Then he turned around an' ran back in again."
"He was going back for the other suitcase."
"I know, an' I thought while he's gettin' the second suitcase, I could just take the first one off his hands.
Trunk was locked, but I could open it same way he did, pressin' the release button in the glove compartment. 'Cause the car doors wasn't locked."
"I'm glad you didn't try."
"Well, I coulda done it, but say he come back and the suitcase ain't there, what he gonna do? Go back and shoot you, most likely. So I figured that wasn't too cool."
"Good thinking."
"Then I thought, if this here's a movie, what I do is slip in the back an' hunker down 'tween the front an'
back seats. They be puttin' the money in the trunk an' sittin' up front, so they ain't even gone look in the back. Figured they go back to their house, or wherever they gone go, an' when we got there I just slip out an' call you up an' tell you where I'm at. But then I thought, TJ, this ain't no movie, an' you too young to die."
"I'm glad you figured that out."
" 'Sides, maybe you don't be at that same number, an' then what do I do? So I wait, and he come back with the second suitcase, throw it in the trunk, an' get in the car. An' the other one, one who made the phone call, he come an' get behind the wheel. And they drive off, an' I slip back into the cemetery an'
catch up with everybody. Cemetery's weird, man. I can see havin' a stone, tells who's underneath it, but some of 'em has these little houses an' all, fancier than they had when they alive. Would you want somethin'
like that?"
"No."
"Me neither. Just a little stone, don't say nothin' on it, but TJ."
"No dates? No full name?"
He shook his head. "Just TJ," he said. "An' maybe my beeper number."
BACK on Colonial Road, Kenan got on the phone and tried to find a pizza place that was still open. He couldn't, but it didn't matter.
Nobody was hungry.
"We ought to be celebrating," he said. "We got the kid back, she's alive. Some celebration we got here."
"It's a draw," Peter said. "You don't celebrate a tie score. Nobody wins and nobody shoots off firecrackers. Game ends in a tie, it feels worse than losing."
"It'd feel a lot worse if the girl was dead," Kenan said.
"That's because this isn't a football game, it's real. But you still can't celebrate, babe. The bad guys got away with the money. Does that makes you want to toss your hat in the air?"
"They're not in the clear," I put in. "It'll take a day or two, that's all.
But they're not going anywhere."
Still, I didn't feel like celebrating any more than anybody else did.
Like any game that ended in a tie, this one left an aftertaste of missed opportunities. TJ thought he should have stowed away in the back of the Honda, or found some way to follow the car back to where it lived. Peter had had a couple of chances to drop Callander with a rifle shot, times when there would have been no danger to me or to the girl. And I could think of a dozen ways we could have made a try for the money. We'd done what we set out to do, but there should have been a way to do more.
"I want to call Yuri," Kenan said. "Kid was a mess, she could barely walk. I think she lost more than her
fingers."
"I'm afraid you're probably right."
"They must have really done a number on her." He jabbed at the buttons on the phone. "I don't like to think about that because then I start thinking of Francey, and—" He broke off to say, "Uh, hello, is Yuri there? I'm sorry. I got the wrong number, I'm really sorry to disturb you."
He broke the connection and sighed. "Hispanic woman, sounded like I woke her out of a sound sleep.
God, I hate when that happens."
I said, "Wrong numbers."
"Yeah, I don't know which is worse, to give or to receive. I feel like such an asshole disturbing somebody like that."
"You had a couple of wrong numbers the day your wife was kidnapped."
"Yeah, right. Like an omen, except that they didn't seem particularly ominous at the time. Just a nuisance."
"Yuri had a couple of wrong numbers this morning, too."
"So?" He frowned, then nodded. "Them, you think? Calling to make sure if somebody was home? I suppose, but so what?"
"Would you use a pay phone?" They looked at me, lost. "Say you were going to make a call that would just play as a wrong number. You weren't going to say anything and nobody would take any notice of the call. Would you bother to drive half a dozen blocks and spend a quarter in a pay phone? Or would you use your own phone?"
"I suppose I'd use my own, but—"
"So would I," I said. I grabbed my notebook, looking for the sheet of paper Jimmy Hong had given me, the list of calls to the Khoury house. He had copied out all the calls starting at midnight, even though I had only needed the ones from the time of the initial ransom demand. I'd had the slip earlier that day, I'd looked for the laundromat phone number with the intention of calling TJ there, but where the hell had I put it?
I found it, unfolded it. "Here we are," I said. "Two calls, both under a minute. One at nine-forty-four in the morning, the other at two-thirty in the afternoon. Calling phone is 243-7436."
"Man," Kenan said, "I just remember there were a couple of wrong numbers. I don't know what time they came in."
"But do you recognize the number?"
"Read it again." He shook his head. "Doesn't sound familiar. Why don't we call it, see what we get?"
He reached for the phone. I covered his hand with mine. "Wait," I said. "Let's not give them any warning."
"Warning of what?"
"That we know where they are."
"Do we? All we got's a number."
TJ said, "Kongs might be home now. Want me to see?"
I shook my head. "I think I can manage this one by myself." I took the phone, dialed Information. When the operator came on I said,
"Policeman requiring directory assistance. My name is Police Officer Alton Simak, my shield number is 2491-1907. What I have is a telephone number and what I need is the name and address that goes with it. Yes, that's right. 243-7436. Yes. Thank you."
I cradled the phone and wrote down the address before it could slip my mind. I said, "The phone's in the name of an A. H. Wallens. He a friend of yours?" Kenan shook his head. "I think the A stands for Albert.
That's what Callander called his partner." I read off the address I'd written down. "Six-ninety-two Fifty-first Street."
"Sunset Park," Kenan said.
"Sunset Park. Two, three blocks from the laundromat."
"That's the tiebreaker," Kenan said. "Let's go."
IT was a frame house, and even in the moonlight you could see that it had been neglected. The clapboard badly needed painting and the shrubbery was overgrown. A half-flight of steps in front led up to a screened-in porch that sagged perceptibly in its middle. A driveway, concrete patched here and there with blacktop, ran along the right-hand side of the house to a two-car detached garage. There was a side door about halfway back, and a third door at the rear of the house.
We had all come in the Buick, which was parked around the corner on Seventh Avenue. We all had handguns. I must have registered surprise when Kenan handed a revolver to TJ, because he looked at me and said, "If he comes he carries. I say he's a stand-up guy, let him come. You know how this works, TJ? Just point and shoot, like a Jap camera."
The overhead garage door was locked, the lock solid. There was a narrow wooden door alongside it, and it too was locked. My credit card wouldn't slip the bolt. I was trying to figure out the quietest way to break a pane of glass when Peter handed me a flashlight, and for a second I thought he wanted me to smack the glass with it, and I couldn't think why. Then it dawned on me, and I pressed the business end of the flashlight up against the window and switched it on. The Honda Civic was right there, and I recognized the plate number. On the other side, harder to see even when I angled the flashlight, was a dark van. The plate was not where we could see it and the color was impossible to determine in that light, but that was really as much as we had to see. We were in the right place.