Speak of the Devil (17 page)

“I thought you set up a date with your friend from the Cloisters,” I said.

“Right. Allison. Mustn’t forget.”

“Her friend thinks you’re a creep.”

Jigs’s eyes sparkled. “She does, I know. I’d give away a good tooth to pin that one. Anger like that can be a beautiful thing.”

“You
are
a creep, Jigs.”

He put the cigarette back behind his ear and gave another glance at the students. “Maybe I am,” he said wistfully.

Our beers arrived.

“Your burger will be right out, Fritz,” Jimmy said. “The cow put up a good fight.” He took off again.

Jigs picked up his beer. “So what’s that brilliant mind of yours telling you? Who do you suppose thought it would be fun to kill a bunch of people, then give a million dollars to a nun? Who comes up with an idea like that?”

I took Jigs’s question into my beer. I didn’t know what in the world I’d been thinking, expecting Nightmare to waltz into the Cloisters and pick up his loot. Even with his no-touch insurance policy in place, it would have been an absurd risk to take. Tommy Carroll was running around hanging video cameras and planting fake nannies on the street while I was flattening my feet all day in a fake mustache and glasses, and for all we knew, our creep could have been sitting snugly at home saying Hail Marys to dirty pictures the whole time. Red tie. Green tie. Wisconsin. NOW THAT I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION. Okay. He got it. And it turns out he didn’t even want the million bucks.

I watched as Jimmy mixed a martini for a guy in a baseball cap down at the other end of the bar. He chilled, he mixed, he shook, he poured. A martini at Cannon’s. If God really were Irish, like they say, the joint would have been in cinders. Past the end of the bar, on the wall, was the pay phone. A chesty woman in a blue denim shirt was hollering in it above the bar noise.

“Shit,” I said.

Jigs cocked his head. “Something good usually follows ‘shit’.”

“The money,” I said. “The note made a specific point that the convent keep the money.”

“If it were me calling the shots, I’d have gone halfsies with them.”

“No. What I mean is, he wants the nuns to have the money, but they don’t have the money.”

Jigs rubbed his fingers absently along his scar. “We have the money.”

“Maybe you haven’t noticed. This guy expresses himself in bold statements.”

“You mean he might not be happy if he finds out the sisters didn’t get the money?”

“Right.”

“And he might decide to express that unhappiness?”

“I need to talk to the nuns.”

“You think he’s going to check with them?”

“For all I know, he was spying on us when we left the Cloisters. If he was, he saw who was holding the bag and who wasn’t.”

Jigs toed the backpack. “That sister couldn’t have lifted this bag if her life depended on it.”

“Doesn’t matter. The note made a point of it. So did his phone call. I could’ve carried the bag to her car for her. Or delivered it to the convent myself. Damn. We should have taken the money to her car and arranged a switch for later.”

“Who knows, Fritz? Maybe he was planning to knock the nun over the head and steal the money. The guy’s a loony bin. There’s no telling where he’s coming from.”

I slid off the stool. “I’m going outside to call the convent. If this guy calls them to see if they got the money, I need them to say yes.”

“You’re going to ask a Daughter of Christ to lie?”

“It’s for a good cause.”

I went out to the sidewalk. There was nothing about the lights of upper Broadway worth writing a song about. I called Information on my cell phone and got a number for the Convent of the Holy Order of the Sisters of Good Shepherd. I dialed and asked to be put through to Sister Mary Ryan. While I waited, I kicked myself for not contacting Tommy Carroll from the Cloisters to have him place a tap on the convent’s phone. The sister came on a minute later.

“Sister Mary? It’s Fritz Malone.”

“Mr. Malone. I was just going to call you.”

“I need to ask if you—Why were you going to call me?”

“We just received a call,” she said. “Sister Anne received it.”

My heart sank. “From him?”

“He wanted to find out if we had received his gift.”

“What did Sister Anne tell him?”

“She told him that we received his gift but under the circumstances, we could not possibly accept it. She asked if he would come to the convent and meet with her.”

“She shouldn’t say that. That is definitely not a good idea.” A fire engine was tearing up Broadway, its siren blaring. I had to wait it out. When I could hear again, I said, “I guess it doesn’t matter. I assume he said no.”

“No, no. That’s just it, Mr. Malone. That’s why I was about to call you. He said he would love to come by. We’re expecting him any minute.”

I CALLED TOMMY CARROLL’S CELL NUMBER AS JIGS AND I SPED UP THE West Side Highway. Jigs’s old Ford Fairlane swayed like a waterbed as he coasted from lane to lane.

Carroll picked up on the third ring. He answered snarling. “Where the hell have you been! Do you know what’s going on? What the hell’s this crap about a nun picking up the money?”

I gave him the short version. Jigs was leaning on his horn. A slow-moving car in front of us drifted to the other lane.

“Holy hell,” Carroll muttered when I told him about Sister Anne’s invitation to the killer. “What is she planning to do, serve him tea and hear his fucking confession?”

“We’ll be there in eight minutes,” I said.

Jigs looked over at me. “Six.”

Carroll asked, “Who’s we?”

“I’ve got Jigger Dugan with me.”

“Jigger . . . That’s just great, Fritz. How the hell did he enter the scene?”

“I brought him in. No offense, but I preferred having an independent contractor watch my back on this one. I didn’t want to end up with another bag over my head.”

“You’ve got Francis Dugan and a million dollars cash in the same car? You tell that punk he lays a fingernail on any of that—”

“You’re breaking up,” I said. I cranked the window partway down and stuck the phone into the wind for a few seconds. Jigs chuckled. I pulled the phone back in. “Do you want to weigh in with a plan, Tommy? We’re almost in Riverdale.”

“Philip Byron is missing.”

“I heard. But that’s not the point. What do you want me to do when I get to the convent?” This time the connection really did break up. “I missed that. Say it again.”

“I said shoot to kill.”

I took a beat. “You mean like with Diaz?”

Carroll exploded. “Now,
you
stick to the point, you prick! Leave Diaz out of this. If you confront this bastard and determine it’s definitely him, you take him out!”

“Take him out? Not in? No citizen’s arrest?”

“Out.”

“If he’s just sitting there talking to a nun, I’m sure as hell not going to waltz in there and shoot him. Are you nuts?”

Jigs glanced at me. “That’s nuts.” He swung into the right lane to take the next exit.

Carroll conceded. Not happily. “Okay, then, contain him. If he’s already in the convent, let it stand. You and Dugan stake out the exits, then wait. I’m sending a blue-and-white up there. Give me the address. I’m coming up, too.”

I gave him the address.

“Whatever the hell you do, do not let this guy slip away. If you’ve got a problem with it, you tell Dugan he’s got my okay to take the bastard out. Dugan’s got no problems with pulling a trigger. You tell the little mick he can dip his dirty paw into that bag of money if he gets this guy.”

“I’m not telling him that, Tommy. We’ll keep the creep from getting away, but that’s it. And tell your boys not to come in roaring with the lights and sirens. We have no idea what kind of firepower he’ll be bringing. I don’t think you want a bunch of nuns being held hostage in their own convent.
That
is a nightmare.”

“This ends tonight,” Carroll grumbled. He hung up.

“What’s the word from Super Cop?” Jigs asked as he pulled to the end of the ramp.

“He called you a punk.”

“I’ve taken worse.”

“He called me a prick.”

“Man has a potty mouth, Fritz. Better keep him away from these lovely sisters.”

THE CONVENT OF THE HOLY ORDER OF THE SISTERS OF GOOD SHEPHERD was located midway down a residential block. It was between a pair of apartment buildings, set back from the street. There was a semicircular drive leading to the front door and a low metal fence delineating the property. As we crawled slowly past, I spotted playground equipment near the rear of the property. The ludicrous image of a nun on a slide popped into my head. I didn’t share it with Jigs. Across from the convent was a block of low brick row houses. The street was dark except for an oyster light coming down from the moon. There wasn’t a soul to be seen. It was as still as a photograph.

I told Jigs to swing around the block and go down the parallel street behind the convent. I dialed the convent’s number on my cell and asked for Sister Mary Ryan.

“Is he there?” I asked when she came on the line.

“Not yet.”

“I’m circling the neighborhood. The police are on the way.”

“Sister Anne has told me to let you know that she wants the opportunity to speak with this gentleman when he arrives. She is adamant about this, Mr. Malone.”

This
gentleman
.

“This man is extremely dangerous, Sister. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Sister Anne suspected that’s how you would feel. She insists. His overture was made to us. It is our duty to minister to the broken.”

“With all due respect, it’s my duty and the duty of the police to see that nobody else is harmed. It’s possible that this guy has added kidnapping to his list of holiday activities, Sister. He’s not well, you’re right. But what he doesn’t need is an opportunity to create more mayhem. You’d be acting on his behalf by letting us take him into custody.”

“How do you plan on doing that, Mr. Malone?”

“I haven’t actually gotten there yet,” I admitted. “If the police arrive before he does, it’s their game. What I’m saying is that this will all go down much easier and better if it happens outside your convent, not inside.”

“Once he steps onto convent property, he is protected by the Church. We are a sanctuary.”

I lowered the phone. “They want to give the creep sanctuary.”

Jigs shook his head. “Nuns.”

I returned to the phone. “Sister Mary? This guy is not dumb. He knows the police are in touch with you. If he told Sister Anne that he’s coming over, then I can tell you it’s one of three things. He’s either lying; he’s planning to turn himself in; or he’s got something up his sleeve. If it’s the first, none of this matters. He’ll be a no-show. If it’s the second, he might be combining it with the third. He might want to go out in a blaze of glory. Maybe he thinks that dying on holy turf will give him a handhold on the Pearly Gates. Who knows? Or maybe he has this same sanctuary idea in mind, in which case Sister Anne is playing right into his hand. What I’m saying is that the best thing for everyone is not to let him run the show anymore. We need to take over the controls.”

“Just a moment.”

She muffled the phone. I could hear her speaking with someone else. It sounded as if they were both underwater.

“Mr. Malone?” It was a different voice.

“Yes.”

“Mr. Malone, this is Sister Anne Claire. I am the prioress of the Convent Good Shepherd. Naturally, we want to cooperate.”

“I think that’s the best attitude, Sister.”

“Yes. However, you have your job and we have ours. This man has accepted an invitation from me. I gave it in good faith. I will not be party to a trap. I am a sister of Christ. We do not lie and we do not set traps. If this man arrives, I intend to meet with him. I intend to hear him out and to offer my perspective and guidance.”

“Well, the fact is—”

She cut me off. “I have not trained for all these years so that I might turn away at a moment of testing. I have to assume that after he and I speak, I will be suggesting that he volunteer to turn himself over to the authorities. But I want a promise from you. This man will not be harmed, and he will not be detained when or if he shows up here. Not until after I have spoken with him. I ask you to give me your word.”

Jigs had reached the end of the block. I signaled him to pull over. He snuffed the lights. There was a plastic Santa hanging off the top of the chimney of the house on the corner. The Santa was illuminated by a spotlight from the front yard. He looked like a cat burglar caught in the act.

I said into the phone, “This thing will be out of my hands when the police show up. Which should be any minute.”

“Will you be in contact with them?”

“Possibly.”

“Then you give me your word. You vouch for this man’s safety and make whatever arrangements you need with the police.”

“Sister Anne, I can give you my word until I’m blue in the face. But I have no control over the New York City Police Department.”

“We have seen tragic things happen in this city between the police and people they were attempting to arrest.”

“We have. But—”

“If I cannot get your word for my visitor’s safety, Mr. Malone, I suppose I do have an alternative.”

I didn’t like the way she put that. “What’s that?”

“I can alert the media right now. You tell me, would the illumination of the television media affect the proceedings?”

I held the phone to my chest. “She’s thinking about calling in the cameras.”

“Savvy sister.”

I brought the phone back to my ear. “I have to remind you that you’re going out of your way to protect a multiple killer.”

“And who should need more protecting?” Before I could answer, I heard a faint sound in the background. The chimes of a doorbell. “I believe I have a visitor.” There was an unmistakable smugness in the nun’s voice. “I must go.” She hung up.

I turned to Jigs. “Drive!”

Jigs’s Fairlane lurched forward, screeching on the pavement and nearly hitting a parked car as it swung around the corner. I was thrown against the door as Jigs swung the large steering wheel again and we careened around the corner.