pinkie of his right hand. “You should have your landlord put a better lock in. Your forehead’s bleeding.”
I touched it and it stung over my right eye. Bright red blood filled in the arches and whorls of the fingerprints of my forefinger and thumb. I headed for my bathroom.
Matt said, “You should apply—”
“I know what I should apply.”
“Oh, right. I forgot. This is what you do best.”
I wanted to wish him into the cornfield just then, but I was imagining I might need his help. I ran a towel under cold water and pressed it to my forehead until the bleeding stopped.
When I came back out, Matt was standing behind my desk.
I went to sit down and he didn’t move.
“Do you mind?”
Matt shook his head. “No. I don’t mind.”
I squeezed by him. By the time I was seated he was on the other side of my desk.
“So, who were those two?”
“Don’t you know?” I asked, airing out a nasty hunch.
He narrowed his eyes. “How would I know?”
“They work for Moe Fedel.”
“No shit.”
“They wanted to know what George Rowell came to see me about.”
“No shit.”
“Yeh, no shit.” I walked up to Matt, stopped a foot away. “The shit part is how’d Moe find out Owl came to see me this morning? Unless you told him, Matt.”
I faced him. He was a head taller than me and a foot wider. Trying to read his expression now, I realized I’d never really looked this closely at Matt Chadinsky before. Never had to, never thought I had to; he was always just Matt, I knew who he was.
Looking at him now was like seeing a stranger. I never noticed that mole on his left temple before or that the whites of his eyes were dullish gray like pearl-inlay, nor that his ears were slightly crenulated like arugula.
He didn’t utter a word, just looked at me like I was something he’d picked out of his teeth but couldn’t remember what he’d eaten that was that shade of green.
I said, “You sicced Moe Fedel on me and he sent those two glamour ops of his over here to pull my teeth. Then you show up, pounding on my door, all Mighty Mouse, here-to-save-the-day.”
He squinted at me. “What, are you high?”
“I don’t hear you denying any of it.”
“Deny what, you paranoid piece of shit? You’ve gone off the deep end. Why would I rat you out to Moe?”
“He was pretty quick off the mark setting up those two to rough me up.”
Matt’s mouth twisted into a sour smile.
“Those two roughed you up? What’d they fucking do, rap you on the knuckles with their goddamn Blackberries?”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“I also didn’t tell you there’s no fuckin’ Tooth Fairy. Some things you’re just supposed to know.”
“So how’d he know so quick that Owl came to see me?”
“He didn’t have to know, you cockfart! He runs one of the biggest detective agencies in the city, he found out. What did you fucking expect? One of his oldest friends—a private investigator—gets hit by a car and killed practically on your fucking doorstep. All he had to do was open the Yellow Pages to make a connection.”
“I don’t buy that,” I said, but I was unsure. “He knew too much when he talked to me.”
“Or too little. Why else would he dispatch those two and ‘rough you up,’ except to haze you, rattle you, and get you to talk? He was just wavin’ his dick around and you swallowed the bait. I warned you, Payton. But no, you don’t want help. You know better. You’re always the smartest fucking guy in an empty room.”
I thought about it, going over again in my mind what Fedel had actually said to me, and in a way it fit.
An ex-cop, Fedel knew the way to work information out of someone was to act like you already knew everything and then just sit back and listen for the contradictions.
Had I ratted myself out? I wasn’t sure. It still bothered me, though, Matt’s showing up in the nick of time.
“So what’re you doin’ here, Matt? I don’t see you for five years, then twice in one day. My star must be in Uranus.”
He ignored the feedline, which made it only half a joke.
“Need to talk to you,” he said. “I was waiting across the street for you to get back. Saw you go up with those two, then all your curtains shut. Thought I’d investigate.”
I found where they’d put my gun and where I’d dropped the plastic bag with the iPod in it. Nobody wanted my goodie bag. I went to my desk and dropped everything in a drawer.
“So what’d you need to talk to me about?”
He sat heavily on the edge of my desk, his buttock knocking over my cup of pencils and pens and spilling them out. He didn’t pick them up, I had to. I shook my head, lamenting, “Oscar, Oscar.”
He said, “Law Addison was spotted today, here in the city.”
“He’s back?”
“I shit you not.”
“Where in the city?”
“Right round here. Fucking Tompkins Square Park, y’believe it? Only two hours ago.”
“Who by?”
“One of my people clocked him coming out of a bakery, but my guy was on another job. Lost sight of him before he could signal his back-up.”
“How’d he know it was Addison?”
“Addison’s the one that got away over at Metro. We’ve got his ugly mug tacked up next to every goddamn coffee-maker. But it’s nothing positive yet—otherwise I wouldn’t be talking to you, asshole, I’d be giving it over to the cops. Addison’s a fugitive.”
“What did they say at the bakery?”
“What?”
“He was coming out of a—”
“We’re on that. What I need from you is what Owl said to you about Addison.”
“Why?”
“Because he must’ve fucking seen him too. Why else would he pull his name outta the air?”
“I asked him if he’d found Addison. He said he didn’t.”
“Then why—”
“He didn’t find Addison, but he did find the woman Addison ran off with.”
Matt didn’t say anything, but his mouth hung open like he was straining to get a breath out, or else haul something from out of his memory. “Michael Cassidy? Owl told you that he—”
“No, never got the chance. But when I went over to his hotel room, he had her stashed there. She hit me on the head and booked.”
“Where is she now?”
“I don’t know.”
“Shit. So did you get anything out of her? Fuck, I can’t believe you let her get—hit you on the head!?”
“I didn’t know who she was, I only just found out.”
“What were you doing in Owl’s hotel room anyway?”
“What?”
“What were you doing in Owl’s hotel room?”
“What was I…was doing…where I was where—”
“Yeh, yuck-yuck-yuck, funnyfuck. Knock off the Abbott and Costello. How’d you get in?”
I wiggled my little pinkie at him.
