“Funny thing,” she said, pointing the gun squarely at Ira’s sagging chest. “I have the same policy.”
He stared at her, much less afraid than she expected. “Oh, come on, Marta. Do you really think I’d rat you out?”
“Would you?”
“Never. How do you think I’ve been able to do this all these years? I keep secrets. Yours, his, everybody’s.”
“I believe that,” she said. “But I also believe that you might part with a few of his secrets if I let you live.”
“You call this living?” he said, spitting out a bitter laugh. “Eating, drinking, and jerking off in this shit hole — that’s not a life. The only thing that keeps me from slitting my own throat is the danger. Working with assassins, executioners, butchers. I’m a conduit to the death squad. That’s my life. You want to put me out of my misery? Go ahead. You’re not the first one to pull a gun on me.”
“Maybe not. But I’m the first one who will pull the trigger.”
She pressed the muzzle of the gun hard against his sternum.
“It might be an ugly life, Ira,” she said, “but it’s the only one you’ve got. Do you want to live?”
The bravado drained from his face. “Yes,” he said. “Given the choice…”
“You hear anything—anything—that will lead me to the Ghost, you call me.”
She handed him a card with a cell number on it.
“I’ll call,” he said. “I swear.” His body began to shake, and the bag of chips fell from his lap and spilled on the floor.
“Careful,” Marta said, lowering the gun. “You don’t want to mess up the place.”
Chapter 29
I THOUGHT THAT what I was about to do would blow Katherine’s mind. At least I hoped it would. I dialed her cell number.
“What’s up?” she said. Two words, but just hearing her voice got me going. We were still at that stage in our relationship, and I hoped it wouldn’t end.
“It’s payback time,” I told her. “You had a surprise for me. Now I have one for you.”
“Cool. What is it?”
“What it is,” I said, “is a surprise…as in I’m not telling you anything over the phone.”
“Can you at least give me a hint?”
I was sitting on my bed with Walter Zelvas’s medical bag at my side. I ran my fingers over the pebble-grain leather.
“Okay, one hint,” I said. “It sparkles.”
“Sparkling surprises are my favorite,” she said. “When do I get to see it?”
“Immediately, if possible. Where are you?”
“I’m just wrapping up at the Whitney. I need about a half hour.”
“I’ll meet you at the Amity and buy you lunch,” I said.
“Deal. Love you,” she said.
“You’re going to love me even more when you see this surprise,” I said, hanging up before she could ask for another hint.
Five minutes later, I was on the subway headed uptown on the number 6 local. I sat next to an elderly woman who took one look at my medical bag and told me how wonderful it was that there were still doctors who made house calls.
At 42nd Street I switched to the express, got off at 86th Street, and walked to the New Amity diner at 84th and Madison. I opened the door and immediately felt like a rock star.
“Mottchew,” Gus called from the back of the diner. “Mottchew Bannon. Good to see you, my friend.”
The owner, Steve, two other waiters, and the short-order cook behind the grill all gave me a big welcome.
As Greek diners go, this one is the absolute best. The food is good, the prices are affordable, and the service is fantastic. Gus was about sixty, with thinning silver hair, a ready smile, and an endearing accent. He was from Greece, or as he called it, Grrrriss. I didn’t know much about him, but I got the feeling he’d had quite an interesting life in the old country.
He pointed to a booth, and even before my butt hit the vinyl, he delivered my usual mug of half-regular, half-decaf coffee and a small pitcher of skim milk.
“Long time ago, I had one like this,” he said, eyeing my medical bag.
“Were you a doctor back in Athens?” I asked.
He shrugged. “You have a doctor bag. Are you a doctor?” he said, avoiding my question and adding to the mystery of his past. “Is the pretty lady coming today?”
“The lady is here,” Katherine said as she breezed in and plopped down on the other side of the booth. “She’s not feeling pretty, but she’s definitely thirsty.”
Gus brought Katherine her usuaclass="underline" a large glass of water, no ice, slice of lemon, and a straw. We ordered sandwiches — one turkey and tomato, one tuna melt — to be split in the kitchen so we could share.
“So, what’s the occasion?” she said. “What did I do to deserve a surprise?”
“It’s just my little way of thanking you for giving me an A for the semester.”
“I haven’t posted the grades yet, so your surprise sounds more like a bribe,” she said. “And Katherine Sanborne does not accept bribes.”
She took a long sip of her water. “But in your case, I’ll make an exception. Don’t keep me in suspense any longer. Where is it?”
I put the medical bag on top of the table.
“That’s it?” she said.
“You look disappointed,” I said.
“You said the surprise sparkles, so I was expecting one of those little robin’s-egg-blue boxes from Tiffany’s,” she said.
“Who knows?” I said. “Maybe Tiffany’s changed their packaging.”
“I guess there’s only one way to find out,” she said.
She unclasped the brass latch and opened the bag.
I held my breath.
Chapter 30
KATHERINE REACHED IN and pulled out a bundle of postcards that I had tied with a red ribbon.
“The Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, the Arc de Triomphe, Notre Dame Cathedral,” she said as she thumbed through the cards. “I’m beginning to sense a theme here.”
“There’s more,” I said. “Keep going.”
She took out a bottle of wine.
“Georges Duboeuf Beaujolais Nouveau,” she said. “Is this what sparkles?”
“No. It’s flat and cheap. On sale for seven bucks,” I said. “I spared no expense.”
“This is fun,” she said. “Like a treasure hunt.”
She reached in and took out two baguettes and a wedge of Brie. “Are we going on a picnic?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Where?”
“Keep digging,” I said.
She reached in and pulled out two e-tickets that I had printed from my computer an hour before.
And then she shrieked. “Paris? We’re going to Paris?”
She looked around and realized that half the people in the diner were watching us. “We’re going to Paris,” she said, in case any of them hadn’t heard her the first time.
Several people applauded.
“I don’t know what to pack,” she said. “When are we going?”
I pointed at the e-ticket.
She looked at it and shrieked again. “Tonight? Are you crazy?”
“Yes,” I said. “About you.”
“I can’t go tonight.”
“Sure you can,” I said. “We’ll travel light and buy what we need along the way. People who buy cheap last-minute tickets on the Internet are usually poor and flexible. I figure we qualify as both.”
She was dumbfounded and over the moon at the same time. “I only have eight hours to get ready. I don’t know what to do,” she said.