"It's Burke. I'd like to talk to you about something."
"Yes?"
"In your office-if that's okay."
I could feel her hesitate.
"I have something to give you-something that will be of value in your work."
"What?" she asked.
"I'd prefer to show you." Another silence. Then:
"You know where my office is?"
"Yes."
"Make it nine o'clock. Give your name to the desk man."
"There isn't much time," I told her. "I live all the way up in Westchester County -the traffic and all…"
"Nine o'clock tonight, Mr. Burke."
She hung up. I went back to sleep.
88
THE DAY came up bleak-dirty skies, a cold wind hovering over the city, waiting its turn. I blocked it all out, walking through the case inside my head, looking for a handle to grip. I didn't walk around while I was thinking-one of the first things you learn in prison is not to pace, it just underlines that you're in a cage. If you stay inside your head, you can go over the walls.
I'd been playing this all wrong-not paying attention to all the tuition payments I'd made in jails and hospitals over the years. Something about this case was making me afraid, but that wasn't so strange. I'm scared most of the time-it keeps me from getting stupid. But I'm used to being scared of the usual things-like being shot or doing more timenot this bruja nonsense Pablo told me about. You ever watch a fighter who slugged his way into a championship bout decide he's a fucking boxer and blow his big chance? You have to go with what got you there. I smoked a couple of cigarettes, thinking it over. Crime had never made me rich, but it kept me free. And it was what I knew best.
I didn't get started until late afternoon, taking my time about getting ready. I picked over my clothes, looking for something that wouldn't make the people in Wolfe's building nervous. I found a black wool suit with a faint chalk stripe hanging in the closet. It was brand-new, but a bit rumpled from storage-car trunks do that. I matched it with a white shirt-genuine Hong Kong silk, which is like saying "virgin vinyl." And a plain black tie. I washed my hair and combed it the best I could. Shaved carefully. Polished the black half-boots. I checked myself out in the mirror. Clothes do make the man-instead of looking like a thug who worked the docks, I looked like a pilot fish for a loan shark.
I folded some money into one pocket, took a couple of other things I needed out of the desk, and shut the place down. Pansy raised one eyebrow, still near comatose from the cubic ton of Chinese food. I told her I'd be back late and took the back stairs to the garage.
I checked my watch. A little past six. Plenty of time to have something to eat, get my mind right for the meeting.
When I first rolled past the restaurant, the blue dragon tapestry was in the window. Cops inside. I kept going all the way down to Division Street to the warehouse. Nobody was around. I checked the desk in the back room to see if any mail had circled around the loops I set up and come in for a landing. Flood knew how to work the loop, but she'd never written. The desk was empty.
When I drove back, the white tapestry was in place. All clear. I parked around the back. A couple of the cooks looked suspiciously at me-maybe the ones who lost the bet on Pansy's nationality. I took my table in the back. Mama sat down with me, handing over a copy of the News.
"You had the law here, Mama?"
"Yes. Police very worried about this place. The gangs-stores have to pay for protection. They ask me if it happen to me."
You could see Mama thought the whole idea was ridiculous-the gangs only tried their shakedown racket on legitimate businesses.
"What did you tell them?"
"I tell them the truth. Nobody bother me. You want soup?"
"Sure," I told her, opening the paper as she went back to her business.
I'd almost forgotten about Flower Jewel. I flipped to the back of the paper, looking for her name. I found it, but it didn't cheer me up. She'd left early, but some other nag parked her to the first quarter in 28:4. Too fast. She was shuffled back into the pack. Then she make a big brush at the three-quarter pole, going three-wide on the paddock turn. She actually had the lead at the top of the stretch, but the little "lx" told me the story-she broke stride, looking for more speed. Finished fourth. It looked like a lousy drive to me, but Maurice would want his money, not an autopsy.
I finished my soup, ate a few of the dim sum the waiter brought, smoked a couple of cigarettes. I went up to the front desk and slipped Mama the three hundred for Maurice with another thirty for Max.
"You not such good gambler, Burke," she said, a little smile on her face.
"I don't get many chances to bet on a sure thing," I told her. "Like where dogs come from."
Mama wasn't insulted. "Only way to bet," she said.
It was time to visit Wolfe.
89
TRAFFICE WAS light on the way to the courthouse. I turned off Queens Boulevard and nosed past the D.A.'s parking lot, saw Wolfe's Audi near the door. The lot was half empty, but I didn't want to leave the Plymouth there. They have municipal parking a half-block away. It looked like a graveyard for the few cars still remaining. Dark and deserted-a mugger's paradise. I hit the switch to disable the ignition, not worrying about even the lowest-grade thief breaking in for the radio. I don't use a car alarm-they're a waste of time unless you're close by.
It was eight-forty-five when I pushed open the glass doors to the D.A.'s office. The guy at the desk looked up from his crossword puzzle. His eyes never reached my face.
"The jail's next door," he said.
"I know," I told him. "I have an appointment with A.D.A. Wolfe."
Still not looking at me, he picked up a black phone on the desk, punched in a couple of numbers.
"There's a lawyer here-says he's got an appointment with Wolfe." He listened for a second, looked up again. "Name?" he asked. "Burke."
He spoke my name into the phone, then put it down. "Turn right past the divider, last door at the end of the corridor." "Thanks," I said to the top of his head.
I found the place easy enough. Wolfe was sitting behind a big desk. The top was swept clean-a white orchid floated in a brandy snifter in one corner. Two monster piles of paper were on a shelf behind her. I guess she knew most cons can read upside down.
She was wearing a white wool jacket over a burnt-orange dress, a string of pearls around her neck. Her nails were a few shades darker than her lipstick-both red. Wolfe had a soft, pale face-one look and you could see it wasn't from fear, it was her natural color. The silver wings gleamed in her lustrous hair. When I came in the room she stood up, reached across the desk to shake hands.
"Thank you for seeing me," I said.
"I can't promise you much privacy," she replied. "There's a lot of people still working in the other offices."
I couldn't tell if it was a warning-it didn't matter.
"I've been working on something for a while," I said. "And I ran across some stuff I thought you'd be interested in."
She lit a cigarette with a cheap plastic lighter, pushing an ashtray with some hotel's name on it in my general direction. She was good at waiting.
"Anyway," I said, "I got to the point where I need some more information-another piece of the puzzle…"
"And you believe I have this piece?"
"I'm sure you do," I said.
A tall black woman stalked into the office, ignoring me as if I was a lump of furniture. Her mouth was a grim line.
"It was an acquittal," she told Wolfe.
Wolfe's face didn't change. "It figured to be," she said. "Did you stand up?"
"Stand up?" the black woman asked.