Ghost Hero

Jack pulled back his arm, his fingers curled around an imaginary baseball.

“Enterprising,” Bill said.

“The shot came from the bad guy,” I told Bill. “At Jack.”

“Just like the batters I used to fan,” Jack said. “Spun him until he was dizzy. He had no idea where to look.”

“You’re taking this much better than the previous gunshot,” I said.

“Ice water in his veins,” Bill agreed.

“Actually, I think I’m in shock. Wait until the numbness wears off. What?” Jack’s eyes suddenly widened. “Someone shot at me? Again?”

“No,” I said. “It was all a dream. Listen, you guys, I hear sirens. Maybe we should get out of here before the homeowner comes to get his rocks back?”

“There’s a dirty joke in there somewhere,” Bill said.

“I’d rather you didn’t find it.”

We got in the car and drove away.

13

“So,” Bill said as we wound our way through Queens, “who was he, your Mighty Casey?”

“I have an idea, but I don’t like it.”

“In that case, by all means share it.”

“I never saw him before. He said his boss had some questions about, and some advice for, the guy I work for. I asked him if he worked for the government, and he said there’s no money in it.”

“He’s never heard of corruption?” Jack asked.

“I’m sure he has. I’m thinking he’s some kind of Chinese gangster. He’s unhappy about something Jeff Dunbar’s doing—or Dennis Jerrold, or whoever he is—and he wants me to do something about it.”

“Why doesn’t he go to Dunbar?”

“If Dunbar’s really with the State Department, that’s got to be overstepping, no matter how big a deal Mighty Casey’s boss is in China. I got a partial plate, four of, I think, six numbers. Can you find someone to run it?”

I have my own cop contacts, like my best friend Mary, but doing this kind of thing gives her hives. Bill’s contacts are more straightforward: He slips them Knicks tickets and guy stuff like that. He made a call, left a message, made another, left another. “One of those guys will do it,” he said. “But it looks like neither one’s on tonight, so it’ll be tomorrow.”

“I guess we can wait.” I had a thought. “Or not.” I took out my phone, speed-dialed Linus.

“You’ve reached Wong Security,” Trella’s voice told me. “We’re sorry we can’t take your call right now, but it is important to us. Please leave your name and number and we’ll get back to you as soon as we can.”

“It’s Lydia,” I told the microchip. “Sorry to interrupt your night, but I have something I’d like Linus to do. Give me a call?” I clicked off, said to the guys, “Maybe that will get us something,” and found my phone beeping as I started to put it away. It was Linus, but not a call, a text:

Hi cuz, @ club, cant hear a thing. Txt me.

So I did, typing in the partial plate I’d made out while the SUV careened away. Jack looked over my shoulder. I was typing

blck navgtor, late modl

when Jack said, “Last year.”

I raised an eyebrow and he shrugged.

Last yr. C what u cn do. I know this illegal. Dont do deeply illegal. If cant do, ok. If u find sumthing, call whenever.

I put the phone away without interruption this time and said, “That may get us somewhere. Jack, you’re a car guy?”

“It’s a Midwest suburban thing.”

“I see.” I settled back, leaned my head on the seat. “You guys? I’m getting tired of this.”

“Of what?” Jack asked. “Me getting shot at?”

“That, too. Of being confused. Of not knowing who any of these people really are and what they really want.”

“I have an idea,” Jack said, snapping his fingers. “Let’s go to Anna’s studio, find the Chaus, have her tell us what’s going on, and all go out for a drink after the big dance number.”

“Good plan.” I closed my eyes, and opened them briefly to add, “I’ll have a cosmo.”

*   *   *

Bill meandered randomly through Queens until he was satisfied we weren’t being followed. As that was going on, Jack and I filled him in on what he’d missed while he was exchanging pleasantries with Shayna Dylan. By the time we pulled over in front of the artists’ converted warehouse it was half-past nine, but light still glowed through the industrial windows.

“Behold the midnight oil of inspiration,” I said.

“Most of these people have day jobs,” Jack said. “They make work when they can.”

“It’s more romantic my way.”

Bill said to Jack, “What did I tell you?”

I couldn’t remember what he’d told him but I was sure it was something unflattering about me, so I instructed them both to go jump in a lake.

We’d parked at the building’s long side. Jack led us around the corner to a loading dock with a huge roll-down