“What are you talking about?”
“Some guy he maybe caught following him.”
Mortimer felt a keen pain in his side, the slash of a knife. “What makes you think somebody was following him?”
Caruso crushed the napkin in his fist. “Somebody
“How do you know that?”
“Because I set it up,” Caruso answered. “Mr. Labriola wasn’t satisfied when he had that meeting with you. He still wanted to know who Batman was. So I put this guy on his trail.”
Mortimer stared at him, baffled. “Whose trail?”
“Batman’s.”
“How do you know who Batman is?”
Caruso sucked in a frantic breath. “I didn’t have no choice, Morty,” he said hurriedly. “Mr. Labriola, he don’t make suggestions. He gives orders, and if you don’t do what he says, bad stuff can happen.”
“That don’t answer my question how you know who Batman is.”
“Okay, all right, I know ’cause that day you met Mr. Labriola up on Columbus Circle, when you got out of the car, I tailed you down to the Village. To this bar. I figured maybe the barkeep was Batman.”
“Barkeep?”
“The guy owns that fucking bar on Twelfth Street.”
“Abe? He ain’t got nothing to do with this.”
“Okay, so now I know it was the other one.”
“What other one?”
“Chelsea. White-haired guy. Silver. Hi-yo Silver, you know? Him.”
“Jesus,” Mortimer breathed. “Jesus Christ.”
“To tell you the truth,” Caruso said, “I always figured it was the white-haired guy, you know? And Mr. Labriola, he’s all lathered up about this thing, and so I ask myself, how the fuck can I do my business and keep an eye on this guy, and maybe the other one too. You see what I mean, Morty? No fucking way. So that’s when I decided to farm it out.”
“Farm it out?”
“Subcontract it, you might say. So, the thing is, I give this guy a choice and he picked Hi-yo Silver. Which, it looks like, turns out to be Batman.”
“That was stupid, Vinnie,” Mortimer said.
“I know, but the thing is, what would he do to this guy, Batman? If he noticed he was being followed?”
“What makes you think he’d do anything to him?”
“Because he’s missing, this guy,” Caruso said.
“Missing?” Mortimer worked to get his mind around this new wrinkle. “He just vanished?”
“Yeah.” Caruso leaned forward and lowered his voice slightly. “So the thing is, I figure Batman maybe did something to him?”
“Like what?”
“Like whatever it is that’s caused him to come up missing. I mean, you know, like whacking him.”
Mortimer snorted. “You’re fucking nuts.”
“I’m serious,” Caruso insisted. “The guy is missing is what I’m telling you.”
“So what?” Mortimer demanded. “Jesus, Vinnie, this guy comes up missing and you automatic gotta lay it on me.”
“Not you.”
“Same as me, Vinnie. Adds up to me.”
“I’m asking, is all,” Caruso said soothingly. “Just asking.”
Mortimer was not soothed. “And I’m telling you that there’s no reason my guy would do something to some fucking bastard that was just poking around,” he said adamantly.
“You’re sure about that?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
“Okay, but could you check it out for me anyway?”
“Check it out? What are you talking about?”
“Check with Batman, make sure he ain’t done nothing.”
“I’m telling you, he ain’t. That’s what I’m telling you.”
“Just the same, check it out.”
“How? You think I can just ask him straight out? It ain’t like that with him. If he did something to this guy, he ain’t gonna tell me about it.”
“But you could get a hint, right?”
“He don’t give hints,” Mortimer said. “If he’s done something to this fucking guy, he ain’t gonna tell me about it.”
“Shit.”
Mortimer noticed that Caruso’s face fell slightly. “This missing guy, you know him?”
Caruso nodded. “From the old days. He done me a favor. I figured I was doing him one by putting him on to Batman. But it didn’t turn out that way, looks like.” His tone darkened. “I got a feeling, Morty. I got a feeling something bad happened to this guy. And he was a good guy, the one I put on Batman. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.” He released a weary sigh. “Just check it out, that’s all I’m asking.”
Another blade of pain sliced across Mortimer’s abdomen. “Fuck,” he said.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Mortimer said.
“So, can you check it out for me?”
“Okay, okay,” Mortimer said. He pressed his open palm against his stomach. “But this is the last favor, Vinnie. You get what I’m saying? This whole deal is getting more and more fucked up.”
“I know,” Caruso said. “And Labriola is getting more and more steamed.”
“How do you know that?”
“He calls me, says I got to report every fucking day.”
“Report what?”
“Whatever’s going on. He’s got a real bug up his ass about this fucking bitch.”
Mortimer sucked in a labored breath and thought how fucked up things got if you didn’t keep your eye on the ball every goddamn second. He’d begun with a simple plan to get a few bucks for Dottie, now a guy was missing, Old Man Labriola was fuming, and God only knew what else was going on that he didn’t even fucking know about. “Things are getting out of control, Vinnie.”
“Yeah.”
Mortimer sat back and tried to sort out the jumble in his mind. Finally, he said, “What do you think, Vinnie, can we get out of this deal? I mean, suppose I just told Labriola it’s over. Deal’s off. Give back the money. All the money. Every penny.”
Caruso shook his head. “That wouldn’t do no good. He wants that fucking woman is what he wants. He don’t give a shit about nothing else. He’s all lathered up, like I said.”
“What’s his beef with her?” Mortimer asked. “I don’t get it. It ain’t like she left
Caruso shrugged. “All I know is, he’s gonna find her, Morty. And there ain’t nobody can stop him.”
STARK
He opened the door and the light swept over the crumpled parka, the dusty jeans, the wrinkled, grease- stained shirt, and up the bare naked feet that now trembled slightly against the white plastic bands that held them in place against the metal legs of the chair.
“Who sent you?” Stark asked.
No answer came, but Stark could hear the man’s rhythmic breathing. He lit a cigarette and blew a column of smoke into the blackness. He’d held the man all night, simply left him tied in a chair, sitting in the darkness, in his
