“I’m sorry. Really.” I looked off down the street, then back to Jack. “But I didn’t know you. I wasn’t sure…”
“How far you could trust me?”
“I guess so, yes.”
Surprisingly, he grinned. “Well, that’s good.”
“It is? Why?”
“Bill must have told you you could trust me. In fact, you said he said I was stand-up.”
“He did.”
“But you still had reservations.”
“Yes. I’m sorry. I—”
“Au contraire, it’s excellent. Because what that means is, you and Bill aren’t quite as tight as I thought. And that means maybe there’s room for someone else to slip in there.”
I felt my cheeks grow hot. “Jack—”
“Okay, never mind, I was out of line, sorry.” He spoke briskly but he was still grinning. “I’m all about business. So what’s our next move?”
“Our next—I—” Oh, stop stammering, Lydia! You’d think a smart good-looking ABC PI had never come on to you before! “We—” While I was collecting myself so I could be all about business, too, Jack’s cell phone rang.
He checked it, told me, “Dr. Yang.”
I said, “Don’t tell him yet.”
Jack made a face at me while he said, “Professor. How are you?” Then his tone changed. “I don’t … No, we’re…” Dr. Yang was obviously talking, Jack trying to get a word in sideways. “What are you … I think … That’s … No.” He raised his voice. “I’m sorry, it’s just not acceptable.” The volume seemed to have an effect; Jack got to say a whole sentence. “I think you owe me a real explanation. A few hours ago we … No, I … Wait, I’m … Hello? Dr. Yang?”
Jack lowered the phone. He stared at it for a moment, then looked at me. “He fired me.”
“Fired you?” I was momentarily wordless, too. “Did he say why?”
“He changed his mind.”
“That’s it? Changed his mind?”
“So he says.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“You think?” Jack rubbed the back of his neck and breathed, “Damn! You know, I was already thinking you guys weren’t good for my health. Now I’m not sure you’re good for business.”
“Did he say it was because of us?”
“I didn’t mean specifically, I meant in a jinxy sort of way. Dr. Yang didn’t say anything. He changed his mind.”
I shook my head. “Something’s going on.”
“I know. Two hours ago he was so mad he’d have ripped the stripes off my sleeves if I’d had any, but he didn’t fire me. But just now he was perfectly calm. He didn’t say it was my fault, or your fault, or anybody’s fault. He just said he didn’t want this looked into anymore and he didn’t need my services.” Jack frowned. “I have half a mind to go down there and make him tell me what the hell is up.”
“And the other half?”
“Is smarter than that. It wants to think.”
“Is that the half that has Doug Haig’s cell phone number?”
He looked at me. “Both halves do. How’d you know?”
“You didn’t help at all when I was trying to pry it out of Nick Greenbank.”
“I may have to rethink.” Jack took out his phone. “You might be good for business after all.”
I tried not to notice the little glow I felt when he said that.
10
As it turned out, Doug Haig wasn’t available, at least not to us, not right then. While Jack was leaving a message I had another thought.
“If I bought you a martini,” I said, “would you mind drinking it by yourself?”
“That’s got to be the most ridiculous offer anyone’s ever made me. Or maybe, the most oblique brush-off.”
“You don’t get oblique from me. I’m not that clever. What I was thinking was, I have a date with Jeff Dunbar. At six, at this bar on West Street. I’d be very interested to find out if he’s someone you know from the art world. You obviously can’t come to the meeting, but there’s no reason you couldn’t be sitting at the bar.”
“Keeping an eye on things! Observing without being observed! Like Bill did in Dr. Yang’s office.”
“You caught that?”
“Did Mao wear a jacket? You guys do that all the time?”
“Whenever we can.”
“Hmm. I guess a partner can come in handy.”
“Come on,” I said, starting down the sidewalk.
“Where are we going?” He didn’t move.
“This bar,” I stated the obvious. “On West Street.”
“The Fraying Rope?”
“You know it?” I stopped. “Is it famous?”
“Among certain people. It’s a bogus waterfront dive in a new condo building down there. Cheap beer, plywood paneling, and a stuffed fish on the wall, but no danger of running into any actual longshoremen.”
“I think I hear a faint a note of disdain. You’re a fan of longshoremen?”
“I don’t know any. Neither does anyone at The Fraying Rope. A pretentious crowd that plays it safe, that’s all I’m saying.”
“Look at you, moralizing.”
Jack grinned. “Wow, I am, aren’t I? Sorry. They do make a good martini, I’ll give them that.”
Leaving aside the question of how many trips to The Fraying Rope his assessment of the crowd and the martini was based on, I asked something else. “How did you know that was where Jeff Dunbar said to meet?”
“The area’s changing but it hasn’t changed yet. Most of the West Street bars are the real thing, genuinely sleazy. Your man Dunbar doesn’t sound like the sleazy bar type.”
“No, you’re right, he’s more the new condo type. Not particularly pretentious, though. But plays it safe, definitely that.”
“Okay, you’re on,” Jack said. “Just one thing.”
“What?”
“The subway’s four blocks east. When it gets us downtown The Fraying Rope will be four blocks west again. Your date is in fifteen minutes. Let’s take a cab.”
In order to maintain a harmonious working relationship I gave in. Anyway, it was a lovely afternoon for a cab ride down by the river, with the trees freshly green and the water sparkling. We left the cab a block north and Jack strode on ahead of me. By the time I pushed through the door of The Fraying Rope, he was already leaning over a martini, as relaxed as if he’d been hanging out here all his life and actually liked the place.
From what I could see, Jack had nailed it. Cheesy ersatz-nautical. Actually, ersatz-cheesy, too. Not just the stuffed fish, but the linoleum floor, the plaid lamps with ship’s wheels, and a variety of thick, looped, fraying ropes. The jukebox played Jimmy Buffett over a noise level loud but bearable. Glossy-haired blondes sipped pink drinks, and frat boys in suits or polo shirts swigged from beer bottles with lime slices in them. Chrome stools lined the bar, and cane chairs surrounded coffee tables. One of the stools was under Jack, and one of the chairs held Jeff Dunbar.
I spotted him right away, but lingered in the doorway as though I hadn’t to give Jack a chance to notice me. Jeff Dunbar waved, discreetly. I waved back and crossed the room to his table, though Jack had shown no sign he knew I was there.
“Mr. Dunbar,” I said as I sat. “How are you? Interesting place. Is it your local?”
“Friends brought me here, and I liked it.” Neatly sidestepping the question of whether he lived nearby. “I’m hoping you have good news for me.”
A waiter drifted over and I ordered cranberry juice. Dunbar was drinking one of those lime beers.
“I have news,” I said. “I don’t know if it’s good. For one thing, I thought you ought to know that someone else had the same idea you did.”
“What idea?”
“There’s another PI on the case.”
A pause. “Searching for the Chaus?”
“Yes.”
“For another collector?”
“No. For Kah Ching.” To his blank look, I said, “The Columbia professor?”