"My identity as a Gambione would have to be protected. No one outside this room must know. Omerta."
"You can hardly command the Family in secrecy." Ricardo Domenici was obviously offended by the entire idea. "Even if we would consider such a thing."
"True enough. Someone else would have to be my… mouthpiece." She examined each of the capos in turn. "Mazzuchelli."
The capos began to babble as Christopher Mazzuchelli grinned insolently back at her.
"Gentlemen, have you any objections? Ricardo?"
"He is too young, too inexperienced. His very appearance…" Ricardo threw. apart his arms at the obvious absurdity of it. "The other Families would laugh at us."
"This is insane. A woman, a boy…" A jowly man with a five o'clock shadow, wearing a traditional black coat, shoved back his chair and stood. " I will return when you are ready to choose a new don."
Mazzuchelli blocked his way but, at a gesture from Rosemary, moved aside. The dissenter walked across the room in the sudden silence and threw open the door.
Rosemary called out sharply, "Morelli!"
The man who had just exited backed into the room again, eyes fixed on the muzzle of the Uzi that Morelli pointed at his chest. "Yes, Signorina?" said Morelli. "A problem?"
"I think the problem has been solved. Do you agree, DiCenzi?" Rosemary watched the man across the room closely. Under the gun, DiCenzi nodded. "Si, Signorina. There is… no problem."
"Good." Rosemary scanned the seated, staring men. "Does anyone else have a problem?"
Ricardo glanced quickly at the men to either side of him. They were ostentatiously ignoring him. "No, there is no problem, Dona Gambione."
"Signorina will do nicely, I think." She smiled a predatory smile at the capos. "Sit down, DiCenzi. Thank you, Morelli. Please have a seat."
Mazzuchelli was eyeing Morelli as he would a bad piece of steak.
"Christopher," Rosemary said, "you are too ambitious. I recognize it. Do not make any rash mistakes."
Mazzuchelli returned her look with a smile as lupine as her own. "You're the boss."
Rosemary nodded and gazed around the restaurant. "Has anyone seen the manager?"
"You want something to eat?" Ricardo was incredulous. "I suspect Signorina would like to find out how that bastard who stole the books got in here." Mazzuchelli stared down at Ricardo. "Don't you think that would be an interesting question?"
Morelli stood and began walking toward the kitchen. "Signorina, he's yours."
While Morelli prepared the terrified Vietnamese for Rosemary's questions, the new head of the Gambiones called her contacts at the precincts and made inquiries about Cordelia.
On the East Side, a patrolman remembered spotting someone looking a lot like the missing young woman walking downtown along one of the alphabet avenues. It hadn't been long before.
Bagabond wanted to enter the area on foot before she began an animal-by-animal search for the girl. Jack was ready to leave instantly, but Rosemary took the pair aside for a moment.
"Listen, thanks for your help, both of you. This wasn't exactly what I'd planned, but it wouldn't have happened without you." Her smile looked political.
"Wasn't it?" Bagabond stared straight at Rosemary. "Suzanne, I had no idea…"
"Yeah. I'll be in touch." Bagabond started to turn away. Jack was already moving toward the door.
"Suzanne, I'll call you later. Let me know what happens with Jack's niece."
Bagabond glanced at Morelli in the corner with the Vietnamese manager. In this light, the blood looked black. She shook her head slightly.
Rosemary colored and drew herself up. "I can do some good here, you know. Exert some controls."
Bagabond kept moving.
"Suzanne, I want to talk to you later about some ideas I had about the animals."
All the muscles of Bagabond's shoulders and upper back tensed as she followed Jack out through the door. She tried not to listen, but thought she heard whimpered cries from behind them.
Business was still hopping at the Donut Hole across the street from the Jokertown station. The sidewalks were filled right out to the gutters and every few minutes another blackand-white would drop off the latest load of drunk-and-disorderlies on the precinct steps.
The Rolls had let Fortunato -off a block away and crawled away through the traffic in search of a place to double-park. Fortunato elbowed his way to a back table and found Altobelli wearing a Brooklyn Dodgers cap and a jogging suit. "I practically had to kill to save you that chair. Wanna doughnut?" Fortunato shook his head. "Talk to me, Altobelli. I don't have much time."
"You do look a bit peaked. Okay, okay. It's Black, John F X. Black, captain of the Jokertown precinct."
"I know the name."
"We leave Kafka here this afternoon. About an hour later I get a call from one of my guys. Black has ordered them off the Kafka watch. I drive over here to find out why and catch Black trying to take Kafka out in a squad car. He gives me a song and dance about a prisoner transfer. I say show me the paperwork. More songs, more dances. So I take Kafka away from him and bring him back uptown myself."
"You're telling me Black's dirty."
"You haven't heard dirty yet. Right after that guy in the robe and glasses tries for Kafka I get a call from my snitch at the Jokertown precinct. He wants to tell me he saw this weird guy in a robe and glasses in Captain Black's office not five minutes before."
Fortunato stood up. "Where is he?"
Altobiellii hooked a thumb at the station. "Every cop in Manhattan is working double shifts tonight. I'm supposed to be back up on Riverside myself."
"Get on up there. And let yourself he seen."
Altobelli had to stop for a second and think about it. Finally he nodded. "Okay."
"Anybody else know about Black?"
"Just you and me. Fortunato?"
"Yeah? "
"Nothing, I guess. This ain't… it ain't the way I'm used to doin' things. I'm used to standing up for my own."
"He's not one of your own anymore. He's the Astronomer's. And now he's mine."
The address was on Central Park West. They took a cab; Hiram had no wish to involve Anthony or the Bentley in whatever unpleasantness might ensue.
Inside the heavy glass-and-iron doors of the apartment building, a doorman sat at an antique desk. Behind him was a bank of security monitors. He was built like a linebacker, and there was an obvious silent alarm built into the top of his desk, an inch or so from his hand. He could hardly have expected any trouble from a fat man in a tuxedo and a nondescript fellow in a cheap brown suit. "Yes?" he asked them through the intercom when they approached the door.
Jay Ackroyd made a gun out of his right hand, pointed at the doorman through the glass, and said, "Here's looking at you, kid." The man disappeared with a pop of in-rushing air.
Hiram rocked lightly on the balls of his feet, glanced around nervously. "Where did you-" he began.
"The main stacks of the New York Public Library" Jay said. "He looked like he needed to get caught up on his reading." He took out his wallet, removed a credit card, and opened the door in the blink of an eye. "Never leave home without it," he told Hiram as he slipped the card back into his wallet. They went into the lobby.
Latham lived in the penthouse, just as Hiram had expected. Jay pressed the button fbr the roof.
The embossed bronze plate above the doorbell said ST. JOHN LATHAM. Jay pressed it, and they waited in nervous silence by the elevator. He wasn't home, Hiram thought, of course he wasn't home, he was out somewhere, he was-then the door gave a soft buzz and swung open slowly.