Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.
“Well, thank you, Declan.”
I offered my hand and he shook it. As he did, he stared unflinchingly into my eyes so intently that it ached. Still I did not, could not turn away. He wasn’t so much looking through me as into me. Then he broke eye contact.
“You do not think the child is still living,” Carney said.
“No, I’m afraid I don’t.”
“Yet you continue the search?”
“It’s my job.”
“It is more than a job for you, Mr. Prager, is it not?”
“It’s always more than a job for me, even when I don’t want it to be.”
“Yes, it is your future and your past.”
“In a way.”
“You would be much honored on my world.”
I ignored that. “For whatever reason Sashi was taken, there’s a beast out there somewhere.”
“There are monsters everywhere,” he said. “We are all monsters in our way. But on Skajit we say that it is the innocent monster we have most to fear.”
“The innocent monster?”
“I do not think you need it explained. We have all known such creatures.” He finally let go of my hand. “Beware the innocent monster, Mr. Prager, for it need not hide itself and lives closely among us. In your Nazi Germany there were many monsters, but not enough real monsters to make a Holocaust. No, it was the innocent monsters that made the Holocaust.”
I handed him a card. “Thanks for the warning. Call me when you have an answer.”
“Good day to you. Please, let yourself out.”
He gathered up the paintings and disappeared into another room. I did as he asked and let myself out.
SIXTEEN
David Thompson, the ex-cop doorman, was there in the lobby in all his empty glory, standing guard over his piece of turf. Although I’ve crossed paths with many powerful and influential people in my life, I don’t think I will ever fully understand the appeal of power. Little men, small-minded men like Thompson, thrived on it even if their kingdoms were so tiny they could fit three-fold inside a paper cup and the subjects over whom they held sway were barely human themselves. It was enough that they not be at the bottom of the totem pole. But that was just it; in the scheme of things, no matter how much power you wield or think you wield, you’re always near the bottom of the pole.
“Looks who’s back,” he chortled when I walked in. “Is that your tail between your legs or are you just happy to see me? Martyr told me you tried to play hardball with him. Looks to me like you’re the one who took it up the ass, pal.”
“You seem pretty familiar with that look. You must see it in the mirror a lot?”
“Yeah, you keep talking like that and see where it gets you.”
“You and Martyr seem awfully cozy. Strange pair, the two of you: the artiste and the doorman.”
“Security, pal, I’m no doorman.”
“And I’m the Emperor of Ice Cream.”
“Huh? You fuckin’ with me now? You don’t wanna do that.”
“Whatever. Forget it. In any case, Martyr seems to tell you all sorts of stuff.”
“He trusts me,” Thompson said, thrusting out his chest proudly.
“Either that or he must talk in his sleep.”
“Fuck you, shitbird. Go ahead, say one more thing.”
“He trusts you, okay, I get it.”
“Yeah, he trusts me. His world ain’t like when we was on the job. His world is full of hangers-on and liars.”
“And you’re straight with him?”
“Dead straight.”
“That’s why he trusts you?”
“I guess. All I know is he takes good care of me.”
“Good enough care for you to lie for him?”
“That’s it, motherfucka! That’s it!” Thompson turned, flicked a switch on the desk, then, with amazing dexterity, reached under his blazer and snapped out an ASP, all in one motion. The twenty-one inch long, telescoping steel baton may not have looked like much, but I knew that in skilled hands it could break bones with a single blow or knock your senses halfway back to the birth canal. Although my. 38 was less than a foot away from my hand, I wouldn’t have gotten near it before he broke my fingers. “I just shut the lobby camera off, so it’s my word against yours. I’m gonna t’row you a beatin’ like you never had before.”
“No, you’re not, you dickless piece of shit,” Jimmy Palumbo said, holding a 9mm Sig Sauer aimed squarely at Thompson’s chest. The pistol looked like a toy in his huge hand, but it was no toy.
“Get the fuck outta here, you wouldn’t dare shoot an ex-cop.” Thompson sounded less than convincing.
“You wanna bet? Now there’s two of us and one of you. It’ll be our word against yours and you’ll be dead.”
Thompson was an asshole, but not a stupid one. He dropped the baton and it bounced off the terrazzo floor with a sharp clink. He then about-faced and made to quickly turn the lobby camera back on. Too late. Jimmy had already holstered his 9mm. To the camera we would look like three guys talking football or exchanging recipes. Sashi Bluntstone’s last painting rested against Palumbo’s big leg.
“I’ll borrow this,” I said, scooping up the ASP. I pressed its tip against the floor and it folded up into itself. I placed it in my pocket. “I’ll mail it back to you. Now ring your boyfriend and tell him we’re coming up. And do me a favor.”
“What?”
“Just let it alone. This is about a missing kid. I got no beef with you. I want to do my business and get out of here.”
He said fine, but I knew he was lying. I’d made an enemy. Everybody makes enemies, most of the time without really trying. Most of the time circumstance has more to do with it than anything else. Still, I knew better than to ignore the enemies I made. I’d done that once and it got Katy murdered.
In the elevator, I finally exhaled.
“Thanks, Jimmy. One swing with that thing and he could’ve broken my femur. Good thing I had you along.”
“Come on, that was fun.”
“Yeah, for you maybe. You had the gun in your hand.”
“Good point. You okay, Moe?”
“I’m good,” I lied. It wasn’t so much what had just happened with Thompson that was bothering me. It was just that I couldn’t get my head around my visit with Carney. Specifically, I could not let go of what he’d said to me. He was, as Wallace Rusk had warned, idiosyncratic, but so movingly eloquent on the subject of monsters. When this was all over, I thought, I’d have to see what I could find out about him. One thing was for sure, he was going to get an invite to the grand opening of the new store in Bridgehampton. The Hamptons could always use a little shaking up and it would be worth having Carney there just to see the look on my brother’s face.
Then, when I saw Nathan Martyr waiting for us out in the hall, the saliva practically spilling out the corners of his mouth at the thought of possessing Sashi Bluntstone’s last painting, Carney’s words came back to me once again. There were indeed monsters all around us. Martyr was so grotesque in the role that he was nearly amusing. Nearly. But there was nothing innocent about him and, I thought, if there was proof of original sin, he was it.
“Come on in, gentlemen.”
