"Park it. Get the new car and get over there as fast as you can. If you're delayed, when you pull up in front of Lucky's, blink your lights. The doorman will let me know, so I don't have to stand out there waiting and maybe get spotted. Got it?"
"Got it, boss."
"Manny will take care of you, or whoever's on tonight."
"Check."
He closed the door and went into the office. The night manager was Billy Pinsk. Carney ordered a nondescript rental car.
"Got just what you need, Mr. Carney. A Leland sedan, gray, no flashy stuff."
"Tony Montanaro's out there. You fix him up. Right now I need you to let me through to Lucky's."
"Door's unlocked, Mr. Carney. Always. You know where it is?"
"That door back there and to the right?"
"That's it, Mr. Carney. Straight to the end of the corridor, you can't miss it."
"Okay, thanks."
"Dark back there, Mr. Carney. Watch your step."
"Right."
He walked to the back of the garage, opened the steel door, and stepped through. It was quiet on the other side. He turned right and proceeded through gloom until he came to another door. It was ajar. He went through and followed a short corridor, came out among boilers and pipes, weaved through and around, then mounted a wooden staircase.
He pushed open the door at the top and let himself into Lucky's kitchen. It was big, full of men in white aprons and hats working furiously at counter and stove. Steam mushroomed to the ceiling. The odor of chopped onions stood out among myriad others.
Nobody gave him a look as he walked through. He thumped through swinging doors and passed the men's room. He gave a fleeting thought to relieving his bladder pro forma, not really needing to, giving Tony a little time. But he was anxious and in a hurry.
He went to the front door by way of the smaller of the restaurant's two rooms, not seeing anybody he knew.
Outside, he looked up and down the street. No Tony. The doorman asked if he needed a cab, and he shook his head. He stepped back under the sidewalk canopy and gave it three minutes, looking for signs of Tony's Leland or Riordan's Durant.
Neither showed. He beckoned to the doorman, spoke his instructions, and handed the man a fiver.
"Sure thing, Mr. Carney."
"Just let Alphonse know. I'll be at my table."
"Yes, sir."
Inside, after he had checked his hat and coat, Alphonse greeted him with a smile.
"Your table, Mr. Carney?"
"Yes. I probably won't be staying long. Just enough for a drink."
"Anything you say, Mr. Carney."
A waiter showed him across the main floor. On the way he saw a table occupied by the Bakunin triplets ― Grumpo, Cisco, and Heppo ― and two chorines, all in for a late bite after another performance of their long-running hit musical comedy, Have I Gotta Deal For You! He detoured over.
Cisco took his nose out of a racing form to say, "Johnnie, sweetheart." It was always a little disconcerting to hear his normal voice, untainted by the put-on Latin accent of his stage and screen character. "Hey, what do you say?"
Grumpo smiled his lizard smile. "Killed anybody recently?"
"Nobody. Haven't zotzed a soul since, oh, it'll be a year come Michaelmas."
"Well, that's disappointing. Next thing you know you'll be taking stray kittens home."
Heppo's childlike grin was as wide as the bald strip that ran from his forehead almost to the back of his neck. Without his wig and makeup he looked like a garment maven or a bookkeeper, anything but the brilliant comedian he was. "Hi, John," he said. "Haven't seen you in for lunch at the Penobscot lately."
"Crossing foils with that Penobscot Forum crowd is tiring. I can't stay up late writing ad libs."
"How do you think I feel sometimes," Heppo said, "mixing with the literati? Me with an eighth-grade education."
"They like you, Heppo."
"Dara Porter says I'm a rhinestone in the rough."
"She knows her gems."
"Rhinestones are a girl's best friend," Grumpo said.
"Me, I'll take the money," Cisco said. "What do you think, John? I got a tip on a twenty-to-one long shot, a two-year-old filly in the fifth at Via Appia tomorrow. She has a terrible track record, but I got the word in training-runs she clocks like the wind. Crazy? or should I bet my wad?"
Carney thought about it "Yeah, it's only a matter of time before she overcomes her skittishness. Put it all down to win, Cisco."
"Hey, I will. Thanks."
Carney said, "Grumpo, how's the new show coming?"
"Lousy."
"What, with book by Geoff Katzman and music by Ira Bremen?"
"It's going to cost a fortune to stage, which means they're not going to offer us any more money than we're getting now. And I just bought a house. I need a raise."
"Didn't you just film Have I Gotta Deal?"
"Yeah, but I already spent that money on the down payment."
"Must be a terrific house."
"It was a steal. They stole my money."
"John, have a seat," Heppo said.
"Actually, I'm just waiting for my driver. He must have gotten a flat or something. He's late."
"Well, you got time for a drink, then. Sit down."
Carney dismissed the waiter and pulled up a chair. The two chorines smiled at him and he grinned back amiably.
"Hear you've been having trouble recently," Grumpo said.
"Nah, just a little misunderstanding," Carney said.
"The Daily Times is billing it as the biggest gang war Necropolis has ever seen. Pictures and everything. It wasn't pretty."
"I don't imagine. Still, they're blowing it all out of proportion, as usual."
"Yeah, they have the box office to think of, too," Grumpo said, phlegmatically munching the end of his cigar.
"Strange things are happening," Cisco said. "I got a friend in the mayor's office says they haven't seen him for two days."
"Who?" Carney said. "The mayor?"
"Yeah. Nobody knows where His Honor is. They got no message from him, nothing. The papers are sitting on the story."
"Interesting. But he's probably down in Palm Coast again with the phone off the hook."
"A reporter I know says he's at the Tweeleries. On ice."
"He and Clare are buddies. Or were."
"Yeah, but I don't think this is friendly."
Food arrived, stacks of sandwiches and piles of cole slaw. Carney ordered a drink, and it came with lightning speed.
"You want half my sandwich?" Heppo offered. "I can never finish these."
"No, thanks, Hep." Carney looked at his watch. "I can't imagine where my driver got to."
"You need a lift?" Cisco asked.
"You have your car?"
"No," Cisco chuckled. "Hey, I just asked you if you needed a lift."
"You ought to work on that material. It shows promise."
"Promises were made to be broken," Grumpo said. "I have a car, John, and you're welcome to it, if you can get it back from the finance company."
Cisco snorted. "He's always kvetching about how hard up he is. Bullshit ― he's rich."
"Bullshit, I'm rich."
"Go on, you're rolling in it. I'm the one with the sob story. I lost fifty grand at the track last year."
"And that was after taxes," Grumpo said. "You know, Morris ―"
The brothers (fraternal triplets) always called each other by their proper names.
"― just the other day someone said you were dumb."
"Yeah? What did you say?"
"I said, _He's shit.'"
"Well, thanks, I appreciate it," Cisco said.
"If you can't stick up for your brother, who can you stick up for?"
"Stick it up your ass."
"Don't knock it if you haven't ―" Grumpo turned to one of the chorines, who was convulsed. "You can choke to death that way, honey. Spit that corned beef out."
She swallowed and gagged. Grumpo slapped her bare back.