Manhattan Is My Beat (36 page)

She nodded. “My name’s Lucy Zane,” the woman said coldly. “Haarte and I worked together for three years. He was the best partner I ever had. And he’s dead. Thanks to you.”

“Then who’s Emily?”

“Just backup. We use her sometimes for jobs on the East Coast.”

Rune, sitting down on the cushions, shaking her head. Everything floating in front of her—a big soup. Richard, the money, Pretty Boy, Emily, and Haarte. Robert Kelly. She felt the slamming of her heart in her chest as the hopelessness arose again. And she lowered her face into her hands. Whispering: “Oh, no, oh, no.”

She was too numb for tears. Not even looking up, she said, “But your job at the video store? How’d you get the job?”

“How do you think? I fucked Tony.”

“I hope it was disgusting,” Rune spat out.

“Was. But it didn’t last long. A minute or two.”

“But you were my friend…. You helped me get the clothes…. Why? Why’d you do that?”

“I got close to you so we could set you up. Haarte and I killed two U.S. marshals in St. Louis. That put a lot of heat on us. And we fucked up the Spinello hit in the Village. So we needed a fall guy. Well, fall
girl
. You got elected. Almost worked too.”

“Too bad the cab had good brakes,” Rune said coldly.

“We’re lucky sometimes. Even people like me.”

Rune shook with anger and fear.

Stephanie continued. “I heard from Emily. The judge denied her bail request. But she said to say hello. She hopes you and I’d have a nice visit. And I think we will. Now, there’s one thing I’ve got to know. Did you tell the cops or marshals anything about me?”

A click and a grind sounded behind them. Rune’s eyes flashed for a second.

Richard.

Stephanie glanced at the sound, then turned back to Rune.

“Tell me,” she said. “And I’ll let you go.”

“Bullshit.” Rune scrabbled away into the cushions as if they’d protect her from the black gun.

“I’ll let you go,” the woman said. “I promise.”

“I’m the only witness. How can you let me go? You
have
to kill me.” She looked at the clouds outside the loft, the dragons, the giants, the trolls, marching past, miles high, not caring a bit for what was going on down on earth.

The grinding started again. The elevator was coming up.

“You must’ve told them about me after the accident. Did the marshal I hit in the subway think I was part of them? Did you tell them my name?”

“It’s not real.”

“No, but I’ve used it before. I can be traced through it.”

Chains, clinking chains. And the grind of metal on metal. Another loud click, a scrape.

“Who’s coming to visit, Rune?”

“I don’t know.”

Stephanie glanced at the stairway. Then back at Rune. She said, “So, what do you have in your hand.”

Rune couldn’t believe that the woman had seen her. Oh, she was good. She was very good.

“Show me,” Stephanie persisted.

Rune hesitated, then held up her hand and slowly opened the bandaged fingers. “The piece of stone. From the Union Bank Building. My souvenir. The one I picked up when you were with me that day down in Wall Street.”

“Now, what were you going to do with it?”

“Throw it at you,” Rune responded. “Smash your goddamn face.”

“Why don’t you just toss it over there.” Lucy Zane held the silenced gun very steadily on Rune’s chest.

Rune pitched the stone away.

Just as Richard climbed the stairs and said, “Hi.”

He froze, seeing the gun in Stephanie’s hand. “What is this?”

Stephanie waved him in. “Okay. Just stand there.” She backed up so that she could keep them both covered. She held the gun out straight. It was small and its black metal gleamed in the sunlight. The short cylinder of the silencer was dark too.

Her voice now had an edge to it. “I don’t have much time. Who’d you tell about me, Rune? And what did you tell them? I want to know. And I mean now.”

“Let him go.”

Richard said, “What the hell is this? Are you two joking?”

Stephanie’s left hand went out toward him. Palm up. The nails were done in careful purple-pink. “Shut up, asshole. Just shut up.” To Rune: “
What
did you tell them?”

“God,” Richard whispered, looking at Rune.

Rune sank back into the cushions, put her hands over her eyes, sobbing. “No, no … I don’t give a shit about you or Emily or anybody. I won’t testify. I’ll tell them it wasn’t Emily or you. Mr. Kelly’s dead! Spinello’s dead! Just leave us alone.”

Stephanie said patiently, “Maybe I’ll consider that. You have to understand, Rune. I like you. I really do. You’re … charming. And I was really touched you were going to give me some of that ridiculous money. That almost choked me up. But you have to tell me. This’s just business.”

“All right … I didn’t tell anybody anything about you.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true! All I did was write about you in my diary. I mentioned you and Emily.” She sat back, hand in her lap, small, defeated. “I thought you were my friend. I described you and wrote how nice you were to help me buy some clothes.”

If this choked her up too, Stephanie’s expression didn’t show it.

“Where is it?” the woman asked. “The diary. Let me have it and I’ll let you go. Both of you.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

Rune debated then walked to her suitcase, rummaged through it. “I can’t find it.” She looked up, frowning. “I thought I packed it.” She opened her leopard-skin bag,
looked through that too. “I don’t know. I … oh, there it is. On the bookcase. The second shelf.”

Stephanie eased over to the bookcase. Touched a notebook. “This one?”

“No, the one next to it. On its side.”

Stephanie pulled the book off the shelf and flipped it open. “Where do you mention—”

An explosion. The first bullet broke a huge chunk out of the blue-sky wall and sent fragments of cinder block raining through the room.

The second shattered a panel of glass in the ceiling.

The third tore apart a dozen books, which pitched through the air like shot birds.

The fourth caught Stephanie squarely in the chest as she was turning, shocked, mouth open, toward Rune.

There may even have been a fifth shot. And a sixth. Rune wasn’t sure. She had no idea how many times she pulled the trigger of the gun—the one that Rune had pulled from the accordion folder she’d thrown away earlier—tossed into the trash can beside her bed.

All Rune saw was the smoke and dust and paper flecks and clouds and blue sky of concrete and broken glass flying through the loft around Stephanie—beautiful, pale Stephanie, who spiraled to the floor.

And all Rune heard was a huge ringing roar from the gun. Which, after a few seconds, as Richard scrambled from the floor and started toward her, was replaced by an animal’s mad screaming she didn’t even know was coming from her.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Head bowed at the altar, Rune was motionless.

Kneeling. She’d thought she could remember all the words. But they wouldn’t come to her and all she could do was repeat over and over again, in a mumbling whisper, “We yield thee praise and thanksgiving for our deliverance from those great and apparent dangers wherewith we were compassed.”

After a moment she stood and walked slowly up the aisle toward the back of the sanctuary.

Still whispering, she said to the man wearing black minister’s robes, “This is a totally radical church, Reverend.”

“Thank you, Miss Kelly.”

At the door, she turned and curtsied awkwardly toward the altar. The minister of St. Xavier’s glanced at her curiously. Maybe curtsying—which Rune had just seen a character do in some old Mafia movie—was only for Catholics. But so what? she decided. Stephanie was
right about one thing: short of devil worship and animal sacrifices, ministers and priests probably aren’t all that sensitive about technicalities.

They left the sanctuary.

“Your grandfather didn’t mention any children when he stayed with us in our residence. He said his only relative was his sister but she’d died a few years ago.”

“Really?” she asked.

“But then,” the minister continued, “he didn’t talk much about himself. He was a bit mysterious in some ways.”

Mysterious
…

“Yep,” she said after a moment. “That was Grandfather. We used to say that about him. ‘Wasn’t Grandfather quiet.’ All of us would say it.”

“All of you? I thought you said there were just two of you. You and your sister.”

“Oh, well, I mean all the kids in the neighborhood. He was like a grandfather to them too.”

Watch it, Rune told herself. It’s a minister you’re lying to. And a minister with a good memory.

She followed the man through the rectory building. Filled with dark wood, wrought iron. The small yellow lights added a lot of churchy atmosphere to the place, though maybe they used small-wattage bulbs just to save money. It was very … well,
religious
here. Rune tried to remember a good movie she’d seen about religion and couldn’t think of one. They tended not to have happy endings.

They walked into a large dormitory, newer than the church, though the architecture was the same—stained glass, arches, flowery carvings. She looked around. It was some kind of residence hall for senior citizens. Rune glanced into a room as they passed. Two beds, yellow walls, mismatched dressers. Lots of pictures on the walls. Homier than you’d think. There were two elderly men
inside the room. As she paused, looking in, one of the men stood up and said, “‘I am a very foolish fond old man, fourscore and upward, not an hour more or less, and, to deal plainly, I fear I am not in my perfect mind.’“

“I’ll say you’re not in perfect mind,” his friend chided. “You’ve got it all wrong.”

“Oh, you think you can do better?”

“Listen to this.”

His voice faded as Rune and the minister continued down the corridor.

“How long was Grandfather here?” Rune asked.

“Only four, five weeks. He needed a place to stay until he found an apartment. A friend sent him here.”

“Raoul Elliott?” Rune’s heart thudded harder.

“Yes. You know Mr. Elliott?”

“We’ve met once.”

So, Elliott had been confused. He hadn’t sent Mr. Kelly to the Florence Hotel but here—to the church. Maybe Mr. Kelly was staying in the Florence when he visited the screenwriter and the poor man’s mind just confused them.

“Wonderful man,” the priest continued. “Oh, he’s been very generous to us here at the church. And not only materially … He served on our board too. Until he got sick. A shame what’s happened to him, isn’t it? That Alzheimer’s.” The minister shook his head then continued. “But we have so few rooms, Robert didn’t want to monopolize one—he wanted to make it available for somebody less fortunate. So he moved into the Hotel Florence for a while. He left the suitcase here, said he’d pick it up when he moved into a safer place. He was worried about break-ins. He said the bag was too important to risk getting stolen.”

Rune nodded nonchalantly. Thinking:
One million dollars
.

She followed him to a storage room. The minister
unlocked the door with keys on a janitor’s self-winding coil. Rune asked, “Did Grandfather spend much time in the church itself?”

The minister disappeared into the storage room. Rune heard the sound of boxes sliding along the floor. He called, “No. Not much.”

“How about the grounds? The cemetery? Did he spend much time there?”

“The cemetery? I don’t know. He might have.”

Rune was thinking of the scene in
Manhattan Is My Beat
where the cop, his life ruined, was lying in his prison cell, dreaming about reclaiming his stolen million dollars, buried in a cemetery. She remembered the close-up of the actor’s eyes as he wakened and realized that it had just been a dream—the blackness of the dirt he’d been digging up with his fingers becoming the shadows of the bars across his hands as he woke.

The minister emerged with a suitcase. He set it on the floor. “Here you go.”

Rune asked. “You want me to sign a receipt or anything?”

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary, no.”

Rune picked it up. It was as heavy as an old leather suitcase containing a million dollars ought to be. She listed against the weight. The minister smiled and took the case from her. He lifted it easily and motioned her toward the side door. She walked ahead of him.