Lullaby

'It'd have to include permission to bust open that lock.'

'Boy, I don't know, Steve. Wouldn't she have mentioned a French accent? If the guy's French . . .'

'Canadian,' Carella said.

'Yeah, but Quebec'

'We're close to downtown, you know. Right over the bridge.'

'Kill the whole damn afternoon,' Meyer said.

'And he may deny it, anyway.'

'Yeah.'

'So what do you think?'

'I don't know, what do you think?'

'I think the judge'll kick us out on our asses.'

'Me, too.'

'On the other hand, he may grant the warrant.'

'I doubt it.'

'Me, too. But if he does, we may find something in the locker.'

'Or we may find only dirty socks and underwear.'

'So what do you think?'

'Will we need a cop from Safe, Loft & Truck?'

'What do you mean?'

'If we get the search warrant. I mean, how the hell else are we going to open that lock? Those guys have tools can get into anything. They're the best burglars n this city.'

'Mr Webster,' Carella said, 'was your ship here in port on New Year's Eve?'

'Yes, it was,' Webster said.

'Did the crew go ashore?'

'Well, certainly. New Year's Eve? Of course.'

'We'd better go get that warrant,' Carella said.

* * * *

If the case had not concerned the murder of a six-month-old baby, the supreme court magistrate to whom the detectives presented their affidavit might not have felt they had probable cause for a search warrant. But the judge read newspapers, too. And he watched television. And he knew this was the Baby Susan case. He also knew it was the Annie Flynn case, but somehow the sitter's murder wasn't quite as shocking. In this city, sixteen-year-old girls got stabbed or raped or both every day of the week. But smothering an infant?

They went back to the ship with their search warrant and a pair of bolt cutters.

They were not bad burglars themselves.

It took them three minutes to cut through the lock.

They did indeed find a lot of dirty socks and underwear in Michel Fournier's foot locker.

But they also found a letter a girl in this city had written to him only last month.

The letter had a return address on it.

* * * *

Herrera was trying to explain to his girlfriend why there was a uniformed cop on the front stoop downstairs. Consuelo didn't understand a word of it. It had something to do with the police department owing him protection because a detective had saved his life, which made no sense at all. She sometimes thought Herrera was a little crazy, which she also found tremendously exciting. And confusing. All she could gather was that a policeman followed Herrera everywhere he went, to make sure nobody tried to kill him again. She hadn't realized he was so important.

But now he was telling her that he had rented another apartment and that they would be moving there. Temporarily. He would be losing the cop, and they would be moving into this new apartment for just a little while. Until he settled some business matters, and then they would go to Spain. Live on the Costa Brava. Consuelo had never been to the Costa Brava, but it sounded nice.

'When will we leave for Spain?' she asked, testing him. This was Lenny asking George to tell about the rabbits again. She hadn't believed Herrera's story the first time around, but he sure made it sound better every time he told it. He told her now that he'd already booked the flight and would be picking up the tickets very soon. First-class seats for both of them. Get out of this city where no one would ever find him again. Not the Chinks, not the Jakies, and not the cops, either.

'The Jakies?' she said.

'That's what they call them,' he said.

Consuelo figured he probably knew.

She had never realized he was so smart.

He was, in fact, even smarter than he himself had realized he was.

Street smart.

Which didn't only mean knowing how to kick the shit out of somebody. It also meant learning what was about to go down and figuring how to take advantage of it. For yourself. Playing for number one. Stepping out quicker than the other guy. Which came naturally if you grew up in these streets. Which the Jakies hadn't done, and which the Chinks hadn't done, either. Now maybe the streets of downtown Kingston or downtown Hong Kong were as mean as the streets here in this city, but Herrera doubted it. So whereas these small-town hoods could move in with their money and their muscle, there was something about this city that would always and forever elude them because they had not been born into this city, it was not in their blood the way it was in Herrera's.

This was not their city.

Fucking foreigners.

This was his city.

And he knew the stink of rotten fish, all right.

Had caught that stink the minute Hamilton approached him with the deal. Thought Uh-oh, why is he coming to me? Not coming to him in person, not going to where Herrera lived, but sending someone to get him. This was three days before Christmas. The deal was going down on the twenty-seventh. A simple dope buy, Hamilton explained. Very small, fifty dollars for three kilos of cocaine. Close to seventeen grand a key. Hamilton needed someone to deliver the cash and pick up the stuff for him.

So why me? Herrera wondered.

All the while Hamilton talked, Herrera was thinking This is bullshit, the man wants something from me. But what can it be?

Why is he asking me to pick up this cocaine for him?

Why doesn't he send one of his own people?

'You'll be carrying the money in a briefcase,' Hamilton said.

Fifty fucking K! Herrera thought.

'This is the address.'

He's trusting me with all that cash.

Never met me in his life, trusting me with all that money. Suppose I split with it? Straight to Spindledrift, I get on an airplane to Calcutta. Or else the coke. I give them the money in the briefcase, I pack the three keys, I disappear from the face of the-

'Don't get any ideas,' Hamilton said.

But Herrera figured that was for show; the fish stink was very strong now.

'My people will be waiting for you downstairs,' Hamilton said.

Then why don't you send your people upstairs? Herrera wondered.

Why send me instead? Who you never met in your life.

'You're probably wondering why I came to you,' Hamilton said.

Now why would I be wondering such a thing, Herrera thought.

'You worked for Arthur Chang some years ago, didn't you?' Hamilton said.

Herrera never admitted having worked for anyone at any time. To anybody. He said nothing.