“I don’t buy that,” I said, but I was unsure. “He knew too much when he talked to me.”
“Or too little. Why else would he dispatch those two and ‘rough you up,’ except to haze you, rattle you, and get you to talk? He was just wavin’ his dick around and you swallowed the bait. I warned you, Payton. But no, you don’t want help. You know better. You’re always the smartest fucking guy in an empty room.”
I thought about it, going over again in my mind what Fedel had actually said to me, and in a way it fit.
An ex-cop, Fedel knew the way to work information out of someone was to act like you already knew everything and then just sit back and listen for the contradictions.
Had I ratted myself out? I wasn’t sure. It still bothered me, though, Matt’s showing up in the nick of time.
“So what’re you doin’ here, Matt? I don’t see you for five years, then twice in one day. My star must be in Uranus.”
He ignored the feedline, which made it only half a joke.
“Need to talk to you,” he said. “I was waiting across the street for you to get back. Saw you go up with those two, then all your curtains shut. Thought I’d investigate.”
I found where they’d put my gun and where I’d dropped the plastic bag with the iPod in it. Nobody wanted my goodie bag. I went to my desk and dropped everything in a drawer.
“So what’d you need to talk to me about?”
He sat heavily on the edge of my desk, his buttock knocking over my cup of pencils and pens and spilling them out. He didn’t pick them up, I had to. I shook my head, lamenting, “Oscar, Oscar.”
He said, “Law Addison was spotted today, here in the city.”
“He’s back?”
“I shit you not.”
“Where in the city?”
“Right round here. Fucking Tompkins Square Park, y’believe it? Only two hours ago.”
“Who by?”
“One of my people clocked him coming out of a bakery, but my guy was on another job. Lost sight of him before he could signal his back-up.”
“How’d he know it was Addison?”
“Addison’s the one that got away over at Metro. We’ve got his ugly mug tacked up next to every goddamn coffee-maker. But it’s nothing positive yet—otherwise I wouldn’t be talking to you, asshole, I’d be giving it over to the cops. Addison’s a fugitive.”
“What did they say at the bakery?”
“What?”
“He was coming out of a—”
“We’re on that. What I need from you is what Owl said to you about Addison.”
“Why?”
“Because he must’ve fucking seen him too. Why else would he pull his name outta the air?”
“I asked him if he’d found Addison. He said he didn’t.”
“Then why—”
“He didn’t find Addison, but he did find the woman Addison ran off with.”
Matt didn’t say anything, but his mouth hung open like he was straining to get a breath out, or else haul something from out of his memory. “Michael Cassidy? Owl told you that he—”
“No, never got the chance. But when I went over to his hotel room, he had her stashed there. She hit me on the head and booked.”
“Where is she now?”
“I don’t know.”
“Shit. So did you get anything out of her? Fuck, I can’t believe you let her get—hit you on the head!?”
“I didn’t know who she was, I only just found out.”
“What were you doing in Owl’s hotel room anyway?”
“What?”
“What were you doing in Owl’s hotel room?”
“What was I…was doing…where I was where—”
“Yeh, yuck-yuck-yuck, funnyfuck. Knock off the Abbott and Costello. How’d you get in?”
I wiggled my little pinkie at him.
He snorted. “You sure it was Michael Cassidy?”
“She’s hard to take for anyone else.”
Matt nodded. “So both of them came back.”
“What’s he look like, Addison?”
“Mid-30s. Six-two, about two hundred forty pounds. Towhead, looks like a Swede. But according to my guy, says he’s lost weight, looks trim. Shit, what did I tell you, no way that guy could stay under wraps for long. Probably thinks it’s blown over, the idiot-fuck.”
“He’s such an idiot, how come he’s so rich? Not to mention still walking around and not in a cell.”
“Give it a day or two, he’ll be in a cell.”
“What would he come back to the city for anyway? It can’t just be for the cheesecake.”
“If that junkie girlfriend’s still with him, maybe they’re in town to score some dope. I always figured she’d lead us to Addison one way or another, either by ending up on an ER gurney or a slab.”
“An O.D. like Craig Wales?”
Matt ignored that. “Or maybe he left behind a stash of cash,” he said, “and now he needs to replenish. How did she look to you, still on the needle?”
I shrugged. “Didn’t find any of the utensils, not even an alcohol prep. Nothing in the room. Heard a phone conversation, though, from outside the door, that sounded like a score, so I wouldn’t be surprised if she were.”
Matt, reluctantly eating crow, said, “Look, I know I didn’t ask you in on this Law Addison thing to begin with. Maybe I should’ve. Maybe it wouldn’t of mattered. But you’re in on it now. Understood?”
“Ordering me that you’re hiring me?”
“What was Owl’s connection to all this? Did you find out what he was working on? Anything that might be a lead to where Addison is stashed now?”
I thought it through: Owl comes to the city to help Elena deal with Sayre. While he’s with her in the apartment, Michael Cassidy walks in. She has keys because the apartment belongs to Law Addison, under the alias of L. Andrews. Owl tags her and puts her in his hotel room for safekeeping. On the way, he picks up a tail. Then he decides to bring me in to flush out whoever’s following him and…
That’s as far as my imagination took me. But other new factors had to be taken into account. Luis’ murder was one. Had Addison also returned to the apartment, been spotted by his good friend the super? Luis would’ve made a big noise about that, a noise Addison couldn’t afford being heard. That strike across Luis’ throat suggested that silencing him may have been a motive or intent in the man’s death.
Finally to Matt I said, “No.”
To hell with him, it was my case now. And it was breaking.
He must’ve read my mind. “Same to you, pal.”
“Pal? You’re only here because I might have a lead on something that would look good on you. Don’t pretend you’re doing me any favors. Do your own damn spadework. I’m busy.”
“What about that client?”
“What client?” I’d lost track.
“The one who turned up on your doorstep, what’s his story? Think he might’ve been sent here by Michael Cassidy? To feel you out?”
“Separate affair. I do have other jobs you know. And I’m on the clock, so if you don’t have anything else to peddle me…”
“I’ll pedal you, I’ll land the whole bike on your head. Go on, Payton, go it alone. But remember when you blow it, it won’t be me you’ll be entertaining with your wit. The cops’ll want to know why you withheld information on a couple of wanted fugitives.”
“And who’ll tell ’em, Matt? Not you, right?”
He said nothing, just leveled a bland gaze on me.
I asked, “What’s the reward for information leading to his capture or arrest? How much does Metro stand to pocket?”
He stood up from the edge of my desk, the sudden displacement of weight jarring the pens and pencils cup, spilling them over again.