Genero started looking through the deck.
"Have you found it yet?" she asked.
"Just hold on a minute, okay?" he said.
He went through the entire deck. No ace of diamonds. He went through it a second time. Still no ace of diamonds.
"Have you got it?" she asked.
"It isn't here," he said.
"Are you sure? Take another look."
He went through the deck a third time. Still no ace of diamonds.
"But I saw you put it back in the deck," he said, baffled.
"Yes, you did," she said. "So where is it?"
"I give up, where is it?"
"Right here," she said, grinning, and reached into her blouse, and pulled the ace of diamonds out of her bra.
"How'd you do that?" Hawes asked.
"Maybe I'll tell you sometime," Marie said, and winked at him.
The telephone rang. Carella was sitting closest to it. He picked up.
"Eighty-Seventh Squad, Carella," he said.
"Steve, this is Dave downstairs. Let me talk to either Brown or Genero, okay? Preferably Brown."
"Hold on a sec," Carella said, and extended the receiver to Brown. "Murchison," he said.
Brown took the receiver.
"Yeah, Dave?"
"I just got a call from Boy Two," Murchison said. "It looks like we maybe got an ID on that body been turning up in bits and pieces. A couple found the lower half in their building, in the elevator.If it's the same body. Wallet in the guy's hip pocket, driver's license in it. You better run on over there, I'll notify Homicide."
"What's the address?" Brown asked, and listened. "Got it," he said, writing. "And the couple's name?" He listened again. "Okay. And the name on the license? Okay," he said, "we're rolling." He put the receiver back on the cradle. "Let's go, Genero," he said, "the pieces are coming together. We just got ourselves the lower half. Name tag on it, this time."
"This trick is called The Mystic Prediction," Marie said, and began shuffling the cards.
"What do you mean, name tag?" Genero asked.
"The dead man's carrying a wallet," Brown said.
"How?"
"What do you meanhow? In hispocket is how."
"I'm going to ask any one of you to write down a three-figure number for me," Marie said.
"You mean he's wearing pants?" Genero said.
"Unless there's a pocket sewn on his ass," Brown said.
"You mean there'spants on the lower half of the body?"
"Whyn't we run on over and see for ourselves, okay?"
"Who wants to write down three numbers for me?" Marie asked. "Any three numbers?"
"And his name's in the wallet?" Genero said.
"On his driver's license," Brown said. "Let's go."
Both men started for the railing. Kling was coming back from the men's room down the hall. He opened the gate and made a low bow, sweeping his arm across his body, ushering them through.
"So what's his name?" Genero asked.
"Frank Sebastiani," Brown said.
And Marie fainted into Kling's arms.
Annie Rawles was already in place when Eileen pulled up outside Larry's. The clock behind the bar, a big ornate thing rimmed with orange neon, read five minutes to nine. Through the plate-glass window, Annie could see the white Cadillac edging into the curb. The bartender could see it, too. They both watched with casual interest as the driver cut the engine, Annie nursing a beer, the bartender polishing glasses. The man behind the wheel of the car was big and black and wearing pimp threads.
They both watched as Eileen got out of the car on the curb side, long legs flashing and signaling, little hidden pistol tucked into one of those soft sexy boots, high-stepping her way toward the entrance door now.
Mr. Pimp leaned across the seat, rolled down the window on the curb side.
Yelled something to Eileen.
Eileen sashayed back, bent over to look in the window.
Short skirt tight across her ass, flashing, advertising.
Started shaking her head, waving her arms around.
"She's givin' him sass," the bartender said.
Southern accent you could cut with a butter knife. Maybe this wasn't so far from Houston after all.
"An' he don't like it none," the bartender said.
Mr. Pimp came storming out of the car on the driver's side, walked around the car, stood yelling at her on the sidewalk.
Eileen kept shaking her head, hands on her hips.