And Sometimes I Wonder About You

41

There were a dozen cops on the fifteenth floor when I got there, maybe four minutes after the shootout. Ten minutes later there were closer to fifty official representatives of the city in and around Suite 9. Two dozen police in plainclothes and uniforms, at least ten paramedics, even a dozen or so traffic cops were placed around the exits to keep gawkers, building employees, and regular customers away. Warren Oh and his number two, Lena Brass, were there.

One of the traffic cops held up a hand to repulse me but a regular cop intervened.

I made it to the side of the doorway to Suite 9 and peered in.

I had seen dead bodies before. There was no attraction for me. I just knew that Kit was going to be angry and I needed him to feel that he was working for the law and not for me.

Two cops had been shot; one through his left hand and another in her bulletproof Kevlar vest. She was winded and he looked chagrined, like a lumberjack more ashamed of having lost control of his saw than unhappy about the fact that he was bleeding.

Kit had come out of the suite and was approaching the woman cop when he noticed me.

“What the fuck you get me into here, LT?” he asked. “Three calls on you this week and every time it gets worse.”

“You got somebody could oversee the aftermath?” I asked.

Kit understood and turned.

“Sanchez!”

“Yeah, Captain!” a man said from the other end of the hall.

“Take over till I get back.”

We didn’t speak in the elevator or on the walk down the hall to my suite. We didn’t utter a word until we were both seated in my office.

“Don’t get mad, Kit,” I said. “I came to you in good faith. Aura called about a man wanting to meet with me without me knowing it. I told you that. That’s why you brought so many cops with you.”

“Dead bodies are never appreciated downtown,” he said. “And this new mayor really comes down hard.”

“They shot first.”

“How do you know that?”

“Aura has a camera on all her day-suites.”

“It’s recorded?”

“No,” I lied. “I turned off the recorder when I got in.”

“The NYPD is not here to eliminate your enemies.”

“Not my enemies, Kit, your suspects.”

“Suspects in what?”

“If you look close enough I’m sure you’ll find that it was these three that killed the security guard in here and also that Hiram Stent you said had my name in his pocket.”

“So you did know Stent?”

“Yes I did but I didn’t know it at the time you asked. A few days ago a man calling himself Bernard Shonefeld made an early morning appointment. He said that he was looking for a missing woman and would I help?”

“What woman?”

“Honey Larue,” I said. “It was a stripper’s stage name. He said he didn’t know if it was real. He offered me seventy-five dollars to find her but I demurred. I didn’t care if he was a stalker but seventy-five dollars does not nearly cover my nut.”

“What does this have to do with Hiram Stent?”

“When you asked about him I looked him up on the Net. When I saw his picture I realized who he was.”

“And you didn’t call me why?”

“I would have, Kit. I was busy and when we talked last night I just didn’t think about it.”

“And so why do you think these three after you have anything to do with Stent?”

“Because one of them came to me the day after Shonefeld and offered me ten thousand dollars to find a Honey Larue.”

“Which one?”

“The guy wearing the coal-gray suit.”

“But you didn’t know that when you called me,” he said warily.

“No. I had no idea who was going to show up.”

“And Alexander Lett doesn’t have anything to do with it?”

“I thought you had him in jail for that gun.”

Carson bit his lower lip. I knew that this meant great consternation for the excellent policeman.

“It wouldn’t be Lett anyway,” I said. “He’s working solo looking for a woman he thinks I know.”

“Do you know her?”

“I met her once and that’s it,” I said. “But listen, Kit, it turns out that Twill has a guy on the inside of Jones’s organization.” I knew that this bit of news would stop any other conversation.

“You put some kid in jeopardy with a madman like that? How’d you let that happen?”

“He was already in. A kid they call Nathan came to Twill, told him about Jones, and asked could my son help him dig out. Twill came to me. I asked you about him but Twill hadn’t told me about this Nathan.”

“I wanna meet this kid.”

“Sure. But he’s in the wind right now.”

“What’s that mean?”

“He’s scared. Me and Twill met with him down at South Street Seaport and told him that we need information to give to you so you could catch the motherfucker. He had Twill’s number and said he’d call when he knew the next time Jones was meeting his people.”

“You don’t have an address, a phone number, nothing?”

I stuck out my lower lip and shook my head.

“Where’s Mardi?” the canny cop asked.

“After the break-in I gave her the week off. She’s down in the Bahamas with her little sister.”

“I want to look through her desk,” he said.

“Not without a warrant.”

“You got something to hide, LT?”

“Always. You know Mardi got information on a dozen clients at her desk. I can’t have you stickin’ your nose into all that.”

From inside my pocket the phone played its little melody.

Kit was staring at me.

The phone finally gave up.

“I could arrest you, LT.”

“Don’t I know it, brother,” I said, reminding myself of Hush. “But I’m telling you the truth. The men shot at you killed Hector Laritas and the man you call Hiram Stent. And I have a mole in the Jones Gang. Give me three days, a week tops, and I will give you the wherewithal to bring down that whole mob.”

Kit stared at me. It wasn’t a friendly gaze. Though almost everything I had just said was the truth, it was selective and he knew it. But Jones for him was like a naked pinup model asking directions: wherever she wants to go, you do too.

“Three days,” the captain said at last. “And the DA will be in touch to depose you about the shootout.”

“Always happy to do my civic duty, Captain.”