NEW
INDIA HOUSE
He checked the address of the Indian Consulate he had jotted down that morning. It matched. He had expected something looking like a Hindu temple. Instead, this was an ordinary building of white stone and iron-barred windows with a large Indian flag—orange, white, and green stripes with a wheel-like mandala in the center—hanging over double oak doors.
"Pull over," he told the cabbie. "We're going to wait a while."
The Green Machine pulled into a loading zone across the street from the building. "How long?"
"As long as it takes."
"That could run into money."
"That's okay. I'll pay you every fifteen minutes so the meter doesn't get too far ahead. How's that sound?"
He stuck a huge brown hand through the slot in the plastic partition. "How about the first installment?"
Jack gave him a five dollar bill. Arnold turned off the engine and slouched down in the seat.
"You from around here?" he asked without turning around.
"Sort of."
"You look like you're from Cleveland."
"I'm in disguise."
"You a detective?"
That seemed like a reasonable explanation for following cabs around Manhattan, so Jack said, "Sort of."
"You on an expense account?"
"Sort of." Not true: He was on his own time and using his own money, but it sounded better to agree.
"Well, sort of let me know when you sort of want to get moving again."
Jack laughed and got himself comfortable. His only worry was that there might be a back way out of the building.
People began drifting out of the building at 5:00. Kusum wasn't among them. Jack waited another hour and still no sign of Kusum. By 6:30 Arnold was sound asleep in the front seat and Jack feared that Kusum had somehow slipped out of the building unseen. He decided to give it another half hour. If Kusum didn't show by then, Jack would either go inside or find a phone and call the Consulate.
It was nearly seven o'clock when two Indians in business suits stepped through the door and onto the sidewalk. Jack nudged Arnold.
"Start your engine. We may be rolling soon."
Arnold grunted and reached for the ignition. The Green Machine grumbled to life.
Another pair of Indians came out. Neither was Kusum. Jack was edgy. There was still plenty of light, no chance for Kusum to slip past him, yet he had a feeling that Kusum could be a pretty slippery character if he wanted to be.
Come out, come out, wherever you are.
He watched the two Indians walk up toward Fifth Avenue. They were walking west! With a flash of dismay, Jack realized that he was parked on a one-way street going east. If Kusum followed the same path as these last two, Jack would have to leave this cab and find another on Fifth Avenue. And the next cabbie might not be so easy-going as Arnold.
"We've got to get onto Fifth!" he told Arnold.
"Okay."
Arnold put his cab in forward and started to pull out into the crosstown traffic.
"No, wait! It'll take too long to go around the block. I'll miss him."
Arnold gave him a baleful stare through the partition. "You're not telling me to go the wrong way on a one-way street, are you?"
"Of course not," Jack said. Something in the cabbie's voice told him to play along. "That would be against the law."
Arnold smiled. "Just wanted to make sure you wasn't telling."
Without warning he threw the Green Machine into reverse and floored it. The tires screeched, terrified pedestrians leaped for the curb, cars coming out of the Central Park traverse swerved and honked angrily while Jack hung on to the passenger straps as the car lunged the hundred feet or so back to the corner, skewed to a halt across the mouth of the street, then nosed along the curb on Fifth Avenue.
"This okay?" Arnold said.
Jack peered through the rear window. He had a clear view of the doorway in question.
"It'll do. Thanks."
"Welcome."
And suddenly Kusum was there, pushing through the door and walking up toward Fifth Avenue. He crossed Sixty-fourth and walked Jack's way. Jack pressed himself into a corner of the seat so he could see without being seen. Kusum came closer. With a start Jack realized that Kusum was angling across the sidewalk directly toward the Green Machine.
Jack slapped his hand against the partition. "Take off! He thinks you're looking for a fare!"
The Green Machine slipped away from the curb just as Kusum was reaching for the door handle. Jack peeked through the rear window. Kusum didn't seem the least bit disturbed. He merely held his hand up for another cab. He seemed far more intent on getting where he was going than on what was going on around him.
Without being told to, Arnold slowed to a halt half a block down and waited until Kusum got in his cab. When the cab went by, he pulled into traffic behind it.
"On the road again, Momma," he said to no one in particular.
Jack leaned forward intently and fixed his eyes on Kusum's cab. He was almost afraid to blink for fear of losing sight of it. Kusum's apartment was only a few blocks uptown from the Indian Consulate—walking distance. But he was taking a cab downtown. This could be what Jack had been waiting for. They chased it down to Fifty-seventh, where it turned right and headed west along what used to be known as Art Gallery Row.
They followed Kusum farther and farther west. They were nearing the Hudson River docks. With a start, Jack realized that this was the area where Kusum's grandmother had been mugged. The cab went as far west as it could and stopped at Twelfth Avenue and Fifty-seventh. Kusum got out and began to walk.
Jack had Arnold pull into the curb. He stuck his head out the window and squinted against the glare of the sinking sun as Kusum crossed Twelfth Avenue and disappeared into the shadows under the partially repaired West Side Highway.
"Be back in a second," he told Arnold.
He walked to the corner and saw Kusum hurry along the crumbling waterside pavement to a rotting pier where a rust-bucket freighter was moored. As Jack watched, a gangplank lowered itself as if by magic. Kusum climbed aboard and disappeared from view. The gangplank hoisted itself back to the raised position after he was gone.
A ship. What the hell could Kusum be doing on a floating heap like that? It had been a long, boring day, but now things were getting interesting.
Jack went back to the Green Machine.
"Looks like this is it," he said to Arnold. He glanced at the meter, calculated what he still owed of the total, added twenty dollars for good will, and handed it to Arnold. "Thanks. You've been a big help. "
"This ain't such a good neighborhood during the day," Arnold said, glancing around. "And after dark it really gets rough, especially for someone dressed like you."
"I'll be okay," he said, grateful for the concern of a man he had known for only a few hours. He slapped the roof of the car. "Thanks again."
Jack watched the Green Machine until it disappeared into the traffic, then he studied his surroundings. There was a vacant lot on the corner across the street, and an old, boarded-up brick warehouse next to him.
He felt exposed standing there in an outfit that shouted "Mug me" to anyone so inclined. And since he hadn't dared to bring a weapon to the U.N., he was unarmed. Officially, unarmed. He could permanently disable a man with a ballpoint pen and knew half a dozen ways to kill with a key ring, but didn't like to work that close unless he had to. He would have been much more comfortable knowing the Semmerling was strapped against his leg.
He had to hide. He decided his best bet would be under the West Side Highway. He jogged over and perched himself high up in the notch of one of the supports. It offered a clear view of the pier and the ship. Best of all, it would keep him out of sight of any troublemakers.