3 Quarters (37 page)

“Because no one will. A politician who doesn't solicit money doesn't just want to be elected. He wants to be crowned. And once again your name came up.”

“From Sol Diamond?”

“Yes.”

They walked up to the three-mile stretch of boardwalk that was still the best stroll in the city, with the salt breeze blowing in off the Atlantic, the smell of hot dogs, french fries, corn on the cob, wafting in the air. Bobby bought Trevor a hot dog and a cup of beer from a stand called Gregory and Paul's. He remembered years back, when he was new on the NYPD, a police captain in the Coney Island precinct had been fired from the job for getting caught by Internal Affairs taking free coffee and ice cream from this food stand. Today you could rip off a lifelong, tax-free pension and get away with it. But, as John Shine always said, “A corrupt cop always starts with that first free cup of coffee.”

“How'd my name come up again?” Bobby asked.

“In relation to the old cop who committed suicide,” Trevor said, holding the beer cup in one hand and eating the hot dog with the other.

“Tom Larkin,” Bobby said.

“The one Max Roth in the
Daily News
is saying was a murder. It has people very nervous.”

“Good.”

“No, it's not,” Trevor said, wiping mustard off his mouth with the back of his hand and swallowing. “Because it also makes me nervous. It comes right back to you. If they are going to deal with you, it will have to be soon. Before the primary. Which is four days away. And if anything happens to you, it will crush little Maggie's heart. Which would destroy Constance. And probably my marriage. I don't want anything bad to happen to you.”

“I appreciate your concern, Trevor,” Bobby said, staring the millionaire in the eyes, this time believing him completely.

They walked down toward the amusement area again. Maggie and Sandy were in the kiddie park, chatting and laughing. Maggie caught Bobby's eye and waved. Sandy's little boy, Donald, pulled furiously at the chain of a bell on a miniature fire engine ride. Bobby and Trevor stood by the spook house, listening to a mechanical devil cackle at a group of passing homeboys who strutted with teenaged girlfriends carrying Kewpie dolls that the guys had won for them in the arcades.

Trevor finished the last bite of the hot dog, washed it down with a big gulp of beer, and tossed the cup in a trash barrel. “Now I think I'll give that Cyclone another whirl. Care to join me?”

“I think I'll sit this one out,” Bobby said as Maggie drifted over from the kiddie park.

“Come on, Mag,” Trevor said.

Maggie smiled and winked at Bobby and hurried after Trevor to the roller coaster. Bobby was now convinced Gleason was wrong about not trusting Trevor. He was just too sad and insecure to be diabolical.

Bobby sauntered across the amusement park to Sandy, who was strapping little Donald into a seat on a small kiddie carousel. Bobby hopped on board, holding on to a brass pole as the ride spun to life.

Sandy was dressed in tight faded denim shorts and a scoop-neck white summer T-shirt, her thick hair pulled back with an elastic band, small elegant sunglasses perched on her perfect nose. Her white Reebok sneakers were well broken in but bleached bright white. She was even more beautiful in the bright sun than in moonlight.

“That Maggie's some kid,” Sandy said. “You must be very proud.”

“I am,” Bobby said. “This little guy is adorable, too.”

“He's the core of my life,” Sandy said, looking away as she spoke, a small fracture in her voice as a trouble-free Strauss waltz gurgled from the pipes of the carousel.

“Weeeeeeeeee
,” said Donald as the ride picked up moderate speed and wooden horses with terrifying faces pumped up and down on greased pistons.

“His father must be very proud,” Bobby said.

“Unfortunately, he's not.”

“Hard to believe.”

“It's like he doesn't know he exists. Resents him.”

Bobby could see her eyes water. He handed her a napkin from the hot dog stand, and she lifted the glasses and dabbed her eyes.

“How did you get away from Barnicle and the nanny today?”

“I put laxatives in the nanny's vitamin C bottle,” she said, and laughed through the tears. “She takes four capsules every morning. I don't think she's been out of the bathroom all morning.”

Bobby smiled.

“You can run now. Come with me.”

“No,” Sandy said. “You don't understand. It's too late for that. They still have the evidence from the medical board against me that could put me in jail. I couldn't live as a fugitive. I couldn't weather a custody fight with Barnicle. I have no money. Plus they'd look for me. He has connections everywhere. Besides, it's not forever. Eventually they won't need me anymore, and they say they'll pay me off and leave me alone.”

“I think maybe you should tell me a few more things, Sandy,” Bobby said.

“Bobby, you know I can't. The baby . . .”

“Barnicle sent you to me the other night, didn't he?”

She looked at him with the raw eyes, as if asking for forgiveness.

“I know you were lying, because you said you traced the boat to my lawyer's name,” Bobby said. “It's not in his name. So my guess is Barnicle told you where to find me, sent you to come and play the weakest card in an ex-con's hand. Told you to try to
fuck
information out of me.”

This wasn't indiscriminate vulgarity; this was the operative verb in question.

“Okay, that's true,” she said with a trembling lower lip, as the carousel spun. “But, I couldn't do that to Dorothea. She loves you. I know you love her. But I needed some human affection. Needed someone to
talk
to. I wanted someone to see that Donald was taken care of in case something happens to me. I love my kid the way you and Dorothea love each other. I never wanted to hurt anyone. But these people are capable of anything. You have no idea . . .”

“You keep talking about Dorothea in the present tense,” Bobby said as the carousel twirled, the music soaring, the pistons pumping, Donald squealing, the world zipping past them—streaks of blue ocean, black faces, other amusement rides.

She nodded. “I think she's still alive.”

“Why?”

“Because of the blind man,” she said, still dabbing her eyes.

“What blind man?”

Now little Donald saw that his mother was crying, and he immediately joined in the sobbing, stretching his arms out to her as the ride began to slow. Bobby bent and unstrapped him and lifted him up in his arms, considered his vaguely familiar looking face, studying him for a long moment as the kid whined for his mother. Bobby tried to place the face. It was like an artist's composite sketch that needed a few more specific details to bring the image into focus. The kid's face began to haunt him.

When the carousel stopped, he handed the boy to Sandy, and she held him in her arms until he calmed down, and then she strapped him into his stroller. Bobby bought some cotton candy from a wagon and handed the immense spun-sugar cocoon to the kid, who pushed it into his face like a pillow, mouth open. The kid was soon giggling as the candy melted in his mouth, his face as sticky as flypaper.

They climbed up to the boardwalk, and when they strolled past West Eleventh Street, they paused near the railing on the street side, near a rank of public telephones. Bobby looked both ways on the boardwalk, making certain they weren't being watched.

“Now, tell me, what blind man?” he said.

“The one that arrives at John Shine's house every Monday and Friday,” she said.

“John Shine's house?”

“I spend a lot of time down in Windy Tip, mostly doing nothing, because most days Barnicle doesn't give me anything to do. I do clerical work in Gibraltar Security three mornings a week, making up payrolls, billings, mail. Mostly I sit on the balcony down Windy a lot, watching the world go by. What little of it there is in my life. That's where I saw you swim in from the boat to John Shine's house.”

“I know.”

“Well, over the last year or so, I started noticing that every Monday and Friday afternoon, at about a quarter after twelve, Shine would show up and help a blind man out of his car. The blind man always wears big dark glasses and carries a small black bag, like a doctor's bag. They go in the house together. About a half hour later they come out. They get back in the car, and Shine drives away and returns alone. Twice a week.”

Bobby watched little Donald gnaw deeper into the sugary nest of cotton candy. He looked out toward the horizon, trying to match a straight line against this new information he was hearing. It was like putting a level on a canoe. Bobby turned back to Sandy. She was wearing her sunglasses again.

“What does that have to do with Dorothea?”

“I'm not sure,” Sandy said. “It's just weird. Besides the blind man, I never saw another person go in that house until you did. Women love Shine. He dates them, all right; dinner, a show, a movie. But he never sleeps with them. I know because a few girls who wanted to sleep with him told me they never got to first base. And these were pretty girls. He never brings a woman in there. And I don't think he's gay either.”

“Well, he says he's still in mourning for the one great love of his life,” Bobby said. “Some men do have
feelings.”

“Okay, maybe that's true. But, no offense, who has a blind doctor? And why go pick him up? Why not just drive to his office? Who picks up a blind doctor to do a house call? And then drives him back to wherever he came from? I'm telling ya, it's freakin'
weird.”

“Maybe he's just a friend,” Bobby said, trying to make sense of this oddity. Maybe she was lying again. For Barnicle. Literally leading Bobby down a blind alley.

“Yeah,” she said. “So how come he carries that little old-fashioned black doctor's bag all the time?”

“So John Shine has a doctor come visit him,” Bobby said. “He does have a very bad back. Maybe this blind doctor has magic fingers, a chiropractor. But what's this got to do with Dorothea?”

As he talked, he knew there might be something very ugly and scary going on here. He controlled his emotions, reminding himself that Sandy could also still be trying to throw Bobby off Barnicle's scent. Trying to make him suspect one of his closest friends. Using sweetness and guilt and apologies and even her own child to mask yet more deceit.

“What if Shine has Dorothea hidden in his house and uses the doctor to check on her?” Sandy asked. “That's what I think might be going on.”

Bobby imagined Dorothea as a captive inside that house. But where? He thought of the attic; the mad scratching of squirrels. What if it hadn't been squirrels? But Dorothea clawing to get free.

“I'll look into it,” Bobby said. “Is there anything else you want to tell me, Sandy? Like who the real father of your baby is?”

“If I revealed that, and they found out, they might kill Donald,” Sandy said.

He studied her, hoping she wasn't lying about everything.

“What else can you tell me?” Bobby asked.

“Whenever Barnicle gets a call on the special security phone—I call it the Batphone because he has it swept twice a week for taps—from one particular person, he makes me leave the room,” Sandy said. “But I eavesdrop as best I can. Your name comes up a lot. As someone who is in the way. I heard him say he understands that they can't wait six months or a year for a new trial and risk an acquittal. I think they have other plans. I'm not sure what or with who, or when. But I think they intend to frame you again. Soon. Today. Tomorrow. Before the election.”

“I heard that, too,” Bobby said.

“They also use the phrase ‘accelerated operation' a lot these days, since you got out on bail. I think they're trying to collect a really huge haul of cash as quick as they can. I know you know about the three-quarters scam. They know you know. So I see lots of cash. They're accelerating that operation. And they want to frame you for something
new.”

Bobby trembled in the hot sun. The music and fun suddenly went out of the mindless day. He looked both ways on the boardwalk, searching for unfriendly faces.
Maggie,
he thought.
I better get back to her.

Sandy checked her watch.

“God, it's almost two,” Sandy said in a quiet, resigned voice. “I gotta go before
himself
gets home.”

The sun shone on her face and sparkled in her dark glasses, in which Bobby could see his own reflection. The fear he saw on his own face startled him. Sandy elevated herself to her tiptoes and leaned in to kiss him good-bye. He unconsciously turned his head, and she planted it on his cheek. She looked mildly wounded.

“In spite of all she's been through, Dorothea is one lucky girl,” she said as little Donald smacked his lips and jabbered nonsense syllables. “I hope you find her. I hope she's finally honest with you about who she really is. I could never really nail her down. I guess I've said enough. Too much for my own good. Be careful, Bobby. I better go.”

“I better get back to Maggie,” he said.

“I'd say that's a very good idea, Bobby,” Sandy said, almost like a warning. “I'd get her out of town, I was you.”

With that she spun, and Bobby watched her wheel her stroller down the ramp from the boardwalk. She looked absolutely beautiful, scared, and alone. He walked back toward the amusement park to find his daughter.