Fade Away

Chapter 18

Win looked down at the dead body as though it were a bag of peat moss. “We best depart.”

Myron nodded. He reached into his pants pocket and took out the cellular phone. A relatively new trick of the trade. Neither he nor Win had hung up after their call. The line was left open; Win had been able to hear everything that had gone on in the van. It worked as well as any bug or walkie-talkie.

They stepped into the cool night. They were on Washington Street. During the day the place was popping with delivery trucks, but at night it was completely silent. Someone would find a nasty surprise in the morning.

Win normally drove a Jaguar, but he had smashed a 1983 Chevy Nova into the van. Totaled. Not that it mattered. Win had several such vehicles he kept out in New Jersey to use for surveillance or activities just east of legal. The car was untraceable. The plates and paperwork were all phony. It would never lead back to anyone.

Myron looked at him. “A man of your breeding in a Chevy Nova?” He tsk-tsked.

“I know,” Win said. “Sitting in it almost gave me a rash.”

“If anyone at the club saw you…”

Win shuddered. “Do not even think such a thought.”

Myron’s legs still felt shaky and numb. Even as the B Man had reached down for his knee, Myron had known that Win would find a way to get to him. But the thought of how close he’d come to being crippled for life kept plucking at the muscles in his calves and thighs. He kept bending down and touching the bad knee, as if he couldn’t believe it was still there. Tears brimmed in his eyes as he looked at Win. Win saw them and turned away.

Myron followed behind him. “So how do you know this B Man?” he asked.

“He operates out of the Midwest,” Win said. “He is also a superb martial artist. We met in Tokyo once.”

“What sort of operation does he run?”

“The usual assorted sundries—gambling, drugs, loan sharking, extortion. A bit of prostitution too.”

“So what’s he doing here?”

“It appears that Greg Downing owes him money,” Win said, “probably from gambling. The B Man specializes in gambling.”

“Nice to have a specialty.”

“Indeed. I would assume that your Mr. Downing owes them a large sum of money.” Win glanced over at Myron. “That’s good news for you.”

“Why?”

“Because it implies that Downing is on the run rather than dead,” Win said. “The B Man is not wasteful. He wouldn’t kill someone who owes him a lot of money.”

“Dead men pay no debts.”

“Precisely,” Win said. “On top of that, he is clearly looking for Downing. If he killed him, he wouldn’t need you to find him.”

Myron considered this for a moment. “It sort of meshes with what Emily told me. She said Greg had no money. Gambling might explain that fact.”

Win nodded. “Kindly fill me in on what else has occurred in my absence. Jessica mentioned something about finding a dead woman.”

Myron told him everything. As he spoke, new theories rushed forward. He tried to sort through them and organize them a bit. When he finished the recap, Myron went right into the first one.

“Let’s assume,” he said, “that Downing does owe a lot of money to this B Man. That might explain why he finally agreed to sign an endorsement deal. He needs the money.”

Win nodded. “Go on.”

“And let’s also assume the B Man is not stupid. He wants to collect, right? So he would never really hurt Greg. Greg makes him money through his physical prowess. Broken bones would have an adverse effect on Greg’s financial status and thus his ability to pay.”

“True,” Win said.

“So let’s say Greg owes them a lot of money. Maybe the B Man wanted to scare him in another way.”

“How?”

“By hurting someone close to him. As a warning.”

Win nodded again. “That might work.”

“And suppose they followed Greg. Suppose they saw him with Carla. Suppose they figured that Greg and Carla were close.” Myron looked up. “Wouldn’t killing her be a hell of a warning?”

Win frowned. “You think the B Man killed her to warn Downing?”

“I’m saying it’s possible.”

“Why wouldn’t he just break some of her bones?” Win asked.

“Because the B Man wasn’t personally on the scene yet, remember? He got in last night. The murder would have been the work of hired muscle.”

Win still didn’t like it. “Your theory is improbable, at best. If the murder was indeed a warning, where is Downing now?”

“He ran away,” Myron said.

“Why? Because he was afraid for his own life?”

“Yes.”

“And did he run away immediately after learning Carla was dead?” Win asked. “On Saturday night?”

“That would be most logical.”

“He was frightened off then? By the murder?”

“Yes,” Myron said.

“Ah.” Win stopped and smiled at Myron.

“What?” Myron asked.

“Pray tell,” Win began with a lilt in his voice, “if Carla’s body was just discovered today, how did Downing know about the murder last Saturday night?”

Myron felt a chill.

“For your theory to hold up,” Win continued, “Greg Downing would have to have done one of three things. One, he witnessed the murder; two, he stumbled into her apartment after the murder; three, he committed the murder himself. Furthermore, there was a great deal of cash in her apartment. Why? What was it doing there? Was this money to help pay back the B Man? If so, why didn’t his men take it? Or better yet, why didn’t Downing take it back when he was there?”

Myron shook his head. “So many holes,” he said. “And we still haven’t come up with what connection there is between Downing and this Carla or Sally or whatever her name is.”

Win nodded. They continued walking.

“One more thing,” Myron said. “Do you really think the mob would kill a woman just because she happened to be with Greg at a bar?”

“Very doubtful,” Win agreed.

“So basically, that whole theory is blown to hell.”

“Not basically,” Win corrected. “Entirely.”

They kept walking.

“Of course,” Win said, “Carla could have been working for the B Man.”

An icy finger poked at Myron. He saw where Win was going but he still said, “What?”

“Perhaps this Carla woman was the B Man’s contact. She collected for him. She was meeting Downing because he owed a great deal of money. Downing promises to pay. But he doesn’t have the money. He knows they are closing in on him. He has stalled long enough. So he goes back to her apartment, kills her, and runs.”

Silence. Myron tried to swallow, but his throat felt frozen. This was good, this talking it through. It helped. His legs were still rubbery from the incident, but what really bothered him now was how easily he had forgotten the dead man lying in the van. True, the man was probably a professional scum bag. True, the man had jammed the barrel of a gun into his mouth and had not dropped his weapon when Win told him to. And true, the world was probably a better place without him. But in the past Myron would have still felt some remorse for this fellow human being; in all honesty, he didn’t now. He tried to muster some sympathy, but the only thing he felt sad about was that he didn’t feel sad.

Enough self-analysis. Myron shook it off and said, “There are problems with that scenario too.”

“Such as?”

“Why would Greg kill her? Why not just run off before the back-booth meeting?”

Win considered this. “Fair point. Unless something happened during their meeting to set him off.”

“Like what?”

Win shrugged.

“It all comes back to this Carla,” Myron said. “Nothing about her adds up. I mean, even a drug dealer doesn’t have a setup like hers—working as a diner waitress, hiding sequentially numbered hundred-dollar bills, wearing wigs, having all those fake passports. And on top of that, you should have seen Dimonte this afternoon. He knew who she was and he was in a panic.”

“You contacted Higgins at Treasury?” Win asked.

“Yes. He’s tracing those serial numbers.”

“That could help.”

“We also need to get ahold of the telephone records from the Parkview Diner. See who Carla called.”

They fell back into silence and kept walking. They didn’t want to hail a taxi too close to the scene.

“Win?”

“Yes?”

“Why didn’t you want to go to the game the other night?”

Win kept on walking. Myron kept pace. After some time, Win said, “You’ve never watched a replay of it, have you?”

He knew he meant the knee injury. “No.”

“Why not?”

Myron shrugged. “No point.”

“No, there is a point.” Win kept walking.

“Mind telling me what that is?” Myron said.

“Watching what happened to you might have meant dealing with it. Watching it might have meant closure.”

“I don’t understand,” Myron said.

Win nodded. “I know.”

“I remember you watched it,” Myron said. “I remember you watched it over and over.”

“I did that for a reason,” Win said.

“For vengeance.”

“To see if Burt Wesson injured you on purpose,” Win corrected.

“You wanted to pay him back.”

“You should have let me. Then you might have been able to put it behind you.”

Myron shook his head. “Violence is always the answer for you, Win.”

Win frowned. “Stop sounding melodramatic. A man committed a vile act upon you. Squaring things would have helped put it behind you. It’s not about vengeance. It’s about equilibrium. It’s about man’s basic need to keep the scales balanced.”

“That’s your need,” Myron said, “not mine. Hurting Burt Wesson wouldn’t have fixed my knee.”

“But it might have given you closure.”

“What does that mean, closure? It was a freak injury. That’s all.”

Win shook his head. “You never watched the tape.”

“It wouldn’t have mattered. The knee was still ruined. Watching a tape wouldn’t have changed that.”

Win said nothing.

“I don’t understand this,” Myron continued. “I went on after the injury. I never complained, did I?”

“Never.”

“I didn’t cry or curse the gods or do any of that stuff.”

“Never,” Win said again. “You never let yourself be a burden on any of us.”

“So why do you think I needed to relive it?”

Win stopped and looked at him. “You’ve answered your own question, but you choose not to hear it.”

“Spare me the Kung-Fu-grasshopper philosophical bullshit,” Myron shot back. “Why didn’t you go to the game?”

Win started walking again. “Watch the tape,” he said.