I turned into a little gourmet supermarket, wandered the aisles, watching. A woman in a cashmere sweater-dress with a gold chain for a belt searched out a can of politically correct tuna. A guy in a dark blue suit over a striped shirt, port-wine tie with matching suspenders made the same two turns I did. I stepped to one side and he rolled past, his eyes linked to the gold chain.
Back outside. Streets thick with stragglers from lunchtime, shoppers. Crowds have a rhythm. You move through them the way you match your breathing to the sleeper next to you. Find the pattern and merge. I entered the stream, blending.
Lexington Avenue. I flowed with the clot, ignoring the traffic lights. A man on the sidewalk, younger than me, squatting on a piece of cardboard, a huge glass bottle like they use in water coolers next to him, some coins and a bill visible at the bottom. Sign propped up next to the bottle, something about Homeless. Humans passed him by. I did too. Took a couple of quick steps past. Whirled, like I'd changed my mind, reaching into my pocket for some change.
A dark-skinned black man in a black suit backed into a doorway just as my eyes came up. A fat white man was coming out and they bumped. The black man saw me watching and took off, running in the opposite direction. I ran to the street, saw a cab parked at the curb. Jumped onto the trunk, falconing from the high ground. Saw the black suit disappear into the front seat of a black sedan. Lexington Avenue is one-way, they had to go right past me. I stayed where I was. Every car that passed me by stared at the man standing on the cab. Except the sedan, a Chevy Caprice, one of those two-ton jobs with the rear fenders extending halfway down the tires. When it rolled by my post, the driver was staring straight ahead. And the passenger seat was empty.
59
A cab pulled to the curb, its hood popped open just a crack, latched in place to cool the engine. I jumped in, told the driver to head downtown. The driver didn't speak much English— I had the same problem with the No Smoking sign. Rolling downtown along Broadway, I started sorting it out.
Just before we hit Herald Square a bike messenger sliced in from one of the side streets as the cab in front of us was changing lanes. They T-boned and the messenger went down. Traffic stopped…for the red light. The bike was a twisted piece of metal tubing— the messenger had blood running down his calf, just below the bicycle pants. The cabdriver got out, started inspecting his hack for damage. The messenger unwrapped a heavy length of chain from the bike, started limping toward the cab. The driver jumped back inside, took off just as the chain smashed through his back window.
People watched as the bashed-in cab jumped the light, squeaking across the intersection to the blare of horns. The messenger stood in the street, swinging his chain. I heard sirens behind us.
The light turned green and we took off.
I caught a subway at Eighteenth Street, picked up my car, checked it over. Nobody had been playing with it. I drove carefully to Mama's, watching for heavy Chevys.
60
Ten days. I cut it shorter with Lily, leaving myself a margin. There's always an edge— sometimes it's not sharp.
I went through Mama's kitchen, took my booth in the back. She was at her register. I caught her eye, held my fist to my ear, telling her I had to make some calls.
First to SAFE. They called Immaculata to the phone.
"It's me. Is Max around?"
"Yes."
"Ask him to take a look around. Outside."
"For what?"
"Watchers."
"I understand."
Another quarter in the slot. Like Atlantic City, except nobody called me sir.
Jacques came on the line.
"You know my voice?"
"Not so many white men call here, mahn."
"You have people watching me?"
"No, mahn. For sure. You have been a friend."
"That past tense?"
A cloud passed over the sun in his voice. "We were watching you, mahn, you would not know to ask."
"Any chance of Clarence free-lancing?"
"No chance. No chance at all. You have enemies, my friend?"
"I don't know yet. Maybe I'm just spooked."
"That is a racist slur, mahn?"
"Lighten up…I mean, look, a crew's been following me, I think. I'll know for sure later— there's not that many places they could watch."
"Our people?"
"I didn't talk to them, just saw them."
"We just look alike, mahn."
"Who does your material, Jacques? Listen up: I got a crew on me, maybe it has something to do with you, understand?"
"Let us know, mahn. Everybody knows, West Indians, we pay our debts."
One more call. I couldn't make it from the restaurant. I told one of the cooks I'd be right back. He said something in Chinese.
61
Found a pay phone near the OTB on the Bowery. Dialed Albany, listened to the operator tell me the toll for the first three minutes, forked over the coins. Good thing the State gives commissioners private lines— I'd use up the money I had on deposit just getting past the secretary.
He grabbed it on the first ring.
"What's wrong now?" Resigned good humor, a faint bluegrass flavor to his speech.
"Trouble on 7-Up, Doc. Microwave Marvin's not coming out of his house— the fool thinks he's got hostages in there with him."
"Who is this?"
"Your old typist, Doc. Please don't say my name on the phone."
"Good to hear from you, hoss. You must be on the bricks, talking like this."
"Yeah. For now, anyway. I need you to see someone, Doc. Give me an opinion."
"I don't make house calls anymore."
"This'd be outside. I need you to do your trick with the girasol."
"I've been hearing stuff about you, over the years. Never could be sure, jailhouse gossip and all that. What do you want me to look at?"
"A baby killer."
"Forget it. That's what I heard about you. You want information, go to the library."
"Not a freak who kills babies, Doc. A baby killer, you understand?"
"You mean…a killer baby?"
"Yeah. That's exactly what I mean."
"I'll be in the city in a couple of weeks. Some stupidass budget meeting. Give me a call at…"
"There's no time, Doc. None at all."
"Look…"
"Sophie would want you to do this, Doc."
"You calling in the marker?"
"If that's the only way."
"I'll be on the early train tomorrow, son."
62
I let myself back into Mama's joint. It was like I'd never left. It's always like that. I came home from jail one time— walked in, sat down in my booth. Mama came and sat down across from me, serving her soup. Maybe that's why she doesn't age— in her spot, she controls time.