"He might be connected to Bethlehem—another trail I'm pursuing." He leaned forward. "One last subject: your folks. Where are they now?"
"My mother died about five years ago, and I never knew my father."
Damn. He'd hoped she'd make this easy and come out and say his name was Jonah Stevens.
"What was your mother like?"
Another shrug. "I guess some would call her a free spirit, some just plain weird. Sort of a hippy. She belonged to the original Dormentalist commune before—"
"Whoa! Dormentalist? When?"
"Not sure. She quit when, as she put it, 'they went all corporate.'"
The Otherness again. The Dormentalist Church… Otherness connected… like oDNA?
"Did she keep in contact with any Dormentalists?"
Christy shook her head. "Not that I know of."
Now for the all-important question.
"You say you never knew your father, but did your mother ever mention his name?"
"Where's all this going? The only member of my family I want you interested in is Dawn."
"I'm looking for connections. Now, about your father?"
"Can't tell you much. Whenever I asked my mother what he was like she'd call him her 'pirate man.'"
"He had a criminal record?"
"No, because he wore an eye patch."
Jack felt a tingle of anticipation. Jonah Stevens had had a blind eye that he'd told young Jeremy Bolton could see the future.
"Did she ever say anything else about him?"
She shrugged. "Whenever I'd ask why he wasn't around she'd tell me he'd been swallowed by a whale." She gave him a crooked smile. "Told you she was weird."
Jack leaned back. Not weird at all if she was referring to someone named Jonah.
That pretty much clinched it: Jonah Stevens had fathered Christy as well. What was he? Some sort of walking sperm bank?
She glanced at her watch and rose.
"I've got to go. The last thing in the world I feel like doing is rehearsing a musical, but a lot of people are depending on me. Call me tomorrow to let me know how this surveillance turned out. I need results, and soon."
"Talk to you then."
When she was gone, he looked up at Julio. "Ay carambaV
The little man shrugged as he slid into Christy's seat. "What was 1 gonna say to the blanquita? 'Fuck'? I figure she watch Simpsons."
"You look more like Poncho than Bart."
"Poncho who?"
"Don't recall his last name. Cisco's pal. It was his expression."
"Cisco Kid? Like the song?"
"Yeah, but—never mind."
The TV show had been popular before either of them had taken a breath. Jack had caught some reruns on a cable channel. Leo Carillo used to say it all the time. Heard it from Ricky Ricardo a couple of times too.
Julio opened the towel and showed Jack the strands of hair trapped in the folds.
"This what you wanted, meng?"
Jack didn't want to tell Julio his efforts had been for nothing. That they'd only confirm what he already knew.
"Exactly. Nice job. Now, if you can get me a baggy and a pair of latex gloves, I'll be on my way."
Julio frowned. "Latex gloves… I don't know, meng."
"You've got to have them. Doesn't the health code say you need to wear them when you handle food?"
"We microwave. You know that. But I think we gotta box aroun' somewhere. We put it out for the health inspector."
He went into the back and returned a few minutes later with the baggy and a couple gloves. As Jack pulled them on, Julio sat and picked up the remains of the cosmo.
"She don' like my drink?"
Jack used his knife to slit the envelope.
"She loved it. She had appointments and had to go."
Julio took a sip. "Hey, not bad. Maybe I make these regular."
Jack removed the cash, then slipped the envelope into the baggy. The strands of Christy's hair followed.
"You can serve them by the pitcher."
"Yeah. But no martini glasses."
Jack tried to picture Julio's regulars with their pinkies raised as they sipped cosmos from long-stemmed glasses.
Oh, the humanity.
He sealed the baggy and stuck it in his jacket pocket.
"You being real careful, huh."
Jack nodded as he removed the gloves. "Any prints on that envelope are going to be run through the feds. I don't think I'm in any of their computers and I want to keep it that way."
He pulled out his phone to call Levy.
7
Levy picked Jack up on the corner of 72nd near the entrance to the Dakota.
"Isn't this where John Lennon was shot?" he said as Jack got in.
"Yeah. And where Rosemary had her baby, though they didn't identify it by name."
"Creepy-looking place."
Not creepy. Gothic. Jack would have loved to live in the Dakota. But even if he could afford it, the vetting process for all prospective tenants would keep him out. He'd never pass.
He pointed to his jacket pocket. "Everything you need is in here. Go on. Take it out."
Levy gingerly reached over and removed the baggy. He held it up to the light and smiled.
"Hair. Oh, perfect."
"It'll show that she's got the same father as Bolton and Thompson."
"She told you?"
"She doesn't know her father's name, but she told me enough to make book on it. But she's not telling me everything. She's holding something back. It may have nothing to do with anything else we're interested in, or it may. Maybe her fingerprints will tell."
Levy studied the baggy again.
"She handled the envelope?"
Jack nodded. "It'll carry her prints—and only hers. So don't waste your time looking ior mine."
Levy gave him a sidelong glance as he stuffed the baggy inside his coat.
"'tou don't trust me, do you."
Jack smiled. "When did that occur to you? When 1 wiped down all the door handles and window buttons before I got out?"
"We should have at least a modicum of trust between us, don't you think?"
Sounded like what he'd said to Christy.
"At the moment, doc, we happen to have parallel agendas. That allows us to cooperate. But as soon as we come to cross purposes—and we might—you'll hang me out to dry. And you can count on me doing the same unto you before you can do unto me."
"Mutual mistrust… hardly an ideal working relationship."
"Works for me."
Jack pulled a paper towel from his pocket as he opened the car door. He wiped off the inner handle, then gave Levy a little wave.
"Call me with the results."
Before Levy rolled away, Jack wiped off the outer handle.
Mutual distrust… nothing wrong with that.
As he watched Levy turn uptown on Central Park West, he wondered how on Earth he was going to break the news to Christy that the man she knew as Jerry Bethlehem was her half brother.
The question was—did he know he was dating his niece? Had to. Couldn't be a coincidence. So the next question was Why?
Looked like he was going to have to pay a visit to Casa Bethlehem after all.
8
Whap!
Hank pictured again the face of that phony fuck John Tyleski on the leather of the heavy bag, and bashed it with a left and a right. The impacts rattled his arms all the way up to his shoulders. Then he pounded it again. And again. Good thing he was wearing gloves, otherwise his fists would be raw meat by now.
Earlier he'd attracted a lot of attention chasing after Tyleski or whoever he was—unwanted attention. Some plainclothes cop—a detective named Au-gustino or something like that—had pulled him off the street and iD'd him, asking him all sorts of pointed questions about his state of mind. Probably thought he was mentally disturbed.