Double Play

11.

Seventh Avenue South, in front of the Village Vanguard, was almost empty when Burke came out of the club with Lauren. There were cars at the curb, and a few taxis cruising, but the late night street, in the warm steady rain, was as empty as any hamlet. Lauren had on a pale green raincoat with a caped top and a belted waist. And a flared skirt. Her matching rain hat had a short bill and was draped in the back like a Foreign Legion cap. Burke carried a black umbrella with a crooked walnut handle.

“Let’s walk uptown a ways,” Lauren said. “I love the rain.”

“Umbrella?” Burke said.

“No.”

Two blocks ahead, in front of a silent Nedick’s stand near Greenwich Avenue, a black prewar Cadillac pulled into a no parking area beside a hydrant and Louis got out of the front seat. Burke heard Lauren gasp softly. From the back seat two other men got out. Louis was wearing a trench coat and a Borsolino hat. The other two men wore blue overcoats and scally caps. They were big men. The overcoats were tight. All three men leaned silently on the Cadillac.

“Keep walking,” Burke said.

Lauren put her hand on Burke’s arm.

“Don’t hold my arm,” Burke said.

Burke’s voice was soft, but it was urgent, and Lauren pulled her hand quickly away. Burke shifted the umbrella to his left hand. His pace didn’t quicken. He could hear Lauren breathing. He could hear the click of her heels on the sidewalk. The streetlights were softened by the rain. The colorful lights in the store windows, filtered through the rainfall, had a jewel-like quality. There was no wind. The rain was coming straight down, steady but not hard. A cab rolled by heading uptown, its wipers arching back and forth. They reached the Cadillac and didn’t slow. Louis and his escorts didn’t speak. Burke looked at them as he walked by, between them and Lauren. Louis smirked at him. There was nothing in Burke’s face. They passed Louis. No one spoke. Lauren’s breathing was harsh as they walked. Her shoulder touched Burke’s. Another cab went past them. They didn’t look back. At Fourteenth Street they turned west. Looking back down Seventh Avenue as they crossed the street they could see the Cadillac still sitting there, silent and black in the rain, like some sort of predatory beetle. Louis and the other men were no longer visible. They turned uptown at Eighth Avenue. Both of them looked back. No one was behind them.

At Twenty-third Street, Burke managed to flag a cab and they were in out of the rain.