“Yep, it sure is,” I said, if only to be polite. I knew diner counters were prone to communal chitchat, but I really just wanted to finish eating and reading in peace, then get off to work and whatever else awaited me at Citizen that morning.
But the stranger wasn’t finished with his spiel. “That’s the thing about gossip. Everybody loves to stick their nose into other people’s business,” he said. “Then again, how much sympathy can you have for an engaged billionaire who sticks his prick in some Euro-trash supermodel’s business, right?”
I said nothing. I didn’t want to encourage the guy too much.
Not that it mattered.
“Isn’t that right, Nick?” he asked again.
Huh?
Not only did he not need any more encouraging, he clearly didn’t need an introduction.
“Do I know you?” I asked.
“No, Nick, you don’t. But I know you,” he said with a dead stare. “I also know you’re in a shitload of danger. The two of us should talk.”
OKAY, YOU’VE OFFICIALLY got my attention. Now let’s rewind the tape a bit. Who the hell are you?
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said.
“It does to me. Especially if you want this conversation to continue.”
He smiled, a real shit-eating New Yorker’s grin. He was enjoying this. “You can call me… Doug. Don’t you want to hear why you’re in danger, Nick?”
“I don’t know yet,” I said. “But for sure the cops sitting at the other end of the counter might. Would you like me to call them over?”
I have to admit I felt pretty smug pointing out the two policemen in uniform saddled up to the counter with their coffees about a dozen stools away.
But the stranger – Doug? – didn’t even bother to look. He kept his eyes trained on mine.
“The last time you were in a restaurant with two cops – that didn’t work out too well, did it? I don’t think so.”
I suddenly didn’t feel so smug, or protected, either.
“What do you want?” I asked. “Why did you follow me here?”
He casually pulled back the lapel of his sport coat to show me his holster. It sure wasn’t empty, and I was getting tired of seeing guns lately.
“What I want is for you to ask me nicely why it is that you’re in danger, Nick Daniels,” he said. “Say please. Better yet, say pretty please.”
I glanced at all the people around me. The Sunrise was packed for breakfast as usual, just like Lombardo’s was for lunch.
I could literally feel the sweat beginning to seep out from my pores. Not so good.
“Please tell me why I’m in danger,” I said, my voice nearly cracking. The stranger stared at me, saying nothing. He was waiting.
“Pretty please,” I added.
He leaned in close.
“You see, that’s what’s so intriguing,” he whispered. “Because I think you already know the answer, Nick.”
He tilted his head, inspecting the bruises around my eyes and mouth. They were now ripening to a soft purple. “In fact, you might say it’s written all over your face.”
“Who do you work for?” I asked.
“What makes you think I work for someone?”
It was actually a pretty good question, because he certainly didn’t come across as the “for hire” type. Unless, that is, IBM was doing the hiring. This guy was clean-cut, straight-laced. He didn’t look scary at all. Actually, he looked like a “Doug.”
And that was scaring me even more.
“You obviously know a lot about me,” I said. “What is it that you want me to do? Tell me what you want.”
“Now we’re making some progress. Finally,” he said with a satisfied nod. “What I want you to do is nothing. Whatever you’re planning on doing, whatever you’re even thinking of doing, I don’t want you to do it. Do you follow what I’m saying?”
“I think so.”
“Good. Because if you do nothing, maybe – just maybe – you’ll live to see another sunrise. Hey, make that another Sunrise Diner.”
With that wisecrack, he stood and walked away. Out the door, and out of the diner.
Gone.
But definitely not forgotten.
Chapter 42
TWENTY MINUTES LATER, I was marching very quickly into One Hogan Place, otherwise known as the New York County District Attorney’s Office. Or David Sorren’s home away from home.
“Hi, Nick Daniels to see Mr. Sorren,” I said to his secretary, a young woman with big hair and an attitude to match. She acted as if I’d just interrupted her wedding ceremony.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“Nick Daniels,” I repeated my introduction of myself. “I’m here to see David Sorren.”
“That’s what you think.”
“Excuse me?”
“Do you have an appointment to see Mr. Sorren?”
“No.”
“Is he expecting you?”
“No.”
“Yeah, like I said, that’s what you think.”
Cute, very cute. But in case you haven’t noticed yet, I’m in no mood for cute today. I’m a man with a mission, a man on fire.
I stormed right by her.
“Hey!” she shouted. “Come back here!”
But she was a little too slow on the draw. By the time she scrambled out of her evil little chair on wheels, I’d already opened the door to Sorren’s office. The funny thing was, he barely batted an eyelash as he looked up from a file he was reading.
“Hey, Nick, have a seat,” he said. Almost as if he actually was expecting me. “It’s all right, Molly.”
“Yeah, it’s all right, Molly,” I echoed him. “We’re good.”
I winked at his secretary, who shot me the royal stink eye as she closed the door on her way out. Then I did exactly what Sorren had invited me to do. I took a seat facing his big wooden desk.
Frankly, I didn’t know where to start. The threatening guy I’d just “met” at the Sunrise Diner? My bout with the manager of Lombardo’s? Or perhaps what I had learned from the hostess there?
Turns out, Sorren decided for me. As I began to apologize for barging in on him, he interrupted my train of thought with one of his own.
“So, how was your visit with Eddie Pinero?” he asked. “That’s quite a spread he’s got out there in Sheepshead Bay, huh? Crime does pay after all. Boy, does it ever.”
My jaw dropped. How did he know I’d been there? Quickly, it occurred to me. “You’ve got his place staked out? There’s surveillance on Pinero?”
Sorren leaned back in his chair with an easy chuckle. “Hell, no. That would require way too many man-hours, too much overtime pay,” he said. He pointed his finger in the air. “There’s a much cheaper way.”
“Satellites?”
Sorren brought his finger down, tapping his nose. Bingo.
“It’s kind of ironic, actually,” he said. “These capos love to talk outside to make sure we’re not listening. Little do they know we can practically read their lips now. That’s how well we can see ’em.”
He did a double take, squinting at the bruises on my face. “Though I don’t recall seeing any punches thrown during your visit.”
“There weren’t any punches. At least not there,” I explained. Then I told Sorren everything else – the whole shebang, what I’d learned since I’d first called him about my recording from Lombardo’s.
As clear as those satellites were, he’d see why I was concerned. Right?
“So let me get this straight,” he said with a befuddled look. “You think we’ve got the wrong man? You think Eddie Pinero had nothing to do with Marcozza’s murder? Or the two cops? Is that your conclusion, Nick?”
“I don’t know anything for certain. All I’m saying is that I have my doubts.”
Sorren swung his black wingtips up onto his desk, the perfect heels landing against the wood with a jarring thud. He’d been cool and easy-breezy up until this point. Now that same intensity I’d first encountered was bubbling up to the surface.