"Are you kidding? 'This is your weapon, soldier. It could save your life.' I'm all right, Matt. I'm just running on nerves isall. "
"Sure."
He reached the door first and held it for me. The place wasn't much more than a glorified diner, allformica and stainless steel, with a long lunch counter on our left and booths on the right and more tables in back. Four boys in theirmidteens sat at a booth near the front, eatingfrench fries with their fingers from a communal platter. Farther back, a gray-haired woman with a lot of rings on both fingers was reading a hardcover book in a lending library's plastic cover.
The man behind the counter was tall and fat and completely bald. I suppose he shaved his head. Sweat was beaded on his forehead and had soaked through his shirt. The place was cool enough, with the air conditioning running full blast. There were two customers at the counter, one a round-shouldered man in a short-sleeved white shirt who looked like a failed accountant, the other a stolid girl with heavy legs and bad skin. At the rear of the counter the waitress was taking a cigarette break.
We took seats at the counter and ordered coffee. Someone had left that afternoon's Post on an adjoining stool. Skip picked it up, paged through it.
He lit a cigarette, smoked it, glancing every few seconds at the door. We both drank our coffee. He picked up a menu and ran his eyes over its listings. "They got a million different things," he said. "Name something, it's probably on here. Why am I looking? I couldn't eat."
He lit anothercigarette, put his pack on the counter. I took one from it and put it between my lips. He raised his eyebrows but didn't say anything, just gave me a light. I took two, three puffs and put out the cigarette.
I must have heard the phone ring, but it didn't register until the waitress had already walked back to answer it and come forward to ask the round-shouldered man if he was ArthurDevoe. He looked astonished at the idea. Skip went to take the call and I tagged along.
He took the phone, listened for a moment,then began motioning for paper and pencil. I got my notebook and wrote down what he repeated to me.
A whoop of laughter came at us from the front of the restaurant. The kids were throwingfrench fries at each other. The counterman was leaning his bulk onto theformica, saying something to them. I turned my eyes from them and concentrated on writing down what Skip was saying.
Chapter 16
Skip said, "Eighteenth andOvington. You know where that is?"
"I think so. I knowOvington, it runs through Bay Ridge, butEighteenth Avenue is west of there. I think that would put it inBensonhurst, a little ways south ofWashingtonCemetery."
"How can anybody know all this shit? Did you sayEighteenth Avenue? They got avenues up toEighteen?"
"I think they go up to Twenty-eight, butTwenty-eighthAvenue 's only two blocks long. It runs fromCropsey to Stillwell."
"Where's that?"
"Coney Island.Not all that far from where we are now."
He waved a hand, dismissing the borough and all its unknowable streets. "You know where we're going," he said. "And we'll get the map fromKasabian. Oh, fuck. Is this going to be on the part of the map they're carrying?"
"Probably not."
"Fuck. What did I have to go and rip the map for? Jesus."
We were out of the restaurant by now. We stood in front, with the winking neon in back of us. Skip said, "Matt, I'm out of my element. Why'd they have us come here first, then call us up and send us to the church?"
"So they can get a look at us first, I guess. And interrupt our lines of communication."
"You think someone's looking at us right now?How'm Igonna tell Johnny to follow us? Is that what theyoughta do, follow us?"
"They probably ought to go home."
"Why's that?"
"Because they'll be spotted following us, and they'll be spotted anyway when we tell them what's going on."
"You think we're being watched?"
"It's possible. It's one reason for them to set things up this way."
"Shit," he said. "I can't send Johnny home. If I suspect him, he probably suspects me at the same time, and I can't… Suppose we all go in one car?"
"Two cars would be better."
"You just said two cars won't work."
"We'll try it this way," I said, and took his arm to steer him. We walked not toward the car whereKasabian and the others were parked but to Skip's Impala. At my direction he started the car up, blinked the lights a couple of times, and drove to the corner, took a right, drove a block and pulled to the curb.
A few minutes laterKasabian's car pulled up beside us.
"You were right," Skip said to me. To the others he said, "You guys are smarter than I gave you credit. We got a phonecall, they're sending us on a treasure hunt, only we got the treasure. We're supposed to go to a church onEighteenth Avenue and something."
"Ovington," I said.
No one knew where that was. "Follow us," I told them. "Stay half a block to a block in back of us, and when we park go around the block and park behind us."
"Suppose we get lost?" Bobby wanted to know.
"Go home."
"How?"
"Just follow us," I said. "You won't get lost."
WE tookConey Island Avenue andKings Highway intoBay Parkway, and then we got disoriented and it took me a few blocks to get my bearings. We went across one of the numbered streets, caughtEighteenth Avenue, and found the church we were looking for on the corner ofOvington. In Bay Ridge,OvingtonAvenue runs parallel toBay Ridge Avenue a block to the south of it. Somewhere aroundFort Hamilton Parkway it winds up still parallel toBay Ridge Avenue but a block north of it, whereSixty-eighthStreet used to be. Even when you know the area, this sort of thing can drive you crazy, andBrooklyn is full of it.
There was a No Parking zone directly across from the church, and Skip pulled the Chevy into it. He cut the lights, killed the engine. We sat in silence untilKasabian's car had moved up, passed us, and turned at the corner.
"Did he even see us?" Skip wondered. I said that they had, that was why they'd turned at the corner. "I guess," he said.
I turned and watched out the rear window. A couple of minutes later I saw their lights. They found a parking spot half a block back, and their lights went out.
The neighborhood was mostly prewar frame houses, large ones, set on lots with lawns and trees out in front. Skip said, "It doesn't look likeNew York out here. You know what I mean? It looks like some normal place in the rest of the country."
"A lot ofBrooklyn is like this."
"Parts ofQueens, too.Not where I grew up, but here and there. You know what this reminds me of? Richmond Hill. You knowRichmond Hill?"
"Not well."
"Track team had a meet out there once. We got the shit kicked out of us. The houses, though, they looked a lot like this." He dropped his cigarette out the window. "I guess we might as well do it," he said."Right?"
"I don't like it," I said.
"You don't like it? I haven't liked it since the books disappeared."
"The other place was public," I said. I opened my notebook, read what I'd written down. "There's supposed to be a flight of steps on the left-hand side of the church leading down to the basement. The door's supposed to be open. I don't even see a light on, do you?"
"No."
"This looks like an awfully easy way to get sandbagged. I think you'd better stay here, Skip."
"You figure you're safer alone?"
I shook my head. "I figure we're both safer separated for the moment. The money stays with you. I want to go down there and see what kind of a reception they've got set up for us. If there looks to be a safe way to make the switch, I'll have them blink the lights three times."
"What lights?"
"Some light that you can see." I leaned across him, pointed. "Those are the basement windows down there. There must be lights, and you'll be able to see them."
"So you wink the lights three times and I bring the money. Suppose you don't like the setup?"