She pulled into the bus stop, hitting the brakes too hard. "The boy?" I asked her, one more time.
"I'll do it," she said. "Give me one day's notice." Her eyes were somewhere else.
"Good," I told her, getting out of the car, looking back at her.
Strega made a kissing motion with her lips to say goodbye. It looked like a sneer.
66
IT WAS STILL a half-hour shy of midnight when I grabbed the subway heading back to Manhattan. The day-shift citizens were gone but the same rules applied-look down or look hard. I alternated between the two until the train screeched to its last stop under the World Trade Center. I stayed underground, following the tunnel a few blocks to Park Place, found the Lincoln just where I'd left it, and drove back to the office.
I let Pansy out to the roof, searching the tiny refrigerator for something to eat. Nothing but a jar of mustard, another of mayonnaise, and a frozen roll. I poured myself a glass of cold water, thinking of the mayonnaise sandwiches we used to make in prison, stuffing them inside our shirts to eat in the middle of the night. Sometimes it was hard to keep my mind from going back to doing time, but I could control my stomach anyway. I'd eat in the morning.
The pictures of Strega's boy Scotty were on my desk-a happy little kid. Like she had been, she said. There's a big slab of corkboard on one wall of my office, just over the couch. There was plenty of room for the boy's pictures. I tacked them up to help me memorize his face-I didn't want to carry them around with me. I lit a cigarette, my eyes sliding from the burning red tip to the boy's pictures.
Working on it. Drawing a blank.
The back door thumped-Pansy was tired of waiting for me to come up on the roof. I let her in, turned on the radio to get the news while I put some more food together for the monster. Then I lay back down on the couch. The radio was playing "You're a Thousand Miles Away" by the Heartbeats. A song from another time-it was supposed to make you think of a guy in the military, his girl waiting for him back home. It was a real popular song with the guys doing time upstate. I thought of Flood in some temple in Japan as I drifted off.
67
I WOKE UP slowly to the smell of dog food. Pansy's face was inches from mine, her cold-water eyes unblinking, waiting patiently. Something was floating around at the top of my brain-where I couldn't reach it. Something about the boy's pictures. I lay there, ignoring Pansy, trying to get it to come back to me. No good. Lots of dreams never come to you again.
I took a shower and went out to get some breakfast, still trying to figure out what was bothering me. Whatever it was would have to get in line.
Pansy ate her share of the cupcakes I brought back. It wasn't until I put down the paper that I realized I hadn't even looked at the race results. Depression was coming down as surely as the Hawk-what people around here call the winter. They call it that because it kills. I had to get word to Immaculata that I was going to have the boy for her to interview. And after that, I had to wait.
I stopped at a light at the corner of the Bowery and Delancey. A big black guy with a dirty bandage over half his face offered to clean my windshield for a quarter. A used-up white woman with a cheap wig riding over her tired face offered to clean my tubes for ten bucks. I paid the black guy-V.D. isn't one of my hobbies.
The alley behind Mama's joint was empty, like it always is.
I slumped down at my table in the back, catching Mama's eye. One of the waiters came out of the kitchen with a tureen of soup. I waved him away-I wasn't hungry. He put the tureen down in front of me anyway. Bowed. If Mama told him to bring soup, he was bringing soup.
Mama came back in a few minutes, hands in the side pockets of her long dress. "You no serve soup?" she asked.
"I'm not hungry, Mama," I told her.
"Soup not for hunger. Not food-medicine, okay?" she said, sitting across from me. I watched her work the ladle, giving us each a generous helping. Women don't listen to me.
"I have to call Mac," I said.
"I do that. You want her to come here?"
I just nodded. "Good," said Mama. "I want to talk to baby."
"Mama, she won't have a baby for months yet."
"Too late-talk to baby now-prepare baby for everything, okay?"
"Whatever you say," I muttered. I wasn't in the mood for her voodoo that morning.
I ate my soup, keeping quiet as Mama loaded the bowl again, smiling her approval. I lit a cigarette, looking at Mama. "You going to call Mac today?" I asked.
"Call soon," she said. "You get call here. Last night."
I looked at her, waiting. "Man say he has name for you. Say to call the Bronx."
The Mole. "Thanks, Mama," I threw over my shoulder, heading for the phones in the back. I dialed the junkyard-he picked up on the first ring.
"You have a name for me?"
"Yes."
"Can I come up?"
"I'll meet you. At the pad."
"When?"
"Day after tomorrow," the Mole said, and cut the connection. I walked back inside the restaurant. The Mole would be at the helicopter pad just off the East Side Drive past Waterside Towers in two hours. With a name. It was a stupid place to meet, but there was no point arguing. The Mole loved helicopters.
Mama was still at the table. "I get Immaculata now?" she asked.
"Sure. Thanks, Mama."
"You feel better, Burke?"
"Yeah," I told her. And I did.
68
I WAS HALFWAY through a platter of roast duck, spare ribs, and fried rice when Immaculata came in. I got up from my seat, bowed to her, and indicated she should sit down and have something to eat. I was piling some of the fried rice onto her plate when Mama appeared over her shoulder. She shoved in next to Immaculata, pushing the plate away from her, barking something in Chinese. Another of the waiters came on the run. I don't know what Mama said to him, but he immediately started taking all the food off the table except for the plate in front of me. He was back in another minute, carrying a couple of plates with metal covers on top. Mama served Immaculata ceremoniously, arranging the food on her plate like an interior decorator.
"What was wrong with my food?" I asked her.
"Okay for you, Burke. You not mother, right?"
Immaculata smiled, not arguing. "Thank you, Mama," she said.
"Only eat best food now. For baby. To be strong, okay? No sugar, okay? Plenty milk."
I polished off the rest of my food, pushed the plate away, lit a cigarette.
"Smoke bad for baby too," Mama said, glaring at me.
"Mama," I told her, "the kid isn't here yet."
"Be here soon enough," Mama replied, "yes, baby?" she said, patting Immaculata's flat stomach.
I ground out the cigarette. "You think it will bother the baby if I talk to Mac?" I asked Mama.
"Talk in soft voice," Mama said. "And pay baby respect when you talk, okay?"
"What?"
"You talk to mother-first you tell baby hello, right? You finish talk, you tell baby goodbye. Very easy-even for you, Burke."
I rolled my eyes to the ceiling, looking back at Immaculata for sympathy. She looked back, her eyes clear. It apparently made sense to her too.
I bowed slightly to Mac. "Good morning, honorable infant," I said. "I have to speak to your beautiful mother, who is going to help me with something very important. You are the most fortunate of babies to have a mother and father so committed to you. I am certain you will have your mother's beauty and intelligence and your father's strength and courage. May all your days on this earth be blessed with love. I am Burke, your father's brother."