The Misfortune Cookie ed-6

by Laura Resnick

  “Crisis averted.” Lopez turned back to me and looked at my costume, which was revealed by the open flaps of my winter coat. “Are you playing a hooker?”

  “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” I said, looking down at my outfit. Then I started zipping and buttoning my coat so I could talk to him without freezing to death. “But, no, I’m playing an uptown girl who never feels the cold.”

  “Well, I’m really glad you found something,” he said. “A job, I mean. An acting job.”

  “And that’s where you come in. You see, Ted forgot—” I stopped speaking when his phone rang.

  “Shit.” He sighed. “I’m sorry, Esther. If I don’t take this call, I’ll never hear the end of it.” I gathered from his long-suffering expression that the ringtone had warned him who his caller was. Lopez pulled his phone out of his pocket and answered the call without bothering to check the LCD screen. He said tersely, “This isn’t a good time, Mom.”

  Ah.

  A second later, he winced and held the phone a little way away from his ear. I could hear his mother’s voice from here. She was obviously mad about something—which didn’t surprise me at all, now that I’d met her. She was a beautiful woman with a temper that would have frightened the Mongol hordes into retreating.

  He let her rant for a while, listening patiently until she wound down a little. Then, without bringing the phone closer to his ear, he said, “Yeah, well, since you kept calling just to tell me you’re still not speaking to me, I didn’t really see the point in answering.”

  Her reaction caused him to move the phone a little further away from his head. While Lopez waited for his mother to wind down again, another harsh gust of wind whipped down Doyers, ruffling his black hair and creeping under my tiny skirt.

  “You’re right,” he said at last into the phone. “I’m a bad son. You know what would be a good punishment? Don’t call me for a while. Now I’ve got to go, Mom. I’m in the middle of something here.”

  His expression was dark as he put the phone back in his pocket. “Sorry. There comes a point where her voicemails get so long, it’s quicker just to take the call.”

  I was surprised by his obvious tension. For all that his mother was a volatile woman, I knew she was close to her youngest son (Lopez had two older brothers). He and she argued a lot, and they could be sharp with each other; but they talked regularly, and the flare-ups between them were usually brief—often lasting only a few minutes. This sounded more serious. Like they’d had a big fight and still weren’t over it.

  I also noticed that Lopez still looked stressed and tired, as he had on New Year’s Eve. His skin was flushed from the cold wind right now and his dark hair was shining healthily in today’s shifting light, but there were hollows under his blue eyes and signs of sustained tension in his face. He usually looked better than this. Even so, though, he looked so good to me after too long an absence. I wanted to drown in him.

  I stared at him, trying to remember why I had asked him to come here today . . . and, at the moment, only able to remember what it was like to kiss him. When his gaze dropped to my mouth, I had a feeling he was thinking of the same thing . . . And my mind was flooded with memories of the way his lush, full lips had felt against my mouth, my neck, my—

  Andy Quinn stuck his head out of the restaurant door to ask, “Are we going to be here a while?”

  We both jumped.

  “Huh?” said Lopez, blinking.

  “I could eat.” Quinn looked at me. “Whatever you want him to do, is it going to take long enough for me to have lunch?”

  “Oh! Um . . .” I blinked, too, starting to remember why I’d asked Lopez to come here. “I guess so.”

  “Great,” said Quinn. “Archie says the dumplings here are first-rate.”

  “Who’s Archie?” Lopez asked.

  But Quinn had already gone back inside.

  So I said, “He’s the guy with the sword.”

  “That guy? He doesn’t really look like an Archie.”

  “Well, certainly not in his warrior-poet costume,” I agreed.

  Our gazes held as we fell silent, and I felt myself flushing. So I quickly rushed into a muddled explanation about Ted, our lack of location permits, Officer Novak, and my fervent desire to keep working.

  “That’s all?” Lopez looked through the window, to where Officer Novak was now playing with Archie’s sword. “Sure, I’ll talk to the rookie for you, Esther. It doesn’t exactly look like it’ll be a tough conversation.”

  “I guess the situation seemed more dire before Novak was full of dumplings and chitchat,” I admitted.

  Lopez smiled, then said, “This guy Ted sounds like a flake, though.”

  “He is,” I said morosely.

  “Like maybe you’ll have this problem again.”

  “I have a feeling we will.”

  “I might be able to help with that, too.”

  “How?” I asked in surprise.

  “The guy who was my first partner on the force is with the NYPD Movie/TV Unit these days. I could ask him to expedite Ted’s location application for Doyers Street. A little grease ought to get your filming schedule back on track sooner rather than later.”

  “Really? Oh, that would be great.”

  Lopez added tentatively, “But you won’t be able to continue filming here today. I’m afraid I’ve got to go along with Officer Novak on that, Esther. So if you were hoping I could arrange it for you . . .”

  “No, no, I understand,” I assured him. It hadn’t even occurred to me that Lopez could help expedite Ted’s application, and I certainly hadn’t entertained any hope that we could resume filming on Doyers today. “I just didn’t want our director-producer to get arrested. Or for the city to impose heavy fines on Ted for filming here without a permit this morning. Or for this problem to go any further than a stern talking-to, really. We’re on a tight budget here, and Ted’s lost his backer and is trying to get another one before the money runs out. So it wouldn’t take much for this production to go belly-up. And I really want to keep working.”

  “In that case, are there other city locations Ted wants to use that he hasn’t applied for?” Lopez’s nose was getting red. It made him look a little boyish. “I could make sure we get this all sorted out at the same time, so that a problem like today’s doesn’t happen again.”

  “You’ll do that for him?” I asked appreciatively.

  “Of course not.” Lopez stomped his feet against the cold. “I don’t even know the guy. I’m doing it for you.”

  “Oh.” I had asked him here to do me a favor, but this caught me by surprise, even so. It wasn’t exactly as if the two of us were on the most amicable terms lately.

  He noticed my bemusement. “Of course I’m doing it for you, Esther. It’s not as if I’ve forgotten how you lost your last job. And it’s certainly not as if I don’t know who you blame for that.”

  “Well . . .”

  “Look, I’m glad you’ve got this job. Really glad. I know you need to keep earning. And this is a much better job for you, anyhow. You should be acting, not waiting on wiseguys.” Lopez shivered a little inside his dark blue overcoat. “So if you need my help to keep this production rolling forward, then I want to help.”

  “Oh. Okay.” I stared at him, feeling grateful, relieved, and pleased—and thinking this was the guy I had always thought he was. Not the guy who slept with me and then didn’t call. And although I was still upset about that (also still angry, hurt, and humiliated), for the first time since late on Christmas Day, when I had started to suspect that he wasn’t going to call me . . . I didn’t want to talk about it. It was such a relief, for the first time in nearly three weeks, not to be furious with him, I just wanted to stay in this peaceful neutral territory for a little while.

  Besides, I did need his help, and I had vowed to stay focused today, rather than revisit my grievances against him.

  So I said, “Thanks. I appreciate it. And I’m sure we need your help. Ted’s abou
t as organized as a tropical storm.”

  “Don’t say the word tropical right now. You’ll make me cry,” Lopez said as another wall of icy air hit us. “On days like this, I keep wishing I’d been born in Havana, despite everything my dad has ever said about Castro.”

  His father, I knew, had emigrated here from Cuba many years ago. In his sixties now, with three grown sons, he and his Irish-American wife still lived in the family home in Nyack, across the Hudson River from the city, and they craved grandchildren with zealous fervor.

  “How is your father?” I asked politely, stomping my feet as they started to turn into blocks of ice.

  “Not speaking to me,” Lopez said. “Pretty much like my mother. Only her way of not speaking to me is much noisier.”

  So there had been a big family fight. I wondered if it had somehow involved Lopez’s relationship with me, but I was reluctant to ask. That question could wind up being one of the worms in the can that I didn’t want to reopen today.

  So I just said, rather lamely, “Oh. Sorry to hear that.”

  He shrugged. “It’ll pass.” After a moment, he added, darkly, “Eventually.”

  I was sure he was right about that. His family was volatile (I still felt like I needed to lie down every time I recalled meeting his parents), but they were devoted to each other. It seemed very much in keeping with their family dynamics that his mother kept calling him to tell him she wasn’t talking to him. She wouldn’t want to be out of touch just because they weren’t on speaking terms.

  “So how’s your family?” Lopez asked politely.

  “Oh, same as always.”

  “I’m sorry.” He caught himself. “Um, I mean . . .”

  “No, that’s all right,” I assured him with a wry smile. I loved them in my way, but I wouldn’t want to live any closer to them than the eight hundred miles that currently separated us.

  He smiled, too. Our gazes locked again. And for a moment, I forgot all the heartache and misery he’d caused me and only recalled how much I liked his company. How much I missed his company . . .

  I shivered again and cleared my throat, forcing myself back to the subject at hand. “We will need your help. I’ll bet there are other permits Ted hasn’t applied for besides Doyers. And during lunch, it sounded like he’s thinking now about adding a scene that’ll be set during the firecracker festival.”

  “During the . . . ?” He rubbed his red nose with the back of a gloved hand. “Oh, you mean when all the lion dancers are running around Chinatown?”

  I nodded, my teeth starting to chatter.

  “That’s coming up soon, isn’t it?”

  “In a little over a week,” I said. “Chinese New Year’s is early this year.” And people in the neighborhood were already hanging out the festive red banners and traditional good luck symbols that marked the event.

  “Then this is really late to apply if Ted wants to film on location that day,” said Lopez. “It’s not like asking to film in an empty side street on a cold weekday morning when nothing much is going on. That’s a huge event, tens of thousands of people, dense crowds, streets closed off, extra cops brought in for crowd control, dealing with firecrackers going off, opening ceremonies, live performances, martial arts guys leaping all over the streets in their lion costumes . . .”

  “Well, since it’s not even in the script yet,” I said, “I’m not as worried about getting a permit for that scene. Anyhow, maybe Ted was just blowing smoke.”

  “If he’s serious, though, we need to make sure he understands he can’t do it without a permit, that’s for sure.” Lopez started rubbing his gloved hands together, trying to get his blood circulating. “Okay, I need to meet this guy and figure out exactly what needs to be done. More than that, I need to get inside before my body parts start freezing and falling off.”

  “Me, too.” I turned to enter the restaurant.

  “You must be so cold in that outfit,” he said as he opened the door for me. “I like your hair like that, though.”

  “John does a good job.”

  “John?”

  “He does hair and makeup for the film,” I said, still shivering. “Pretty skilled. Nice guy, too.”

  And since he habitually called a certain Gambello hit man Uncle Lucky, I was glad John wasn’t here. He was very discreet, of course, but having him in proximity to two OCCB cops would nonetheless make me anxious about a possible slip of the tongue or revealing reaction.

  Detective Quinn, who was sitting at the lunch counter enjoying his dumplings, nodded briefly to us as we entered the restaurant. The door closed behind us and we both sighed with relief as warmth enveloped us.

  Thinking of Lucky reminded me of the additional reason I had called Lopez today. So as we stood there warming up for a moment, I tried a direct approach to that problem. “So what brings you to Chinatown, anyhow?”

  Lopez grimaced. “An old case. From when I was in the Sixth Precinct.”

  “But Chinatown’s in the Fifth.”

  “Criminals are so inconsiderate about that,” he said. “We ask them to play nicely and stay within precinct boundaries, but they just won’t cooperate.”

  I smiled but stayed on point. “An old case, you said?” I prodded, thinking with relief that this didn’t sound like a search for a semi-retired capo who was hiding out in a Chinese funeral home.

  “Yeah. It’s coming up for appeal, and the defendant has got a hotshot lawyer working on it. Well, Ning’s brother has got him the lawyer.”

  “Ning?” I repeated. “That name sounds familiar.”

  “You might have read about the case,” Lopez said. “Paul Ning is a scumbag who murdered a man one night over a gambling dispute. He pursued the victim into the Sixth Precinct to kill him, which is how I wound up investigating it. My partner and I made a solid case, and the prosecutor did a good job. So if Paul were just any scumbag, I’d be nice and warm at my desk right now instead of pounding the pavement all over Chinatown helping make sure a three-year-old case will hold up and the conviction won’t get overturned. But Paul is actually Joe Ning’s youngest brother—”

  “Okay, that’s the name I’ve heard before,” I said. “Also known as Uncle Six, right?”

  He nodded. “I thought that might be why Paul Ning’s name sounded familiar to you. His brother gets into the news a lot. Which is why Paul’s trial was news—and why his appeal will be news, too. Especially since Uncle Six has deep pockets, so the lawyer he’s hired is the kind of sleazebag who’s always doing TV interviews.” Lopez added with disgust, “He’s also the kind of lawyer who gets killers off the hook, so we’ve got to be thorough, or Paul might walk.”

  I gestured toward Quinn, who was obviously enjoying his lunch. “Was he the other investigating officer, then?”

  “No, that guy left the force. Now he’s making six figures a year in private security. And he’s probably warm and dry today,” Lopez said bitterly. “Andy’s my new partner at OCCB. So, for his sins, he’s out here stomping through ankle-deep slush with me.”

  “But at least he’s enjoying his lunch.” Thinking about how relieved Lucky would be, I added, “Well, good luck. It certainly sounds like Paul Ning is someone who ought to stay behind bars.”

  “He sure is,” Lopez confirmed.

  Warm enough now, I started unbuttoning my coat. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to Officer Novak and to Ted.” I led the way over to my colleagues’ table.

  Novak was by now really getting into playing with Archie’s weapon, practicing the first few moves in a sword-form that the kung fu master was teaching him.

  “Yes, you’ve got it now. That’s right,” Archie said approvingly to the patrolman. “You should start coming to my school. We could really develop your natural abilities.”

  “You think?” Novak said, looking interested.

  I interrupted to introduce the patrolman to Lopez.

  Novak blinked. “Who?”

  “Detective Lopez,” I repeated. “The person we’ve been
waiting for.”

  “Oh!” Novak looked surprised—then embarrassed. “Oh, right.” He handed the sword back to Archie. “Glad you’re here, detective! Um, I guess I should have . . . I mean, I know I should have called this in, but Miss Diamond said—”

  “Miss Diamond was right, and I want to thank you for waiting around for me,” Lopez said, at his most cordial as he extended a hand to Novak in greeting. “I know you’re probably eager to get back to your beat, so I’ll only take a minute or two of your time.”

  Novak nodded, his mouth hanging open a little. He apparently hadn’t expected the charm offensive.

  “And this is Ted,” I added, as our writer-director-producer rose to his feet.

  For all his failings, Ted was a nice guy who’d been taught basic manners, so he thanked Lopez for coming here to help us out today. Lopez briefly explained that he was going to help with some other things, too, after he was done talking with Novak. He suggested that Ted organize his thoughts about what might be needed to keep production rolling and asked him to grab a copy of the script so they could go through it together.

  Then Lopez said to me, “It smells so good in here, I can’t stand it. Would you ask Andy to order something for me?”

  “Sure.” While Lopez took Officer Novak aside for a quick word, I joined Detective Quinn at the lunch counter and conveyed this request.

  “Okay.” Quinn signaled to the waiter, then said to me, “He likes pork, doesn’t he?”

  I realized I had no idea, so I shrugged.

  “Is he the one who’s allergic to shellfish? Or am I thinking of someone else?” Quinn added, “I’m the new guy at OCCB. Still figuring out who’s who. And who eats what.”

  “I don’t know if he has any allergies.”

  “I thought you were the girlfriend?” Quinn said. “Or recently ex-girlfriend? Or possibly the maiden to be wooed and won back?”

  “I only know that he like chili dogs,” I said stonily.

  “Yeah, I did know about that one,” Quinn said with a grin. “It’s kind of an addiction with him. All right. Let’s just get a few different things, and I’ll eat whatever he doesn’t want. The food here is great!”