constant buzz of traffic. Feel the sun on my face.
Leaving my building, I was struck by a wall of heat. It felt hot enough outside to grill burgers on the sidewalk. The air had a heavy quality as if it were pressing down on my shoulders; the sky was buff-colored at the horizon from the effluent of thousands of vehicles. A sulphurous odor rose through the sewer grates, reminding me that like an ancient city, another metropolis lay under Manhattan: a network of pipes, lost subway tunnels, ancient quarries, underground streams, all long buried.
I got my car from the parking garage I used on Thompson and fought with morning traffic to reach Coney Island, mulling over Hal’s game as I drove.
As I headed for a quiet square of lawn overlooking the beach, I saw a mermaid poised on the boardwalk handing out flyers. She wore a pale, flowing Lady Godiva wig that tumbled down her backside and accentuated thick black lashes as long as her baby finger. Her upper body was swathed in chiffon, showing off her breasts without laying bare the whole story. A long, sequined fish tail completed the outfit; green satin shoes peeped out from the bottom. The Coney Island Mermaid Parade took place in June. She was a little late.
I found an unclaimed bench and sat down. Throngs of young women lay on beach mats, played volleyball, sauntered along the water’s edge. The scent of coconut oil and vanilla drifted on the breeze. One of the volleyball players wore only bright red bikini bottoms and a micro top with loosely knotted ties. Every time she jumped for the ball, her breasts popped out. She seemed quite skilled at hitting the ball and pulling back her top before her feet hit the ground again.
Not a good location, I thought, for a guy who needs to concentrate.
I’d turned my attention back to Hal’s game when my cell chirped.
“Is this John Madison?”
“Yes,” I said. “Who’s speaking?”
“It’s Joseph Reznick. You talked to my secretary earlier. You said you wanted to speak with me urgently.”
“Thanks for getting back to me. Andy Stein said I should get in touch.”
“Right, I remember you now.”
“Is there any way we can meet to talk about my situation?”
“How about around five? Will that work?”
Would I have solved the game by then? Could I afford even an hour away from it? No. I had to keep going. “Is there any chance we could do it tomorrow?” The guy had to be thinking I was a total ass, pleading for an urgent meeting and then putting it off. If so, he didn’t let on.
“Well, that’s better for me actually. Around the same time?” “That sounds fine.”
“Have you been interviewed by the police?”
“Yes, it was pretty rough.”
“No one represented you?”
“No.”
“Don’t volunteer if they want to interview you again. If they charge you, give them your name and nothing else. At some point they’ll have to let you call an attorney. You don’t want to say anything until we’ve had a chance to talk. No interrogation unless I’m sitting beside you.” He gave me the number of his personal line and said to call him immediately if I heard from the police again.
“Thanks very much. By the way, Andy said you might check out my situation.”
“I have some pretty good contacts, yes. There are two issues, your accident and Hal Vanderlin’s death. On the second, things are up in the air; they don’t have much, but it’s early days yet. About the crash, the police are feeling pretty pumped up. Only one thing is keeping them from charging you with reckless endangerment. But let’s save that for our meeting. You can reach me overnight if you need to.”
I terminated the call, glad I had at least one person on my side. If they did charge me and made it stick I’d be seeing jail time. The thought of that made me sick.
The news unsettled me to the point where I couldn’t concentrate on Hal’s game as I’d intended to do. I looked around at the sights and sounds, trying to get my mind off it. At a neighboring bench a man and two boys were eating their lunch, a jumble of fast-food containers piled around them. The kids, dressed identically in striped T-shirts, oversized blue shorts that just about reached their knees, and sandals, seemed around six years old. They sparred with each other throughout the meal. One would steal a fry, the other would throw ketchup packages at him. I assumed the man was their dad because he ordered them around with the kind of bossiness that’s the exclusive territory of fathers. Most of his remarks were aimed at the dark-haired boy, the thrower, who, I must admit, was more of a pest. Their bickering was annoying.
I turned sideways and stretched my legs out, tipping my head back to soak in the rays. I thought about the many days in childhood I’d spent here with Samuel, and I wondered whether anything in the small chest he’d given me would have relevance to my quest. I was thoroughly familiar with its contents, having handled them many times over the years: the seven gold coins with their mysterious images, the copper medallion, the golden key. Nothing seemed to connect to the engraving.
Yells broke through my reverie. The two boys had meandered away, their sparring escalating into all-out war. The light-haired kid was taking whacks at his brother with an orange plastic baseball bat. The dark-haired one would duck and pull away and then rush back with a kick. One of his sandals had fallen off. Both of them were yelling at the top of their lungs. Dad had remained behind, mesmerized by the red bikini. The kids’ yells brought him back to the real world. He charged over like a bull aiming for a toreador. He grabbed the dark-haired boy and gave him a slap on the behind with enough force that I could hear the blow from where I was sitting. The boy howled and burst into tears. I cringed on behalf of the second kid, who had to know what was coming.
But no. The man crouched down and gave him a hug, talking quietly to him. He picked up the baseball bat, held the kid’s hand, and walked him over to their car, putting him inside. The dark-haired child lingered.
The guy just sat in the car, motor running. Finally, still crying but more quietly now, the boy made his way over to the car and got in. As they drove off, a breeze came up, scattering the fast-food containers and papers.
That’s how it starts, I thought. Favoring one son over the other. That child will grow up with a hate-on for the whole world.
I turned my attention back to the engraving and went over the facts again. Samuel had recognized Nahum’s text as a prophetic Old Testament book called the Burden of Nineveh. After someone had attempted to steal it, he refused to let anyone see it. He believed that not only was the text genuine but it contained a hidden message. Pointing to what? Something to do with alchemical processes to make gold. Was this just the product of an old man’s imagination, or could there be some truth to it?
Another call cut into my train of thought.
“I’m so glad I reached you,” Laurel said when I picked up.
“Is everything okay?” Her voice sounded shaky, as though she’d been crying again.
“No. That woman you described—Eris?”
“That’s her name.”
“She tried to get to me. I ran out of breakfast stuff. On my way back from Gristedes I had an odd sensation of being followed, and Gip just caught her trying to get upstairs, pretending she was a courier. She left when he confronted her.”
“She probably searched the townhouse and came up with nothing, so now she wants to ransack your place.”
“Good luck to her. I’ve spent the last couple of months sorting through Mina’s things, helping Hal decide what to sell. I think I’d know if he hid something here.”
“He could have done it when you weren’t home.”
“I suppose.” She didn’t sound convinced.
“Listen, how about I come over? You shouldn’t be alone.” “Could you? I’d feel better.”
I turned the radio on for the drive back. Dire Straits’ “Money for Nothing” came on. Whether the music helped to clarify my thoughts, I don’t know, but as I pondered what hidden meanings Nahum’s prophecy might have, the spark went off again and this time ignited a fire. I’d solved Hal’s puzzle.
When I got upstairs Laurel greeted me with a kiss on the cheek. I can’t say I minded the role of savior.
