“Bingo Haman,” he began, “Mick Brawn, and Simon Willoughby. That’s the heart of the most successful heist crew in the whole country. I was pretty sure that it was them that did the Rutgers job.”
“So why didn’t you arrest them?”
“Somebody called the DA and said that Zella Grisham had written in a diary about her plans to kill Harry Tangelo. They said that the journal was in her storage unit. Some overzealous cop snipped off the locks. He found no confession but he did uncover fifty thousand dollars in counterfeit Rutgers wrappers.
“I was taken off the case and they sentenced Zella as hard as they could.”
“Haman, Brawn, and Willoughby,” I said. “That was the crew?”
Lethford bobbed his long, angry head.
I remembered Sweet Lemon talking about the deaths of the henchmen.
“What about the point man?”
Lethford’s aspect became suddenly still.
All those years ago, when Gordo put me in the ring with the heavyweight named Biggie, I got in a lucky punch in the seventh round of an eight-round fight. It was an unorthodox roundhouse right, landed flush on the tip of the big man’s chin. Biggie’s face froze like Lethford’s did in that private dining room. Biggie had stopped moving forward for a good three seconds. If my left side hadn’t hurt so much, I might have been able to make some kind of combination and change the tide of the one-sided fight. As it was, I was able to survive to the bell. I was on my feet at the end of round eight too but the judges liked Biggie for the contest.
“You know you’ll never get as deep into this shit as I can,” I said to Lethford. My side didn’t hurt that morning.
When the cop was still quiet I asked, “Is the point man dead too?”
The point man is a counterstrategist who might also gather information for the heist crew. As a rule this man works only with the leader of the crew and offers not only information but also a second pair of seasoned eyes on The Plan.
This armchair tactician never goes out on a job. He simply advises and supplements intelligence. When it’s all over this passive partner receives a modest percentage of the take.
“No,” Lethford said. “I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think so? Either he’s dead or he’s not.”
“Bingo was good. We thought we knew who his adviser was but we were never sure. The person we suspected is still alive but...”
“You don’t know for sure if he ever worked on the job.”
Lethford nodded.
“Let me talk to the man. I might be able to make headway where a legal inquiry would not.”
“Why should I trust you?”
“Because the best cop in New York told you to.”
Clarence blinked twice and then squinted. He stayed that way for quite a few seconds; much longer than it took me to kill two men.
“Miss Nova Algren,” he said at last.
“A woman?”
“The best in the business. She retired two months after the Rutgers thing. Living in a retirement home near Saratoga Springs.”
38
Before i left the Ugly Man’s diner Lethford gave me an envelope with photographs and details of the deaths of the Haman crew. I shuffled through the file in the taxi on the way up to a parking garage near my apartment.
When I was at the entrance I decided to hoof my way back home.
The door was still broken on its hinges. But when I tried to push it open I found that it held fast.
“Anybody home?” I called through the crack.
“Here, Daddy,” Shelly piped.
I heard something on the other side and then the heavy door was dragged open.
Seeing my daughter made me swallow hard. She was wearing an off-white dress that was broad at the hem and close fitting above the waist. I grabbed her up in my arms and squeezed tight.
“Daddy, you’re hurting me.”
“I’m sorry, baby girl. I’m so sorry.” I put her down.
“It’s not your fault and I wasn’t there.”
“No,” I said, “you weren’t.”
Her smile was a little crooked, probably because my gaze was so hard.
“What’s that I smell?”
“Mama’s cooking.”
In the kitchen Katrina was standing over her great-grandmother’s stewpot mixing with a big wooden spoon that was older than any of her children. Tatyana was sitting at the kitchen table, mincing onions.
There was nothing right about that scene.
“Hey, babe.”
It took Katrina a moment to stop what she was doing and turn to me but when she did her smile was resplendent. She was wearing the pink dress that buttoned up the front and a floral apron that I hadn’t seen in years.
“Leonid, I didn’t expect you so early.”
“You guys gettin’ along?” I had to ask.
“Tatyana is a wonderful cook,” my wife of too many years said. “She has the touch.”
The Belarusian Mata Hari looked up at me and smiled. She was in T-shirt and jeans. I could see that she had already cut up mushrooms, green and red peppers, garlic, and leeks.
The head and claws of a kosher hen lay on a plate to her left.
“Are you all right, Katrina?”
“Yes. Of course.”
“That was pretty bad this morning.”
“I cleaned up all the blood. My mother once showed me how to do it with baking soda.”
I could see what Twill meant. Her eyes were clear but vacant. Her tone was so matter-of-fact as to inspire fear.
“Do you need me to do anything?” I asked.
“No. Will you want lunch?”
“No, honey. I’m going up to Saratoga Springs. I have to talk to somebody.”
“Will you be home for dinner?”
“I hope so.”
“Yes,” Katrina said. “It would be so nice. All my children will be here.”
I found twill and Dimitri playing chess in Twill’s room. Whenever I watched them play I got the feeling that Twill let his older brother win most of the time.
“Hey, boys.”
Dimitri looked up but Twill kept his eye on the board — it was hard to lose and make a good showing of it at the same time.
“Pops,” Twill said.
“Did you find out why they did it, Dad?” Dimitri asked. His tone was one of deference. It had been a long time since Dimitri had shown me such respect.
“Not yet. But I sure will, and soon.”
“Check,” Twill said. “Hey, Pop, can I talk to you a minute?”
In the hall Twill closed the door to his room and stood close.
“I know a guy who knows a guy who knows somebody in Kent’s crew.”
“You talk to him?”
“Is the president of the United States a black man?”
“And what did he say?”
“No question that Kent’s the boss. On top of rip-offs and dealing they’re running protection now too. They killed this one dude in the West Village to make an example.”
“You sure?”
“Pretty much. He called me.”
“Who?”
“Kent.”
“What did he say?”
“That if I wanted to do business south of Fourteenth Street, I had to work with him.”
“Okay, T. Let it lay for a bit. I need to talk to Breland about this.”
After clearing the Whitestone Bridge and wending through various highways you come into the vast forest that makes up most of New York State. Leaving the city always makes me wonder about the wilderness and the hatred it must have for the edifices of humanity.
The day was clear and bright blue over the senseless green of the surrounding woods. I was listening to Joni Mitchell playing on my MP3 on the speaker system of the car. Her high-pitched complaints found a resonance in my heart and I sang along in an off-tune, gravelly way.