Detective.” Suddenly wide awake. “Thanks so much.”
“Yeah, I called soon as I heard from Infante.”
Kate turned the clock around. Bucyk wasn’t exaggerating; it was still a few minutes before nine. “Did he tell you what happened?”
“Some of it. He said no one’d give you the time of day. Where are you now?”
“I’m on West Seventy-sixth between Amsterdam and Columbus. The police said they wouldn’t waste their time on a robbery.”
“The Sixteenth,” Bucyk said. “Neighborhood like that they figure, why bother. Anybody in the Sixteenth gets taken off, she just flashes the plastic and forgets all about it.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Kate said. “I’m visiting.”
“Nice to have rich friends.”
“I wouldn’t know that either. This is my boss’s place, he left me in charge while he’s out of the country.”
“In Colombia?”
“No,” Kate said. “Israel. Why?”
“The Sixteenth,” Bucyk said again. “Just a hunch.”
“I was hoping he wouldn’t have to find out about the robbery.”
“What’d they get? Infante didn’t say.”
Kate gritted her teeth. “A dog.”
“You’re kidding, right? I couldn’t find Rin Tin Tin for you if he wore bell-bottoms and talked French. Some med student’s probably got him, trying to save the world from mildew, something like that.”
“He isn’t a German shepherd, he’s a wolfhound, a very big dog. You don’t see many of them. He wouldn’t be that hard to find.”
“Be a waste of time trying,” Bucyk told her, his voice flattening like a fast leak. “Yours and mine both.”
Kate gulped cold coffee, trying to fill the hollowness, making it worse. “You won’t help, is that what you’re telling me?”
“I’d like to, but … Jesus, I don’t know. A dog.”
Kate heard a familiar voice say, “That’s not all he took.”
“What’s this?” Bucyk asked.
“He took some jewelry.” What was it? A lie? Not really, more like a white one—and so easy to tell she wondered why she hadn’t thought of it herself, why it had to slip out on its own. “Some jewelry and some cash.”
“That’s a whole other story.”
“He even cut a picture out of the frame, rolled it up and took it away.” A lily-white lie, boiled, bleached, 99.44 percent pure.
“Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”
“I was so worried about Isaac, I forgot the other stuff for the moment.”
“Isaac?” Bucyk said. “Hold on, let me get a pen.”
Kate got out of bed and carried the phone to a yellow Barcalounger opposite the TV. “Take your time,” she said, and leaned all the way back.
“What I’m gonna need for starters,” Bucyk said, “is a list of everything that was stolen and a description.”
“That’s easy. He’s nearly all white, with a—”
“The jewels. We’ll want to notify all the hock shops, Forty-seventh Street, the diamond bourse down on Canal. I’ll pull some strings, get burglary working on it. Some detectives will want you to come down and talk to them.”
“Oh no,” Kate said. “I can’t.”
“This time they’ll be on your side.”
Sure, but for how long? “I don’t have a list. He just scooped it out of a drawer and stuffed it in his pocket. I didn’t even know it was there.”
“Tell me about the money,” Bucyk said.
“It was … money. What about it?”
“The amount taken, the denominations.”
“I don’t know. Can’t you start looking for Isaac?”
“It’d be good if I had a picture to work with. There any around?”
“I’ll have to look,” Kate said.
“I’m only a few blocks away. How about I come over and help. We’re gonna do this right, I’ll have to see the place anyway.”
“But I’ve already cleaned up. You wouldn’t find any clues.”
“We’ll leave that to the techs,” Bucyk told her.
“Techs?”
“The crime lab. You know, fingerprints, footprints, like Sherlock Holmes. The works.”
The hollow feeling again, only stronger, strong enough to swallow her whole. “Detective Bucyk,” she said stiffly “I didn’t think this was going to become so involved. Maybe we should forget about it.”
“Infante said something about a gun.”
“Not a real one,” Kate said. “A beginner’s pistol.”
“A what …? Doesn’t make a difference. It’s still armed robbery, and we can’t forget it. That would be against the law. I’ll be over in ten minutes.”
Six to be exact.
“You’re looking good.”
“Thank you, Detective.”
“Very good.”
&nbs
p; She stood on the landing searching for a compliment to toss down to him and saw a number of possibilities grinning back at her. Bucyk was tan. He’d lost weight, a good twenty pounds, and about a year from his face for every five of them. He wore a nice suit. The way he was looking at her, the suit seemed the safest way to go. “So are you,” she said as if she had to. “And very prosperous, I might add.”
He parked a dark gray fedora on the bannister and jogged upstairs. A cloud of sweet wintergreen got there first and Kate prepared to block his lips with her cheek. He went for her hands instead, taking one in both of his and not letting go till it was time for the grand tour.
“Nice place you have here,” he said as she brought him to the third-floor salon and seated him on the piano bench.
“I’m only a guest, remember?”
Bucyk surveyed the room, squinting into the darkness as if his eyes were filled to capacity. “Why buy the cow when you get the milk for free?”
“Nothing’s free,” Kate said gravely, and some of the elasticity went out of Bucyk’s face. “It’s my job to look after the house, the dog, the business. Only I’ve managed to make a mess of everything.”
“What business is that?”
“My boss owns the Arabian Knights.”
Bucyk seemed to be torturing his memory. Then he snapped his fingers. “You said you danced there.”
“Not any more. It’s all I can do to keep it running.”
“You like it better backstage?”
“Oh, I’m still performing,” she said, “juggling the accounts, balancing the books, walking a tightrope over a very deep drop.”
“You’re lucky to find a boss who’d give you a break like that.”
“That’s why I’d hate for him to find out what happened. He’s been good to me. Very good.”
You made your point, Bucyk wanted to say. “So I see. Well, let’s hope he doesn’t have to. How much time do we have?”
“Before Howard comes home? I’m not sure. A few more weeks.”
“Howard?”
“Mr. Ormont,” Kate said. “My boss.”
“That’s not a lot.” He pulled a small pad from his jacket and scribbled a few words on the back without taking his eyes off her. “I’m on a pretty tight schedule myself.”
“I haven’t even asked about your new assignment,” Kate said. “Have you transferred out of the West Side?”
“Out of the department,” Bucyk told her. “Strictly speaking, I’m no longer a cop.”
“Then this isn’t an official investigation?”
“Far as you’re concerned, I’m a private eye. I owe you one after what happened last time.”
“Oh,” Kate said, starting to relax. “Oh.”
“You’re welcome,” Bucyk said.
“Who are you working for now?”
“For you.”
“I mean—”
“Don’t ask, ’cause I can’t say. It’s interesting work, important work, and it pays better than being a flatty. I’m happy I made the change. Are you?”
Kate was looking absentmindedly out the window. She didn’t seem to hear.
“Well, are you?”
“Ask me when this is all over,” she told him. “Where will you be looking?”
“For the dog, or the other stuff?”
“For the man who took them. I won’t rest easy till I know he’s not coming back.”
“You’ll tell me all about him, his MO and everything.”
“His what?” Kate asked helplessly.
“Sorry, I forgot,” Bucyk said. “His modus operandi, how he parts his hair, and I’ll start making calls in the other room.”
“Where will I be?”
“Right beside me, waiting for one from him.”
He stayed till four, till she chased him out saying she had to get dolled up for the club. So did he, he told her, and tapped a fresh crease in his hat. Some Arab cooking was just what the doctor ordered and anyway he’d feel more relaxed keeping an eye on her all night. She cut him off with a polite, “Nothing doing.” She’d had her fill of staring eyes and they didn’t relax her one bit. The Knights was perfectly safe and she could always catch a ride home with the cook. He wouldn’t take her no for an answer till she exchanged it for his home number and promised to call if there was trouble.
The pounding on the door came in short, demanding bursts in time with the pounding in her head. She deadened the pain with two aspirins and then sleepwalked downstairs to deal with the noise. Through the fish-eye lens in the peephole she saw Bucyk marking time on the stoop with rain running from his hat. She let him stand there a little longer while she went back for a robe.
Bucyk scrubbed his shoes on the mat and came upstairs behind a brown bag that he had been shielding under his jacket. There were thin spots in the paper where the water had gotten to it. “I brought breakfast,” he said. He was waiting for some kind of reaction. Anything. He didn’t give up until she put the bag on the floor without looking inside. “Croissants …”
“It was very thoughtful of you,” she said, too tired to argue.
“This isn’t a social call,” he announced, starting to cut his losses. “I’ve got a buddy, defrocked cop, can hook an automatic trace on your line. It’s illegal, and he’s in dutch with the department as it is, so he isn’t banging down the door to do it. But he will. In the meantime, I can’t hang around every day so I’m going to install a wire, record all your calls. I’ll show you how to work it so you erase the hot stuff before I pick up the tapes.”
“There’s something I—”
“You hear from the guy with your dog,” he cut her off, “you try and set up a meeting, then you get back to me. He won’t go for it, just keep him talking—about himself, if you can. He’s as bright as he sounds, he’ll probably drop his Social Security number. He doesn’t, at least we’ll have a good listen at his voice.”
“There’s something I have to tell you first.”
“You don’t like croissants? I can run around the corner for some danish.”
“About the jewelry,” she began uncomfortably. “You see, I never expected—”
“No need to get into that now,” he said. “There’s too many things we haven’t covered yet.”
“But this is important.”
“Tell me later. The only thing’s important now is I catch up on how you made it into the high-rent district.”
Kate forced a smile, but had to give it up. Bucyk tried it on and bent it back into shape. “Think you’ve got problems? The guy who took your dog, he doesn’t know it yet, but he’s already got one foot in the slammer.”
Kate sighed deeply and her chest heaved, spreading the robe at the lapels. Bucyk wanted to ask if she planned on doing it again. “Call me Stash,” he told her. “For Stashu, my name in Polish. Think you’re the only one with an old country?”
“Were you born in Poland?” she asked, grateful for the reprieve.
“Try Scranton,” he said. “The family came to New York when I was two. If you have to have an old country, Pennsylvania’s mine, but I’ll answer to Poland.” Eyeing her, he ran his fingers along the banister, taking in the atmosphere. “You know, there’s a number of folks come to mind wouldn’t raise a stink trading places with you.”
“Do I seem like I’m feeling sorry for myself? I’m getting good at that.” She brought him into the kitchen and tore apart the soggy paper, put out the croissants on a plate. A light came on under the percolator. “…It’s the way my life is going. I can’t get myself arrested, is that the expression?”
“You’re talking to the right guy.”
Kate smiled weakly. “I’m tired of dumb jobs, of living in other people’s houses. My brain is shriveling from lack of use.” When Bucyk let that go by she said, “I do have one.”
“I don’t believe I’m hearing this,” he told her. “A kisser like yours, the world’s got to be beating a path to your door.”
“To nail it shut,” she said.
“You were gonna be a model.”
“And then I was going to manage a restaurant, act in a movie. I was going to do a lot of things.”
“A movie? You didn’t say anything.”
“There’s nothing to say. I was turned down for the part.”
“X-rated?”
Kate glowered at him.
“A real one,” he said. “Well, what do you know about acting?”
“The role called for a dancer. If that’s out, what’s left?”
“Plenty of things,” Bucyk said.
“Name one I can tell my mother about.”
“After breakfast,” he promised. “I’m starved.”
6
WITHOUT THE CONTACTS IT was a little better, as if the fuzziness was something to take cover in. She tried focusing on the corners, projecting herself out of the spotlight’s stark assessment. It was how many months since she’d put Times Square behind her and now she was mortified doing a shimmy they taught in a Bensonhurst Y. She told herself she finally must be growing up. But the idea didn’t take. More likely it was just that she was out of practice—and ashamed to show it. Before the next performance she’d give a piece of her mind to the talent agent who touted the girl that canceled.
One of the waiters intercepted her as she hurried off to perfunctory applause. Squinting into the lights, she scarcely recognized him. His hairline was receding and he seemed to have aged suddenly. Then she realized why. “You’re out of uniform, Malik,” she said.
He opened his mouth, but no words came. Like the ventriloquist’s dummy in that scary old English movie … what was it called? “A customer took my fez,” he stammered, “and he won’t give it back.”
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