Old Flame (12 page)

CHAPTER

30

I
called Dave and delivered Barak’s message. It didn’t seem to faze him. Everything was working out, he said. Under control. I wondered which voice in his head he was listening to. Next, figuring I’d save a trip to Clarkson Properties, I gave Lou Torricelli a ring.

He answered the phone.

“Lou, this is Steeg. Do you have a new address for Lisa Hernandez?”

“What’s wrong with her old address, the one I gave you?”

“She moved. Didn’t she mention that?”

“No. She came in about a week ago and put in for a leave of absence, but didn’t say anything about moving.”

I guess it was fair to assume she didn’t leave a forwarding address.

“Why would she take a leave? Strange, isn’t it?”

“Not really. I’m sure Ferris’s death affected her. Lisa is like that. Very sensitive.”

Maybe I missed that side of her.

My next stop was Clarkson Properties, where I struck out twice more. Despite my vaunted powers of persuasion, they refused to provide Lisa’s forwarding address. Something about confidentiality. And, worse yet, they were completely unmoved by Rosie Alba’s request for a paint job.

Drastic times call for drastic measures. I called Kenny Apple and asked him to meet me at Feeney’s. He was out front when I arrived.

“I need a favor, Kenny,” I said.

“I’m still depressed over the last one I did for you. Killing someone on the Sabbath is a really big deal.”

“But you saved a life — mine — and he who saves a life, it’s as if he saved a whole world.”

He thought about it for a few moments. “Not a bad point,” he said.

“And this favor doesn’t involve bloodshed. Let’s talk about it over a cup of coffee.”

He followed me inside, and we found a back booth. Nick brought a pot of coffee for me, and a bottled water for Kenny.

“What do you need?” he said.

“A young lady, named Lisa Hernandez, recently moved from her apartment to parts unknown. I need her new address.”

A look of befuddled wonder spread across his face.

“Last Saturday I iced a guy for you, and now I’m a locator of lost persons? Are you serious?”

“Entirely.”

“I can’t believe this is what I’ve come to. Thank God my mother is dead, so she doesn’t have to see this. Look, she must have left a forwarding address with someone.”

“Afraid not. I’ve checked. The woman has purposely tried to disappear.”

“I envy her,” Kenny said. “Do you have any idea how many moving companies there are in this city?”

”More than you can shake a stick at, I suspect.”

“And that’s probably a conservative estimate. You’ll be tying me up for weeks.”

“Days. I really need it quickly.”

“Of course you do.” He held out his hand. “Give me the address.”

I scribbled it on a napkin.

“When was this?”

“About a week ago,” I said.

He slid out of the booth. “I’ll get back to you.”

“Happy hunting,” I said.

Nick walked over. “Why’s Kenny so down in the mouth?” he said.

I told him.

“I don’t blame him,” Nick said. “You’re underutilizing his talents. You should have come to me first. If it’s a forwarding address you need, I can get it.”

“How?”

“Send a couple of guys over to that realty office and mention that a few of their buildings might wind up singed if they don’t hand it over.”

“Seems a bit heavy-handed.”

“Yeah, but it’s an attention getter.”

“I don’t think so.”

“There is another way,” Nick said. “Maybe not as dramatic, but probably as effective.”

“What’s that?”

“Union problems. My guys might mention that they could have some problems with oil deliveries, or their building supers might suddenly all get sick at the same time. Lots of ways to skin this cat.”

I was warming to his approach.

“It just might work,” I said.

“Oh, it’ll work. I guarantee it. The tenants are inside with no hot water, while outside the garbage piles up. Sort of like a two-for-one deal.”

“Let’s do it. And while they’re at it, have your guys remind them that Rosie Alba is due a paint job.”

“Who in hell is Rosie Alba?”

“A friend who needs a paint job.”

“Does she have any color in mind?”

“Just do it.”

“OK,” Nick said. “I’ll call Kenny and tell him the situation is fixed. Should make him happy. But I got to tell you, I still like the more direct approach.”

His gaze strayed to the front of the saloon. “There’s a guy standing out there,” he said. “Looks kind of familiar. Been out there for a while sneaking peeks at you. Know him?”

I did. It was Swede.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” I said.

I walked outside. Toal was nowhere in sight. Surprising.

“What brings you here, Swede?”

“Let’s take a walk,” he said. “I’d like a few minutes of your time.”

“Where’s Pete?”

“Back at the precinct. Paperwork.”

We walked toward the river.

“I hear you were born here,” he said.

“Couple of blocks over.”

“And your dad was a cop too.”

“Detective.”

“So, your basic cop family. Except for your brother.”

I wondered where this was going.

He looked up at the scaffolding garlanding the buildings.

“Everything’s changing, isn’t it?” he said. “Gonna need a scorecard to keep everything straight.”

A Department of Sanitation sweeper rolled by. Small bits of trash churned in its wake.

“I hear this was a tough neighborhood once,” he said. “Now look at it.”

“It still is. You’re just looking in the wrong places.”

“Maybe,” he said. “Is the park still on Twelfth, or have they built an office tower on the site?”

“Clinton Park? Not yet.”

“Good. Let’s sit awhile. There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

For the next couple of blocks, Swede was silent. The park was empty when we arrived. Swede stopped at the first bench we came to and sat down. I joined him.

A tug nosed a barge downriver.

“Very peaceful spot,” he said. “Set far enough away from the traffic so you don’t hear the noise.”

“A regular Garden of Eden.”

“Peace and quiet. It’s nice. I wonder what this place looked like before we came along and fucked it up.”

“It was all meadows and streams and flowering plants, as far as the eye could see. The Dutch called it Bloemendael, the Vale of Blooming Flowers.”

“How do you know this?”

“When you love something — a place, a woman — you make it your business to know.”

“How did it go from Bloemendael to Hell’s Kitchen?”

“Progress. The Industrial Revolution crossed the Atlantic. Some robber baron wanted to build a railroad along the Hudson, and the Irish and Germans poured in. It didn’t take long before you had a slum to beat all slums. There was a saloon on every block and chimneys pouring shit into the sky. What better name than Hell’s Kitchen?”

“We do tend to screw things up, don’t we?”

“I don’t want to cut the history lesson short, but you said you had something you wanted to talk about.”

“I’ll get right to the point,” he said. “You’re a hothead, Steeg. A loose cannon. And you’re fucking things up. So back off, and leave well enough alone.”

“Could you be a little more specific?”

“No. Just take it as some friendly advice.”

“Why? You’re not my friend. And to tell you the truth, the more I see you, the less I like.”

“What are you going to do, slug me, too?”

“The thought crossed my mind.”

“Did anyone ever tell you that you could fuck up a wet dream? We got something going here, and that’s all I’m going to say. So back the hell off before you get caught in the crossfire.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“It is what it is, and I can’t say any more. In fact, I’m done here.”

“I want to thank you.”

“For what?”

“Confirming that you and Toal are on someone’s pad. At first, I thought it was just Toal. Who is it, Swede? Who are you carrying water for?”

He got to his feet, and shook his head and smiled.

“Why did I know this would be a waste of time?” he said.

After Swede left, I called Luce and filled her in on the conversation.

“I told you,” she said. “Toal’s running some kind of a game. If I were you, I’d listen to Swede. I keep telling you that you don’t need any more shit in your life, but it’s like I’m talking to a wall.”

Good advice, but we both knew I wasn’t going to take it.

CHAPTER

31

I
left the park wiser but less happy, and went home. A question nagged at me. Who was the puppet master? And what was at stake? The only thing I knew with a high degree of certainty was that sending Swede wasn’t Toal’s idea. Subtlety wasn’t in his bag of tricks.

I climbed the stairs to my apartment. When I reached my landing, I heard the tramp of footsteps coming down the stairs from above.

It was Danny Reno.

A sudden weariness came over me. “Where did you come from?” I said.

“The roof. Been waiting for you. I saw you walking on the street and turn into the building.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Thought maybe you’d bring me up to date on what’s going on.”

“That’s what phones are for,” I said. “Are you nuts, or do you have a death wish? Barak is still out there looking for you.”

Either way, he looked awful. His skin had a yellowish tinge, his eyes were dull and lusterless, and he hadn’t shaved since the last time I saw him.

“Are you going to invite me in?” he asked.

I unlocked the door to my apartment and held it open. “Sure,” I said, “but don’t plan on making it permanent.”

He flopped on the sofa. “I understand,” he said.

I went into the kitchen. “You want something to eat?”

“Nah. Just a soda, if you have it.”

I brought in a can of Diet Coke and handed it to him.

“Why are you here, Danny?”

He held the can to his temple. “I got lonely,” he said.

“For me? Come on! We went years without seeing each other.”

“For the city. The neighborhood.”

“The action?”

“Yeah, there’s that. Where I’m staying is like being in witness protection. There’s nothing going on.”

“Except being alive. You come back here and you’re dead. Here’s what’s happening. You’re going to walk. A deal is just about in place.”

“You’re shitting me!”

“No. It’s almost done, but until it is, you’ve got a target on your back.”

“You mean the money I owe Barak is forgiven?”

“That’s the way it looks. But I suspect what Barak’s going to want in return is your permanent absence from his, shall we say, sphere of influence.”

“Why?”

“Because you would be a reminder of a promise not kept.”

“You mean I could never come back here?” he said.

“The entire city.”

He popped the tab on the can and took a long, slow drink.

“I don’t know that I could do that.”

“Oh, I think you can. You’ve got a double-edged sword here. If Barak doesn’t frighten you enough, Dave should.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Dave is brokering the arrangement.”

“For me?”

“No, for me. Your former business partner planned to go after anyone who even knew you casually. I fit the bill. If it weren’t for Dave, I’d be on a slab right now. Basically, Dave put himself on the line to keep me hale and hearty. You’re a throw-in.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“How about good-bye, until I call and tell you everything’s set?”

Danny studied the can as if trying to divine its mysteries. “What am I going to do?” he said. “Where am I going to go?”

I reached into my pocket, pulled out my money, and counted it. Just shy of two hundred dollars. I handed it to him.

“I’m going to call a cab,” I said. “That should be enough to take you to where you’re staying. Tomorrow, I’ll go to the bank and withdraw a couple of thousand dollars. Consider it start-up money. You’ll call me at noon and tell me where you want the wire sent.”

He shook his head. “I can’t do that,” he said. “You know, take your money.”

“Sure you can. It’s not much, but that’s all I can spare right now. And it’s a gift, not a loan.”

He pocketed the cash.

I went into the kitchen to call a cab. The dispatcher agreed to call me when the cab was out front. When I returned, I found Danny sitting with his head in his hands, rocking back and forth.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door. Danny stopped rocking. I walked into the bedroom, motioning him to follow. I reached under my bed and retrieved the Glock. I whispered to him to stay, and walked to the door and stood off to the side.

“Who is it?”

“Ginny.”

It was turning into that kind of a day.

She noticed the Glock immediately. “I guess you weren’t expecting me,” she said.

The Mistress of Understatement.

“It’s all right. Come on in.”

She hesitated. “If this is a bad time . . .”

I pocketed the Glock. “Just winding up some business. Nothing to be concerned about.”

Danny poked his head out of the bedroom. I waved him in.

“Danny?” Ginny said. “It’s been years. What are you doing here?”

“Danny was just leaving.”

“If I’m interrupting . . .”

“No, no,” Danny said. “Steeg is right. I was just leaving.”

As if on cue, the phone rang. It was the cab company.

I turned to Danny. “The cab’s out front,” I said. “Remember, call me tomorrow and tell me where you want the wire sent. OK?”

“I’ll pay you back, Steeg. Every penny.”

“Don’t worry about it. You better go, the meter is running.”

He said good-bye to Ginny, hugged me, and left.

“What was that all about?” she said.

“The wages of sin.”

It occurred to me that Danny wasn’t the only one the adage applied to.

“So, you’re not going to tell me about it?” she said.

That she had just met her dead brother’s business partner would only complicate things.

“Some things are better left unsaid. What brings you here?”

She thrust an envelope into my hands. “It’s another one.”