sailing over the seat, landing on the dashboard.
'Take your cut,' I told the Prof. The scattergun was stashed under the seat.
'Cash from trash,' he said, sounding religious, 'cash from trash.'
He pulled a pair of cotton gloves from the freezer suit and started to work on the pimp's little gun, wiping it clean. He pulled out the clip, then jacked the slide, catching the unfired slug in his hand.
'One in the chamber,' he said. The little automatic had been ready for work.
'One piece at a time,' I said. The Prof nodded, hitting the switch to lower his window. First the bullets, then the clip. The silver gun was the last to go.
The Prof handed me my share of the pimp's money, softly clapping his hands together to say all the work was done. I let him off on Second Avenue in the Thirties, opening the trunk to let him take his cart and leave the freezer suit. The Prof strapped his cart to his back like it was a knapsack.
'Watch yourself, Prof,' I told him.
'The street is my home, and that ain't no poem,' he said. The pimp might see him again, but nothing would register. We pressed our palms together, chest high. The way you say goodbye in the visiting room in prison. Through the bullet-proof glass.
I rolled up outside Michelle's hotel, opened the door to let her out as if I was a chauffeur. The little boy was holding on to her hand like a lifeline. Maybe it was.
Michelle kissed me on the cheek. 'Keep the change, honey,' she said, and started up the steps.
I had the Lincoln back inside my garage in another fifteen minutes.
57
THE PIMP'S watch had some fancy engraving on the back. 'L to R. All ways.' Probably from the freak who turned him out the first time. No point trying to sell it. I opened it up, keeping only the timing mechanism-the Mole could always use something like that-pushing the rest to the side of my desk. The diamond ring was another story-a heavy white-gold base holding what looked like a two-carat stone. I screwed the loupe into my eye socket and took a closer look-no blemishes that I could see, nice fire. I pried the stone loose, pushing what was left of the ring over next to the wreckage of the watch.
The key ring was useless to me, but I took my time with the little leather address book. All first names or initials, with phone numbers next to them. In the right-hand column there was a single-digit number next to each name. Some kind of code for what the customer usually wanted? I copied everything from the book onto a yellow pad. I'd keep the book itself-it might turn into a poker chip sometime.
I went out to the metal stairs leading to the roof, calling for Pansy. The moon was a crescent, clear against the night sky. I lit a cigarette, watching the moon hang up there, a million miles from this junkyard we live in. I like to look at the moon-you never get to see it in prison.
Pansy lumbered downstairs. She saw me standing on the iron landing and put her paws on the railing. Standing like that, her face was almost level with mine. I scratched the back of her ears absently, trying to get a grip on my search for the picture. In the morning I'd see a guy who would get me the names and addresses to go with the phone numbers from the pimp's book, but it wasn't likely to give me anything. I had to wait on the Mole and Bobby, couldn't push them to move any faster. The only way to get more information was to talk to the kid myself.
I'd need Immaculata for that.
And Strega.
58
THE NEXT morning I went to work. First to Mama's, where I called Strega.
'It's me,' I said, when she picked up the phone.
'You have what I want?' she asked.
'I'm still working. I have to talk with you-get some more information.'
'What information?'
'Not on the phone,' I told her. 'You know the statue on Queens Boulevard, on the north side, just before the courthouse?'
'Yes,' she said.
'Tonight. At six-thirty, okay?'
'Yes,' she said again, tonelessly. And hung up.
I went back inside to the restaurant. Mama glided over to my table. 'No serve breakfast,' she said, smiling. I looked stricken. 'But not too early for lunch,' she told me. One of the alleged waiters materialized next to me, bowed to Mama. She said something in Cantonese to him. He just nodded.
'Hot-and-sour soup?' I asked.
'You speak Chinese now, Burke? Very good.'
I didn't bother to answer her-Mama was only sarcastic when she was annoyed about something.
'You want me do something for you, Burke? Get Max over here?'
'Yeah, Mama. I want Max. But I could find him by myself, right? I came here to give you something.'
Her eyes opened slightly, looking a question at me. I put the diamond I took from the pimp on the table between us. Mama picked it up, held it to the light between her fingers.
'Man's stone,' she said.
'Your stone,' I told her. 'A small gift to show my great respect.'
A smile lit up her face. 'Very nice stone,' she said.
I bowed my head, saying the matter was closed. 'Tell me about new case,' Mama said.
'I'm looking for a picture,' I said, and told her what kind of picture and why I was looking.
Mama put her hands in the sugar bowl, tossing a pinch of the white powder on the table top, using her fingers to push it into a long narrow column.
'Everybody do
I got it. Everybody has to make a living. Everybody draws a line somewhere. The people who do kiddie porn are over the line no matter where you draw it. 'I know,' I told her.
'Business is business,' said Mama, quoting her favorite psalm. 'Everything has rules. Do the same way all the time. Reliable, okay?'
'Yes,' I said, waiting.
'Even with war…rules,' Mama said. I wasn't so sure-I'd been in one, but I let her go on.
'These people…' Mama shrugged, her face set and hard.
The soup came. Mama dished some out into my bowl. Gave some to herself. She bowed over the plates like she was saying grace.
