"How do you know this?"
"Just a guess. But if you found the body, it would be enough?"
"Depending on what shape it was in…"
"You got wants out for Emerson?"
"No."
"How come? Don't you even want to talk to him about this?"
Wolfe lit a smoke. I felt Lola's body shift next to me. "He's locked up," Wolfe said. "On another charge. In the Bronx."
"So you can't question him?"
"His lawyer says no."
"Or her?"
"She hasn't been arrested." Meaning she could talk to her, but she didn't have enough ammo to do it yet.
"Let's say, just to be talking about it, that you knew he left the hotel room with the baby's body…came back in an hour or two, what would that tell you?"
"Nothing much. You can cover a lot of ground in a couple of hours."
"And if he didn't have a car…or access to one?"
"Okay. You going to give us a nice sworn-to-under-oath affidavit about this? Be a confidential informant?"
"I can't do that…I don't know anything, see? I'm just talking about a theory."
"We can't get a search warrant on a theory," Lola tossed in, trace of a Brooklyn accent coming through for the first time.
"You don't need a warrant to search some places."
Wolfe's eyebrows rose.
"Public places," I said.
Wolfe leaned forward. "What do you have to show us?"
"It's in my car."
We finished our meal. They spent the time talking about Lola's new boyfriend. Sounded like he wouldn't be around long.
They picked up my check.
44
"I'm parked against the back fence. An old Plymouth. Pull your car next to mine, open your trunk."
I caught Rocco and Floyd in the edge of my vision. Wolfe's Audi pulled in. Lola went around the back to open the trunk. Wolfe snapped a lead on the Rottweiler, walked him over to my car.
"Bruiser, stay!" The beast dropped into a sitting position the way a sprinter settles into the starting blocks, eyes only for me.
I opened the duffel bag in the trunk, pulled out the blanket inside. Uncovered the leather bag.
"You know what this is?" I asked.
Neither of them said anything.
"I traced Emerson's path from the hotel. Found this along the way."
"The way to where?"
I told them about the dark water surrounding Rikers Island. Step by step.
"You think the baby's in that bag?" Wolfe.
"Maybe some pieces of him, but I doubt it. I think he's in the water. You can get divers without a warrant, right?"
"Yes. But it's a long shot. Unless he weighted it down, it could be anywhere."
"Worth a try."
"Sure."
"I'll put the bag in your trunk. The coroner will tell you the rest."
"And how did we come by the bag?"
"I figure, maybe Rocco and Floyd were doing some investigating, ran across it, cut it down. Tagged it in an evidence sack, all the right stuff."
"When would they have done this?"
"Why don't you ask them," I said, flicking a glance to my left.
Wolfe spotted them. "Get over here!" she shouted. Lola giggled. They walked over, looking everyplace but at Wolfe.
"One of you two clowns put this in my trunk," Wolfe said, pointing at the bag.
"What is it?" Rocco.
"We don't know yet. You and Floyd found it last night."
"Huh?"
"Shut up and do it. I'll talk to you two when we get back to the office."
"We just thought we'd…" Floyd.
He caught a warning look from Lola, cut it short.
Rocco took the bag in his hands. An ugly low snarl came from Bruiser.
"No!" Wolfe barked back at him.
"I'll call you," I said to Wolfe.
She stepped close to me. The breeze ruffled her hair. Orchid perfume. "Give me a number. I'll call you."
I gave her Mama's number. She didn't write it down.
"I'm not there much. Leave a message.
"I know," she said.
They were all still standing in the parking lot as I pulled out.
45
I made my rounds the next few days. Patternless, like always, in case anybody was interested. Somebody left a message for me at the poolroom. Wanted to buy guns. A lot of guns, full-auto only. Probably the ATF, checking to see if I was still in business.
Dropped by the clinic in Brooklyn where they buy blood. I buy in small lots, but I outbid the Red Cross every time. The blood goes into small clear plastic packets. The way it works is this: The team hits a bank. One guy vaults the counter to grab the money while the others hold everyone down at gunpoint. The counter-vaulter cuts his hand going over, curses real loud, like it hurt. When the cops come, they send the lab for the spot where the blood spilled. DNA fingerprinting. They ever catch the robbers, the blood sample won't match. That's why rapists are the only humans you can count on to wear condoms in this town.
I collect matchbooks too. From restaurants I've never visited. They make good souvenirs to leave behind at a crime scene.
I never supply ideas, just equipment. Not a middleman, never in the middle.
There's also good money in body parts. Any part. I once saw an ad for a kidney. One hundred grand cash, jump right over that long waiting list. Sometimes, people are poor enough and cold enough to pop out a kid's eye, make him a more pitiful sight. A better beggar. Predatory anthropologists figured it out— offered the same service but with full hospitalization for the kid. Even threw in a few bucks. And they sell the eyes over here. Everybody wins. Fetal tissue is the perfect transplant material— it'll bond to anything and the body won't reject it. I wonder if the "pro-life" mob knows an abortion could save more lives than the mother's.
46
Some women have beautiful eyes. Their girlfriends tell them it's their best feature. So they wear a ton of eyeliner, mascara…like that.
Bonita bent over a lot.
She works in a joint that serves food and wine, little stage in the back, performances every night. Stand-up comics, singers, short dramatic pieces.
Bonita's an actress. Between jobs just now.
I found a table against the side wall. Smoking section. I wonder if they have them in prison now.
"Hello, stranger."
"Hi, Bonita." She was all in black: a tube skirt over a body stocking, spike heels.
"I called you a couple of times. Didn't that Chinese woman give you the message?"
"Here I am."
"Why didn't you call?"
"I did. Got your answering machine."