boniface number, smiling broadly, extending his hand out across the table, bowing from the general vicinity of his waist as he said, 'How are ya, Mr. Leethe? Been a while.'
'I've missed the place, Barney,' Leethe said, showing one of his own false smiles as he laid a dead bird into Barney's hand.
Barney shook the dead bird, returned it, and said, 'How you been keepin, Mr. Leethe?'
'Just fine, Barney. That tip you gave me on the brandy was perfect, thank you for it.'
The 'brandy,' of course, was the minor punk and thief called Fredric Urban Noon, who had turned out to be the perp Leethe was looking for. Barney grinned and said, 'My pleasure, Mr. Leethe, I'm glad it worked out. Speaking of brandy and suchlike, you and your companion having some wine this lunchtime?'
'No, Barney, not today, we've got a lot of work ahead of us back at the shop.' The false smile took in Ich Crane: 'Right, Jeff?'
'Right,' Ich said, and sat at attention. He was mostly Adam's apple, over a yellow tie. Who'd told him yellow ties were still in?
'Nevertheless, Mr. Leethe,' Barney said, 'I'd like you to just cast an eye over our new wine list. I'm not trying to tempt you—'
'You couldn't, Barney,' Leethe said, chuckling at his underling, who chuckled back.
'I'm sure I couldn't. But for your future reference, I'd just like you to see some of the Italians we got in. Okay?'
'Be happy to look at it, Barney,' Leethe agreed.
'Be right back.'
Barney went into the kitchen, took the sheet of paper he'd earlier worked up on the restaurant's computer — the same computer that did the menus, the billing, and the inventory — slipped it into the middle of one of the restaurant's large wine books, and went back to Leethe's table, where he presented the book with a flourish and said, 'Just take a look at that.'
Leethe found the insert right away, of course, and Barney watched him study it with just as much pleasure as if it had actually been a list of fine Italian wines. What the insert was, though, was a letter. Printed in three colors and four different typefaces, it looked like an expensive print job, and what it said was:
NEW YORK STATE GAMING AUTHORITY
WORLD TRADE CENTER TOWER #2
NEW YORK, NY 10001
212-555-1995
June 16, 1995
Mr. Fredric U. Noon
124-87 130th Crescent
Ozone Park, NY 11333
Dear Mr. Noon:
CONGRATULATIONS!
As you may know, the New York State Gaming Authority, in response to a consent order from the New York State Supreme Court, dated September 25, 1989, has been required to make a reimbursement of a certain percentage of the 'tote' in the various gaming operations under the Authority's control, due to a computer malfunction between February 9, 1982, and October 1, 1986. The class-action suit brought against the Gaming Authority was completely satisfied by that court action.
It was directed by the Court, and agreed to by the Authority, that all citizens of the state of New York who, according to the records of the Authority, engaged in gaming activities under the control of the Authority between the dates of February 9, 1982, and October 1, 1986, shall be given equal standing in a lottery drawing to be held on the fourth of July, 1994, and the fifteen hundred (1,500) citizens whose names would be drawn would share equally in the court-directed judgment against the Authority of three million, one hundred seventy-six thousand, seven hundred dollars ($3,176,700.).
It is my happy duty, Mr. Noon, to inform you that yours was one of the names thus drawn by television star Ray Jones on July fourth of last year. Your share of the judgment comes to two hundred eleven thousand, seven hundred eighty dollars ($211,780.).
CONGRATULATIONS, Mr. Noon! If you will call me at 555-1995 before the fourth of July of this year, I will be happy to give you further details in re this judgment. It will be necessary, of course, for you to provide identification, and the judgment is fully taxable, but otherwise, the money is yours.
Unfortunately, Mr. Noon, if I do not hear from you before July fourth, I will have to assume that you have passed away or are not the correct Fredric U. Noon, and your two hundred eleven thousand, seven hundred eighty dollars ($211,780.) will be shared on a pro rata basis with the remaining lottery winners. Congratulations again, Mr. Noon. I hope to hear from you soon.
With all best wishes,
Banford L. Wickes
Deputy Controller
New York State Gaming Authority
BLW:dw
This letter, with several variants, had been used sparingly but effectively over the last decades by a number of different law enforcement agencies, including the NYPD, to find and apprehend criminals who had dropped out of sight. The letter was sent to the criminal's last known address, in hopes it would be forwarded, or sent to some close relative.
In this case, the only address for Fredric Noon that Barney'd been able to find in police records, since he was neither in jail nor on parole at the moment, was the perp's parents' home in Ozone Park. The phone number had been provided by Leethe, who would have somebody of his own answer that dedicated line the one and only time it would ring. From there on, it was Leethe's task to reel the sucker in; Barney suspected he was up to it.
'Very nice,' Leethe said at last. Closing the wine book, he returned it to Barney and said, 'I'm looking forward to tasting some of those.'
'I'm sure it won't be long, Mr. Leethe,' Barney said, and carried the wine book back to the kitchen, where he removed the letter, folded it twice, put it in the official-looking envelope he'd had the guy at the copy place around the corner knock together, and tossed the envelope into the basket with the outgoing paid bills. Then he went back to his chums and his gnocchi.
Leethe hadn't told him what all this was about, of course, and Barney was too cool to show the slightest curiosity, nor was he so incautious as to stick his nose in anywhere until he found out what the story was. But a story was here, all right, he could tell that much. Profit in it for Barney Beuler? Hard to say.
Fredric Urban Noon was a nobody, a penny-ante sticky-finger from Queens, not connected to anything except other people's goods. Why would a major corporation like NAABOR want him? What had he been doing in a cancer research place? Did he steal a cancer cure? Barney ran that scenario in his mind, but it just wouldn't play.
So was it maybe something in the other direction? Did the little gonif make off with some proof of something bad about the tobacco company that they didn't want known? Was he shaking them down right this minute? Did he need a partner?
The only problem with that second scenario was, with everything that was already known about the tobacco companies that didn't bother them, or bother their customers, or their stockholders, or the feds, what could they possibly have left to hide?
It was seeming to Barney that he too might like one little word with this Fredric Urban Noon.
17
Freddie never got over how weird it felt to walk around naked in the public streets in the middle of the day, particularly in your own neighborhood, passing people you'd seen on these blocks for years. Not people you actually know, just people you recognized, but still.
For instance, that fat young mother coming out of the supermarket pushing the stroller full of fat baby and Cheez Doodles and Dr Pepper. She seemed to be staring right at him, but of course she wasn't, though still it
