'I know, he's a gentleman, he replaces all divots. They're looking to put together a RICO case against him, but I suppose you already knew that.'
'I heard something about it.'
'I hope they make it stick, tuck him away in a federal joint for the next twenty years. But I suppose you feel differently.'
'He's a friend of mine.'
'Yeah, so I've been told.'
'Anyway, he's got nothing to do with this matter.' He just looked at me, and I said, 'I have a client whose wife disappeared. The MO
looks similar to the Woodhaven incident.'
'She was abducted?'
'It looks that way.'
'He report it?'
'No.'
'Why not?'
'I guess he had his reasons.'
'That's not good enough, Matt.'
'Suppose he's in the country illegally.'
'Half the city's in the country illegally. You think we catch a kidnap case, the first thing we do is turn the victim over to the INS? And who is this guy, he can't swing a green card but he's got the money for a private investigator? Sounds to me like he's got to be dirty.'
'Whatever you say.'
'Whatever I say, huh?' He put out the cigarette and frowned at me.
'The woman dead?'
'It's beginning to look that way. If it's the same people—'
'Yeah, but why would it be the same people? What's the connection, the MO of the abduction?' When I didn't say anything he picked up the check, glanced at it, and tossed it across the table to me.
'Here,'
he said. 'Your treat. You still at the same number? I'll call you this afternoon.'
'Thanks Joe.'
'No, don't thank me. I have to figure out if there's any way this is going to come back and haunt me. If not I'll make the call. Otherwise forget it.'
I WENT to the noon meeting at Fireside, then back to my room.
There was nothing from Durkin, but a message slip indicated that I'd had a call from TJ. Just that— no number, no further message. I crumpled the slip and tossed it.
TJ is a black teenager I met about a year and a half ago on Times Square. That's his street name, and if he has another name he's kept it to himself. I'd found him breezy and saucy and irreverent, a breath of fresh air in the fetid swamp of Forty-second Street, and the two of us had hit it off together. I let him do some minor legwork on a case a little later on with a Times Square handle on it, and since then he'd kept in infrequent contact. Every couple of weeks there would be a call or a series of calls from him. He never left a number and I had no way of getting in touch with him, so his messages were just a way of letting me know he was thinking of me. If he really wanted to contact me he'd keep calling until he caught me at home.
When he did, we sometimes talked until his quarter ran out, or sometimes we would meet in his neighborhood or mine and I would buy him a meal. Twice I'd given him little jobs to do in connection with cases I was working, and he seemed to get a kick out of the work that couldn't be explained by the small sums I paid him.
I went to my room and called Elaine. 'Danny Boy says hello,' I said. 'And Joe Durkin says you're a good influence on me.'
'Of course I am,' she said. 'But how does he know?'
'He says I'm better dressed since we started keeping company.'
'I told you that new suit is special.'
'That's not what I was wearing.'
'Oh.'
'I was wearing my blazer. I've had the damn thing forever.'
'Well, it still looks nice. Gray slacks with it? Which shirt and tie?'
I told her, and she said, 'Well, that's a nice outfit.'
'Pretty ordinary, though. I saw a zoot suit last night.'
'Honestly?'
'With a drape shape and a reet pleat, according to Danny Boy.'
