I could have used another shot of tequila; any brand would do. “Do you have any proof that the money flowing to Cushman was from organized crime?”
“I’ve done some digging. Do you remember the name of the man who murdered Gerry Collins?”
I felt another puff of cold air. That guy at the bar was heading out the door, leaving a full beer untouched.
“I’m sure I heard it in the news,” I said, “but the name escapes me.”
“A semiretired guy in his late fifties who lost his entire life savings in Cushman’s Ponzi scheme. Never stood trial. He entered a guilty plea in order to get a life sentence instead of the death penalty. His name was Tony Martin.”
“Singapore Mall,” I said.
“What?”
“That’s where I’ve seen that guy before. It was one of our first dates. I was taking your picture in front of the fountain at Singapore Mall, and he’s the guy who came up and offered to snap one of the two of us.”
“Patrick, that was months ago and on the other side of the world.”
I jumped from the table, ran out the door, and stopped cold on the sidewalk. I looked left, then right. Parked cars lined the street, a delivery truck passed, and an old woman was scooping her poodle’s droppings into a plastic bag. I had no idea which way to go. I stood frozen, not sure what to do. There was no sign of the man in the bar, and as the moments passed, I became less and less sure that I’d actually seen him before in Singapore or anywhere else.
I went inside and returned to my seat at the table.
“What the hell was that about?” asked Lilly.
“Sorry, I-I just had this strange feeling that we were being watched.”
She looked at me with concern. “Welcome to my world. The paranoia will take over if you let it. You need to get a grip. This is important. Please listen to what I’m telling you.”
“I’m sorry, but I actually have been listening. You said the guy who killed Gerry Collins was Tony Martin.”
“That’s my point. His name is not Tony Martin. It turns out his
“Who is Tony Mandretti?”
The waitress returned. Either she’d read my mind, or Lilly had ordered a shot of tequila for each of us while I was chasing after nothing.
“Now there’s a really good question,” said Lilly. “Who
She leaned over her brimming shot glass, and I saw a distinct sparkle of excitement in her eye. “This is where things really get interesting.”
6
N ight fell as we left Puffy’s Tavern.
Our bar talk had drifted well away from Ponzi schemes and bank secrecy, and I lost count of the empty shot glasses. Tequila had been known to loosen my tongue, and regrettably I found myself confessing that thoughts of Lilly had crossed my mind whenever I heard Lady Antebellum singing “Need You Now.” This she found even more hilarious than bird shit on my head. There’s a line in the song about being a little drunk, and we definitely were, so we sang our own rendition on the way back to my place, adjusting for the fact that we didn’t really care what time it was:
…
Okay, so we were more than a little drunk.
My apartment was on the third floor. After several stabs at the keyhole, I managed to unlock the door and get us inside. It occurred to me that the first woman to visit my New York apartment was the same woman who had dumped me in Singapore, but there was no time to appreciate the irony. It took longer to find the light switch than to end up in the loft, though the decision wasn’t completely without discussion.
“Should we do this?”
“Yes.”
“You make a very persuasive argument.”
The rest was a blur, which was a shame. I’d experienced “make-up sex,” before, but this was better than make-up sex, since I wasn’t just mad at Lilly; I had actually lost her. That put us in the realm of
For an hour or so, anyway.
The pain in my neck-literally-woke me. I sat up in bed and gave the burning sensation a minute to subside. Lilly was sleeping soundly, and it was nice to see the curve of her body beneath the bedsheet beside me. Morning couldn’t possibly have come so soon, and a check of the clock confirmed that the night was still young: 8:38 P.M. I quietly rolled out of bed, took a quick shower, and went to the dresser. We’d left a lamp burning downstairs, and it provided just enough of a glow for me to move around the loft without stubbing a toe. My overnight suitcase was packed when Lilly finally stirred.
“Wow,” she said as she rose up on her elbow. “I’ve heard of guys dashing off after sex, but I must be the first girl in New York to send a man running from his own apartment.”
I went to her side of the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress. “I was supposed to be on a seven o’clock flight out of LaGuardia. If I hurry I can catch a later one.”
“Do you really have to go?”
I nodded. “It’s just for a day. I’ll be back tomorrow night.”
“How will I reach you? Your phone’s in the garbage.”
“I still have my BlackBerry,” I said. Everyone on my team had both an iPhone and a BlackBerry, as the head of BOS security had laid down the law that a bank-issued BlackBerry was the only way to access the bank’s e-mail system.
“I guess I’ll be okay,” she said.
Even in the dim light, I could see the concern on her face. She’d spent the previous three nights in a hotel on Eighth Avenue, and I sensed that she didn’t want to go back. “You can stay here, if you want.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, this is a very secure building. You’ll feel safer.”
“Safe is good. Apart from that… are you sure?”
She was giving me an out, but after what had happened to me that afternoon, it would have taken a total jerk to say,
“Yes, I’m sure.”
She kissed me and smiled. “I’ll go over to the hotel in the morning and check out. I only have one suitcase, so don’t worry about me taking over your closet.”
