“Bull’s-eye. Now…” Hall went into his pants pocket and took out Harry’s cell phone. “I’ve checked your cell- there are no sends or receiveds on it.”
“It’s programmed that way.”
“Whatever, but I need you to call Geiger right now-and tell him that if he doesn’t get the kid back to me asap, you’re going to have a real bad time of it. Maybe I’ll even take you to Dalton. Think you can do that?”
Harry felt a quick bubble of panic rise up, but then he found himself biting his tongue to keep from laughing. He didn’t doubt Hall’s sincerity, but the accoutrements to this little drama-his ridiculous nakedness, Ray Charles’s doleful voice, the summer dawn reaching the river-all conspired to decorate the horror of the moment in a tacky wrapping that smacked of parody. Try as he might, he couldn’t ignore the possibility that fate was playing his last moments on earth for laughs.
Harry took a breath and collected himself. “Geiger won’t pick up,” he said. “He told me not to call him and said he’d call me if he needed to. Even if I left a message and told him what you plan on doing, I don’t think that would change his plans, whatever they are. And I wouldn’t call him anyway.”
“No? You’re not just stringing this out?”
“Nope. Cross my heart and hope to die.”
As Ray Charles belted the second chorus of “Hit the Road, Jack”- “and don’t you come back no more, no more” — Hall whirled around and marched toward the glowing red lights of the stereo equipment. He grabbed the CD player, ripped it loose, and hurled it against the wall. The housing shattered into pieces and the music died.
“I hate that fucking song,” Hall muttered.
“Me, too. Thanks.”
Hall came back to the couch and grunted softly as he settled into the cushions. Harry stared at the gun in Hall’s belt holster. Harry had a gun, too-a. 32-caliber Beretta Tomcat with a seven-shot clip that he kept in a holster attached to the underside of his desk. He’d bought the gun last year through Carmine, after he’d heard about a series of break-ins a block away. He’d never fired it and had only taken it out of the holster a few times to clean it, per Carmine’s strict instructions.
“The thirty-five grand is in my van, Harry. Take the money and make the call.”
“Nah. It wouldn’t last me very long-I’ve got some expensive obligations.”
“Don’t we all,” said Hall. He sighed, flipped Harry’s cell phone open, and punched some buttons. Harry heard it ring once, and then someone answered.
“Come up,” Hall said, and snapped the phone closed.
Harry’s gaze strayed to the monitor on the desk. The Jackson Pollock screen saver glowed with a close-up of black and red blobs on a tawny surface. It looked like a NASA photo of an alien terrain. He wished he were there-he was certain that on Mars or Venus there were no trained killers waiting for a phone call to come up the stairs and put a bullet in his skull.
Hall looked at him and shook his head. “You’d go down this road for Geiger and a kid you don’t even know?”
“It’s got nothing to do with them, Mr. Hall, or whatever your name really is.”
Harry wondered whether his neighbor was home. He shared the brownstone with a garrulous commodities broker who owned the bottom floor; they’d kibitzed on the sidewalk a while ago, and the guy had mentioned that he was taking the wife to Europe for part of the summer, but Harry couldn’t remember when. If they were downstairs and Harry started screaming, they might very well hear him. But as soon as the idea occurred to him, he knew he wouldn’t do it. He wasn’t going out like a jerk, even if he’d spent too much of his life being one. For a second, he was back in Central Park, drunk in the mindless night, lying on the ground spitting blood and teeth while the muggers stood over him and asked yet again, “Gonna give us the fucking ATM code?” He’d looked up at them and said, “Something’s happening here but you don’t know what it is, do you, Mr. Jones?” They’d gone back to work with their boots, and then Geiger had come along…
The front door swung open. Harry and Hall turned in unison to see a tall silhouette in the dark hallway.
“No go?” a man asked.
Harry knew the voice, recognized it the way you catch a glimpse of a familiar face in a crowd but can’t remember the context of your association.
“No go,” said Hall.
As the silhouette started into the apartment, Hall reached to the side table and turned on the lamp.
“Jesus,” said Harry, the word pulled from him slowly.
The panhandler he’d given twenty dollars to on Ludlow Street stood scowling at him.
“Harry,” Hall said, “this is Ray.”
“Hi, Ray,” said Harry.
“There’s a woman asleep in the back room,” Hall said to Ray. “Go get her.”
Electric itches of dread scurried across Harry’s palms. He’d forgotten about Lily.
Ray tromped toward the second bedroom and Hall turned back to Harry. “She your wife or your girlfriend?”
“Sister.”
Ray carried Lily into the living room and put her down in a chair. Still half asleep, she listed side to side.
“Don’t do this to her, Harry,” said Hall.
Harry looked back at Hall and then broke into a grin.
“What’s funny, Harry?”
“Let me see if I’ve got this straight,” Harry said. “You think she’s your ace in the hole, right?” He stood up, tying the sleeves of his jacket around his waist to keep covered.
“What’re you doing, Harry?” said Hall.
“Just watch, okay?” Harry walked to his sister and did the knuckle knock on her head. “Anybody home?”
“Can we go for a walk?” said Lily.
“What’s my name, sis?”
“Where shall we go?” she said.
Harry worked up a light, sandpapery chuckle and put it out there for them.
“Fellas, meet my little sister, Lily. She’s an institutionalized, mostly catatonic schizophrenic. She hasn’t known who I am for more than a decade-and at a hundred grand plus a year, she’s a fucking stone around my neck.” He shook his head at them. “I mean, I don’t want to see her get hurt, but if you think that’s gonna turn me around…” He gave them the chuckle one more time. “Guys, let me put it this way. Every night I get down on my knees and pray she’ll die. You’d be doing both of us a favor if you broke her in half.”
Hall and Ray shared a flat look.
“Harry,” said Ray, “she may be crazy as a fucking eight, but it doesn’t mean she won’t feel the pain.”
“Time for that phone call, Harry,” Hall said.
“I’m telling you-Geiger won’t answer.”
“Just make the call,” said Hall. “We’ll take it from there.”
Harry could see the reflection of the rising sun crawling up the sides of two crystal buildings across the river. The earth was turning at an incomprehensible speed. We’ll take it from there. If Hall could locate Geiger off an unanswered call from a cell phone, he had access to some major-league technology.
“So,” Harry said, “I’m thinking this isn’t about a stolen painting, huh?”
“Fuck you,” said Ray. He picked Lily up and tossed her across the room. She hit the floor like a rag doll, hardly making a sound. She lay facedown, limbs askew, and then began to whimper in short spurts. Looking at her, Harry suddenly imagined that the sadness swelling inside him would crush his heart against his ribs and kill him.
Ray turned to Harry and tapped his forehead with a bratwurst-sized finger.
“ That’s what this is about, Harry.”
“Know what, Ray? You are one shit-ass excuse for a mean motherfucker.” Ray’s huge hand flashed up and grabbed Harry by the throat. “And,” Harry croaked, “you owe me twenty bucks, asshole.”
Ray’s lips parted in a viperous grin, and for a moment Harry thought he’d take the bait.
“Stay on plan, Ray,” Hall said. “Get her on her feet. We’ll see how coldhearted big brother really is.”
As Ray let go of him, Harry took his last, best shot.
“You were real good down on the street, Ray,” he said. “Tell me something: do you do other stuff, or does
