14
New York City
It was nearly ten o’clock Sunday night. Simon was back in New York and had just finished a hard workout at his gym. He felt both exhausted and energized, as always. He toweled off his face, wiped the sweat off the back machine, stretched, and headed for the showers. There were at least a dozen guys in the men’s locker room, all in various stages of undress-cracking jokes, bragging about their dates, and complaining about injured body parts.
Simon stripped and nabbed the only free shower. It was late when he finally stepped out and grabbed up his towel. Only two guys were left, one of them blow-drying his hair, the other peeling a Band-Aid off his knee. Then, not three minutes later, they were gone. Simon had on his boxer shorts when the lights went out.
He grabbed for his pants. He remembered the circuit breaker was outside the men’s locker room, right there on the left wall.
He heard something, a light whisper of sound. It was the last thing he remembered. The blow just over his right ear knocked him out cold. He fell flat to the locker room floor.
“Hey, man, wake up! Oh God, please, man, don’t be dead. I’d lose my job for sure. Please, man, open your eyes!”
Simon cracked open an eye to see an acne-ridden face, a very young face that was scared to death, staring down at him. The young guy was shaking his shoulder.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m not dead. Stop shaking me.” Simon raised his hand and felt the lump behind his right ear. The skin was broken, and he felt the smear of his own blood. He looked up at the kid and said, “Someone turned out the lights and hit me with something very hard.”
“Oh, man,” the kid said, “Mr. Duke is going to blame me for sure. I’m supposed to take care of this place, and I’ve only been here a week and he’s going to fire me. I’m roadkill.” He began wringing his hands, looking around wildly, as if expecting to see Mr. Duke, the manager, at any minute.
“The guy who hit me-I guess you didn’t see him?”
“Nah, I didn’t see any guy.”
“All right. Don’t worry, chances are he’s long gone. Help me up, I’ve got to check my wallet.” Once on his feet, Simon opened his locker door and reached for his ancient black bomber jacket that had seen its best days at MIT a dozen years before. His wallet was gone.
A robber trips the circuit breaker, then comes into the gym locker room to steal a wallet? He must have known only one guy was left, which meant that he’d had to look in, to check. A mugger in a men’s locker room?
“Sorry, kid, but we should call the cops. Can’t hurt. Just maybe they’ll turn up something.”
Simon canceled his credit cards while he waited for the cops to show up. The police, two young patrolmen, took a statement, looked around the gym and in the locker room, but-
Simon waited to call Savich until he was back at his brownstone on East Seventy-ninth Street.
Savich said, “What’s happening?”
Simon said, “I had a bit of trouble just a while ago.”
Savich said, “You leave my house this afternoon after you get a phone call, don’t call me to tell me what’s going on, and you’re telling me you’ve already landed into trouble?”
“Yeah, that’s about the size of it. Is Lily better?”
“Lily is indeed better, and she’s pissed. She said tomorrow is Monday, her stitches are out in the morning, and she’s coming up to New York, no matter what kind of excuses you try to pawn off on her.”
“I’ll have to think about that,” Simon said.
“All right, tell me what happened.”
After Simon had finished, Savich said, “Go to the hospital. Have a doctor check out your head.”
“Nah, it’s nothing, Savich, the skin’s barely split. Don’t worry about that. Thing is my wallet was taken, and I really don’t know what to make of it all.”
Savich said slowly, “You think some people know you’re after my grandmother’s paintings?”
“Could be. Thing is, when I got that phone call at your house, I wasn’t exactly truthful with Lily. It wasn’t an emergency with a client here in New York. It was from an art world weasel I do business with occasionally. I’d called him from your house earlier and he said he’d heard some things, too, and now he’s put out some feelers for me on the Sarah Elliott paintings. He was expecting some solid results soon, would have something to show me, and he needed me up here in New York. I was supposed to meet him tonight, but he called earlier and said he didn’t have everything together yet. So it’s on for tomorrow night, at the Plaza Hotel, the Oak Room Bar, one of his favorite places. The guy’s good, really knows what he’s doing, so I’m hopeful.”
“All right, sounds promising. Now, just in case you were wondering how good a liar you are, Lily didn’t believe you for a minute. Your mugging, Simon, maybe it was just a mugging or maybe it was a warning. They didn’t hurt you seriously, and they could have. I’ll bet you a big one that your wallet is in a Dumpster somewhere near the gym. So take a look.”
Simon could picture Savich pacing up and down that beautiful living room with its magnificent skylights.
“How’s Sean?”
“Asleep.”
“Is Lily asleep, too?”
“Nope. She’s here, knows it’s you on the phone, and wants to lay into you. I can’t stop her from coming up, Simon.”
Simon said, “Okay, give her my address, tell her to take a shuttle up here. I’ll meet her unless there’s a problem. I wish you could keep her with you longer, Savich.”
“No can do.”
Simon said, “I changed my mind, Savich. It may be turning dangerous, real fast. I really don’t want Lily involved in this. She’s a civilian. For God’s sake, she’s your sister. I take it all back. Tie her to a chair; don’t let her come up here.”
“Do you happen to have any suggestions about what I should do, other than tying her up?”
“Put her on the phone. I want to talk to her.”
“Sure. She’s about to rip the phone away from me in any case. Good luck, Simon.”
A moment later, Lily said, “I’m here. I don’t care what you have to say. Just be quiet, go to the hospital, get a good night’s sleep, and meet my plane tomorrow. I’ll take the two-o’clock United shuttle to JFK. Then we can handle things. Good night, Simon.”
“But Lily-”
She was gone.
Then Savich’s voice came on. “Simon?”
“Yeah, Savich. Well, I’d have to say it was a nonstarter.”
Savich laughed. “Lily’s my sister. She’s smart, and they are her paintings. Let her help with it, Simon, but keep her safe.”
Simon bowed to the inevitable. “I’ll try.”
He took two aspirins and went back to his gym. There was a Dumpster half a block away. Lying on the top was his wallet, with only the cash gone. He looked up to see two young guys staring at him.
When one of them yelled an obscenity at him, Simon started forward. They didn’t waste time and swaggered away, then turned when they figured they were far enough away from him and gave him the finger.
Simon smiled and waved.
• He was waiting for her, standing right in front of the gate, arms crossed, looking pissed.
Lily smiled, said even before she got to him, “I didn’t want to carry much because of my missing spleen. I’ve got a bag down on carousel four.”
“I’ve decided you’re going back to Washington to draw your cartoons.”
“While you find my paintings? Doesn’t look like you started out very well, Mr. Russo. You don’t look so hot. I think I did better on that bus than you did in your men’s locker room last night. And I want to find my grandmother’s paintings worse than you do.”
And she walked past him to follow the signs to Baggage Claim.
