has among the lowest percentage of eligible voters who actually cast the ballot. Nobody actually likesKotkind, he’s just a good obedient party man who does the job, and it’s a safe seat there, where nobody will ever notice him.”
“Sounds good.”
“He’s a lawyer, of course, they’re all lawyers. He has a practice in Brooklyn, and devotes most of his time to that, so he consistently has one of the worst absentee records in the assembly. Basically, he shows up only when the party needs his vote.”
“Do you have a picture?”
“No, I don’t have any photos here, but he’s as you described. Short and quite stout, and verysour in expression.” Cathman smiled faintly. “He’s a contrarian, which I think is the only reason he’s come out against gambling. Of course, a number of the city legislators object because the city and Long Island have been excluded as gambling locations.”
“But he’s known to be against gambling.”
“Oh, yes,” Cathman said. “His name is on all such lists. He’s spoken out against it, and he votes against it if he happens to be around.”
“You got a home address there?”
Again Cathman looked startled and worried. “You’re not going to What are you going to do?”
“Look at him,” Parker said. “Does he have letterhead stationery? Not as a lawyer, as an assemblyman.”
“Oh, yes, of course.”
“Get me some,” Parker said. “And write down his address for me.”
Cathman dithered. He said, “Nothing’s going to
happento him, will it? I mean, the man is
inoffensive, he’s on our side, I wouldn’t want
“
Slowly, Cathman ran down. He gazed pleadingly at Parker, who sat waiting for him. There was a notepad on the coffee table, and after a while Cathman pulled it close and copied the address.
13
Parker was the first to arrive. “Lynch,” he said, and the girl in the black ball gown picked up three menus and the red leather-covered wine list and led him snaking through the mostly empty tables in the long dim room to the line of windows across the rear wall. Most of the lunchtime customers were clustered here, for the view. Parker sat with his left profile to the view, where he could still see the entrance, then looked out at what the other lunchgoers had come here to see.
First week in May. Sunlight danced on the broad river. Across the way, the Palisades made a vertical curtain of dark gray stone, behind which was New Jersey. This restaurant, called the Palisader and catering mostly to the tourist trade, was built on the eastern shore of the river, just above the city of Yonkers, New York City’s neighbor to the north. That was the northeast corner of New Jersey over there, behind the Palisades, with New York State beginning just to the right, leading up toward West Point. A few sailboats roamed the river today, sunlight turning their white sails almost to porcelain. There were no big boats out there.
Parker looked away from the view, and saw Mike Carlow come this way, following the same hostess. He nodded at Parker, took the seat across from him, then looked out at the view. “Nothing yet, I guess,” he said.
“Not yet.” Cathman had said it would happen between one and three, and it was now just twelve-thirty.
“I’ve got a sister in Connecticut,” Carlow said. “If we’re gonna do this thing, I might bunk in with her for a while, save all this flying around.”
“Well, it’s looking real,” Parker said, and the girl came swishing back through the tables, this time with huge Dan Wycza in her wake. She gestured toward Parker and Carlow with a slender hand and wrist that only emphasized Wycza’s bulk, smiled at them all impersonally, and sailed away.
Wycza looked at the remaining places at the table; he could sit with his back to the view or to the door. “Never be last,” he announced, and pulled out the view-facing chair. Settling carefully into it, the chair creaking beneath him, he said, “So we’ll do it?”
“Unless something new happens,” Parker told him. “I called Lou Sternberg again this morning, he’ll come over next week.”
“Good.” Wycza picked up his menu, but then looked out at the river and said, “What we need’s somebody that can walk on water.”
Carlow grunted. “They don’t play on our team,” he said.
Wycza shrugged. “If the price is right,” he said, and studied the menu.
Their order was taken by a skinny boy wearing a big black bow tie that looked as though somebody was pulling a practical joke on him. After he left, Parker said, “We need a woman. Not to walk on water.”
“What about yours?” Wycza asked him.
Parker shook his head. “Not what she does.”
Carlow asked, “What do we need?”
“Young, thin, good-looking. That could look frail maybe.”
Grinning, Wycza said, “Like the little lady led me here.”
“Like that,” Parker agreed. “But one of us.”
