Old Flame (11 page)

CHAPTER

27

T
hat evening I had dinner with Dave at a white-tablecloth restaurant in the Theater District. The place was filled with the after-theater crowd, and everyone seemed to be in good spirits. Dave had the rib eye steak, and I had a chunk of end-cut prime rib that filled the plate. We shared an order of garlic mashed potatoes and creamed spinach. It was as good as it gets.

“So,” he said, “I hear you and Toal got into it.”

“I think I broke a knuckle. How did you hear?”

“It’s my business to hear things. It was stupid.”

“Maybe, but it felt good.”

“I’m serious here, Jake. The guy’s connected.”

“To who?”

“How the fuck should I know? But you look at his résumé — Anti-Terrorist Task Force, replaced you as one of the big, swinging dicks at Homicide — it doesn’t happen by accident.”

“He’s a bad cop, Dave. And maybe more.”

“Why do you give a shit?”

“Because Ginny asked me for a favor. She’s family, or was.”

“Great. I hear she’s—”

“Save it. I know all about it. And I don’t think she killed her husband.”

“Why not?”

“I lived with her. She may not be as pure as Caesar’s wife, but murder isn’t in her makeup. Ollie, maybe. Jeanmarie, for sure. But not Ginny.”

He shrugged. “Whatever you say.” He took a sip of wine. “I sent Franny and the kids away for a while.”

“Vacation?”

“Kind of. There’s been a development with our friend the Israeli.”

“Really.”

“Yeah. I kind of rammed a stick in his beehive.”

“How so?”

“I’ve got his kid.”

“Are you shitting me?”

“He tried to kill you, didn’t he?”

“It’s not the same, Dave.”

“Actually, it is. Just taking a page from history. It’s what all those feudal kings did to keep peace with their enemies.”

“The last time I checked, you weren’t royalty. Why are you doing this?”

“Keep your voice down. Two reasons. Insurance. And something to trade. The first is business, the second is altruistic.”

“I don’t understand.”

“From a business standpoint, his son is, as I said, insurance that he won’t move on me. I want him to understand, if he fucks with me, it’s going to cost him.”

“You would kill his son?”

“In a heartbeat. Cut his fucking head off and send it to Barak in a bowl. How else would he know that I’m serious?”

“That’s hard, even for you.”

He rubbed his cheek and flashed a crooked smile. “Done worse, as we both know,” he said.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Nothing to say. That’s why you’re you, and I’m me.”

“I can hardly wait to hear the altruistic reason.”

“It’s about you.”

“Me?”

“And Danny Reno. You’re my brother, my blood. And except for my kids, my only blood. I love Franny and would never hurt her or cause her any grief, but she’s someone I met a long time ago. Not blood.”

“You don’t mean that,” I said. “We’re talking about Franny.”

“I do, little brother. When you live long enough, there isn’t a whole hell of a lot that surprises.”

“You’re not suggesting that Franny . . .?”

“Of course not.”

“Then where’s this going, Dave?”

“It’s all about the pull of blood. I sent word to Barak that if any of his people fuck with you, the kid dies. I also told him that Reno is part of the deal. He’s your friend, and if you think enough of him to put your life on the line, it seems to me that I’ve got to do the same.”

This was monstrous. Even for Dave.

“Dave, don’t do this. Let Barak’s son go. I can handle it.”

“Too late. It’s done. I’ve got the kid. It’s Barak’s move.”

He reached over and patted my cheek.

“Nobody fucks with my baby brother. It’s a promise I made to Norah before she died. She worried about you. Wasn’t sure you had the stomach to do what had to be done.”

“Oh, sweet Jesus! Why do you make everything so fucking hard?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I mentioned Danny, and it escalates into a kidnapping. What in hell is wrong with you? Everything with you is over the top.”

“It’ll be okay. Sometime soon, Barak and I will talk. And when we’re done, neither of us will be overjoyed, but we’ll each walk away with something. He’ll have his kid and a little more respect for me, and I’ll have you. Reno is just a throw-in.”

He threw some bills on the table.

“Blood,” he said, “is blood.”

CHAPTER

28

T
he next morning my fourteen-year-old pal DeeDee called. She wanted to meet me for breakfast at Feeney’s. I suggested a half dozen other restaurants. She insisted.

The acrid odor of cleaning liquid hit me as soon as I opened the door. While Nick looked on, two of his kitchen help, armed with buckets and rags, scrubbed the place down. It was hard to perceive a difference.

“Is this your once-a-decade tip of the hat to cleanliness?” I said.

“I hear you clocked Toal. Good for you. I never liked the prick.”

“He was out of shape.”

“And you with one lung. I also hear Dave filled you in on that other situation.”

“He did.”

“Kinda brilliant, if you ask me. With one move, that fuckin’ heeb is hamstrung.”

“Trouble is, they don’t call him the Golem for nothing. I just can’t imagine he’s going to sit still for this.”

“Where’s he gonna go, to the cops? Come on, Steeg. He’s got to deal with us. Got no other options.”

“Let’s say you’re right,” I said, “and he does deal. Who’s to say, six months or a year from now, he doesn’t change his mind and come at my brother with a vengeance?”

“We’ll deal with that when it happens. Look, I gotta go check something in the back. What are you having?”

“Eggs over easy with two sausage patties, and a pot of decaf. And by the way, DeeDee will be here in a few minutes. Bring her—”

“I know, I know,” he said. “Pancakes with bacon, extra crispy, and a glass of chocolate milk. I can’t wait to see her. It’s been a while. I’ll bring everything on my way back.”

I opened the paper and scanned the stories. Couple of suicide bombings in Iraq. Another CEO gets fired and walks off with a severance package worth over a hundred million. The price of oil is up for the third week in a row. Global warming expected to turn the Southwest into a desert. Three major leaguers caught in a steroid sting. Knicks lose. Mets win. Yankees split.
Groundhog Day
—nothing ever changes.

“Kinda depressing, isn’t it,” DeeDee said, tossing her knapsack onto the seat and sliding in next to it.

“Only if you take it seriously. You look terrific, kiddo.”

And she did. With skin more gold than olive and cameo perfect features, even in a faded Mickey Mouse T-shirt and jeans torn at the knees you could see the beauty she would become once she made it past adolescence.

“You don’t look so great, Steeg,” she said. “You taking care of yourself?”

“You bet. How’s school going?”

“Except for analytical geometry, it’s fine. I’m still waiting for someone to explain why a straight line needs an equation, and why it’s so damn important. It’s a straight line, for God’s sake!”

“You’re asking the wrong person. I’m out of my league here.”

“That makes two of us.”

“How are things at home?”

“Pretty good. He don’t—”

“Doesn’t,” I corrected.

She grinned. “You never quit, do you?”

“What can I tell you?”

“Right now he doesn’t bother me, and I don’t bother him. We just share the same space.”

“Sounds like a pretty good arrangement.”

“It’s really sad, if you ask me. Maybe, someday . . . What is it you always say, ‘Hope springs eternal’?”

“That it does.”

“You know, for the longest time I thought you made that line up.”

“I didn’t?”

“I looked it up. It’s from ‘Casey at the Bat.’ But you never told me that Casey had struck out.”

“You were too young to know the truth.”

“That there’s no joy in Mudville? Heck, I learned that a long time ago growing up in Hell’s Kitchen. Anyway, let’s talk about happy things. How’s Allie.”

“Fine.”

“What’s she up to?”

“The usual.”

“You’re not giving me much to work with, conversation wise. I walk in, take one look at you, and see a mope. Then I bring up Allie, and I get the same monosyllabic answers that I used to be very good at. So tell me, what’s going on? And if you say ‘nothing,’ I’m out of here.”

“Allie is reexamining her options.”

“Get out!”

“No, it’s true.”

“Why?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Why not?”

“I’d rather not go into it.”

“Come on! You’re always after
me
to talk. Well, I’m fourteen. Not exactly a kid anymore. What’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander. It’s your turn now.”

She had me there. “Fair enough.”

“She dump you?”

“No. Nothing like that.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“She thinks I complicate her life.”

“How long have you been seeing her?”

“About six months,” I said.

“Well, there it is. You haven’t made the move, and she’s getting antsy.”

“The
move
?”

“Sure. The problem is, Steeg, you don’t understand women. She’s wasted six months of her life on you, and she wants a commitment.”

Mercifully, Nick arrived with the food.

“How ya doin’, DeeDee?” he said. “Damn, if only I were forty years younger.”

“You still wouldn’t have had a shot,” she said.

He turned to me. “She has a mouth on her, doesn’t she?”

“Tell me about it,” I said.

DeeDee quartered her stack of pancakes, and then quartered them again. She cut the four slices of bacon in half and inserted a piece in each pancake section and doused the whole thing with maple syrup.

She looked up at Nick and smiled sweetly.

“I’m going to need more syrup,” she said.

“You’re kidding,” he said. “Haven’t you heard the word
cholesterol
?”

“I’m fourteen. Should I give a shit?”

Nick left to get more syrup.

“Now, where were we?” she said.

“Commitment.”

“Right. As I was saying, if you want her, you’ve got to tell her.”

“How come it doesn’t work the other way?”

“You mean where she tells you?”

“Yeah.”

“Because that’s not the way it works.”

She stabbed a pancake section, mopped it in syrup, and popped it in her mouth.

“Is there another guy in the picture?”

“No.”

“You’re sure?”

“Reasonably.”

“Does that mean you’re not sure?”

“Can we talk about something else?”

“You’ve got to step up to the plate, Steeg, even if you strike out.”

There truly was no joy in Mudville.

CHAPTER

29

T
hings were quiet during the next few days.

Allie and I had dinner, but nothing was resolved. Heard nothing from Banas. Ditto for Été’s accountants. Didn’t run into Toal. Dave still had Barak’s kid, but Barak had yet to retaliate. I had three murders on my plate and was no closer to getting a handle on things than I had been at the beginning.

I figured it was time to stir the pot. Time to visit Lisa Hernandez.

As I stood at her door, the short, round woman stepped out of her apartment.

“You again?” she said.

“And a good day to you.”

“She ain’t here.”

“You mean now?”

“I mean, no more. She moved. One day last week the truck came, and that was it.”

Really!

“Did she leave a forwarding address?”

She folded her arms across her ample bosom. “Do I look like the landlord?”

“Hardly.”

“The son of a bitch should rot in hell, the prices he charges for this dump.”

“Do you have his address?”

“Whatever’s on the rent bill. I make the check out to Clarkson Properties. Wait here and I’ll get it.”

Of all the possible reasons for Lisa’s decision to split, fear emerged as a leading contender. But of whom, or what, was still an open question.

The short, round lady was back. She handed me a piece of paper.

“Here,” she said. “You gonna talk to him?”

“That’s my plan.”

“Tell the thieving bastard he owes me a paint job.”

“It’s on my list.”

“I tell you,” she said, gesturing at Lisa’s apartment, “I ain’t gonna miss that one. Nothing but trouble.”

“In what way?”

“Her and her boyfriends. They come and go at all hours. I got kids, and they don’t have to see that kind of stuff. It’s bad enough on the street, they don’t need it here.”

“So, Lisa was popular.”

“I got another word.”

“Were there any regulars?”

“A couple. One of them showed up a couple of days before she moved.”

“Can you describe him?”

“Who knows? Besides, I’m not one to gossip. You want to know the truth, they all looked the same. Middle-aged, and grateful. You know what I’m talking about.”

I had a pretty good idea.

“Well, I appreciate your time, and I’ll certainly mention the paint job.”

“You tell him if I don’t get the paint job, Rosie Alba ain’t gonna take his shit no more. And this time, she means it.”

“You have my solemn word, Ms. Alba.” I handed her my card. “Do me a favor, if Lisa shows up or you remember anything else about her boyfriends, give me a call.”

On the way downstairs, I checked the realty company’s address. Clarkson Properties. Park Avenue South at Thirty-eighth Street. I figured I’d stop by. It also occurred to me that this was the second time a mysterious gentleman had paid someone I planned on seeing a visit. In Noonan’s case, it resulted in murder. I wished a better outcome for Lisa.

Barak was waiting for me in the street. He was leaning against a black Beemer. Two men were with him. And not your basic street thugs. These two were tall and rangy, and very serious looking. Naturally, I had left my Glock at home.

“Mr. Steeg,” he said.

“Mr. Barak.”

He opened the back door.

“Would you be kind enough to join me for a chat?” he said.

“I don’t think so.”

One of his men pulled a nine from his waistband and held it against his hip.

“I’d rather not discuss business in the street,” he said. “Please get in. I promise, I mean you no harm.”

It was a very persuasive argument.

I got in.

His men waited outside.

“It is written,” he said, “that one cannot walk upon hot coals and his feet not be burned.”

“And your point?”

“I have tried to shield the ones I love from the life I have chosen to live, and I have been successful. Until now.”

“Believe me, Mr. Barak, I’ve had no hand in what happened to your son, and I am truly sorry it’s come to this.”

“I do believe you. A child is a very precious thing, Mr. Steeg,” he said. “Ari is my only child, his mother’s delight. Do you know how old he is, Mr. Steeg?”

“I don’t,” I said.

“Fourteen. A baby. Taken from his mother and forced to endure a horror I tried to spare him.”

“I had no part in this.”

“And this friend of yours, this Reno. Is his life worth my son’s?”

“No.”

“That is an honest answer, and you have my respect. Yet your friend will benefit if the trade is made.”

“Yes, he will.”

“Is that fair?”

“No. It’s just a fact.”

“You are loyal to your friend?”

“Yes.”

“And your brother is loyal to you. He is also loyal to his son, Anthony, and his wife and daughters. Anthony is a fine boy, well educated.”

A cold chill rippled through my body.

“Is there a threat in there somewhere?”

“You answered me honestly, so I will do the same. Of course there’s a threat. But will I act on it? Not unless I am forced to. You see, Mr. Steeg, there are rules in our business. Your brother has acted rashly and broken the rules, but I am not your brother.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I will meet with your brother, and we will resolve the differences between us. But for every tear my son has shed there will be a reckoning. Tell him that, Mr. Steeg.”