Stepovich heaved a sigh, and then sniffed curiously. Sniffed again. "Smells like a delicatessen inhere. You got a pizza in back or something?"
"Naw." Ed cleared his throat. "It's the cheese." A little further down the street he added, "In the mousetraps, you know. I mean, I hate to kill the little… buggers that way, but I tried everything else. I even stole my neighbor's tomcat and locked him up in the garage with the car one night. I left the trunk and all the doors open. Even the hood. I figured he'd get hungry and nail that mouse for me."
"Didn't work, huh?" Stepovich asked idly.
"No. Bastard got in the trunk all right. Sprayed all over the place!" Ed sounded righteously outraged.
"Ah." Stepovich tried to sound commiserating and couldn't. He couldn't hold back his snickering either."That's what I'm smelling then. Cheese and cat cum.Thought it might be some wow new aftershave you were using. Well, guess the cat knew a pimpmobile when he saw one."
"Shithead," Ed growled. "Work my ass off for you,and you make fun of my car. Nice guy,"
"What are friends for? Now, truthfully, what's with the Gypsy thing? I mean, for real, that's all done and closed. I should be at home, resting up for another day of protecting and serving the public."
They drove in silence. Traffic was down this time of night, and the store fronts were dark. North of Roosevelt. He hadn't patrolled in this area at night in years; it looked the same as it did then. He tried to avoid Little Philly when he wasn't working; he got enough of it during his shifts.
Traces of snow in the less trafficked areas. Only the garish lights of neon tavern signs and stoplights flickered over them in bars and splashes amidst the pale wash of the street lamps. West on Carradine, now.The streets were black with a layer of white from the earlier snowfall.
"You think I'm getting old," Ed said suddenly, softly.
Stepovich was startled. "What? No, man, nothing like that, it's just that this thing is done, and…"
"You're a sorry liar, Mike. Always have been, always will be. Your voice gets too sincere; it's a dead giveaway." A quick stab from Ed's dark eyes sank into Stepovich, gave him a tight pain somewhere in his sternum.
"Yeah." He admitted two stoplights later. "I'm lying. I'm still digging at it. But I wanted you clear, not because you're old, but because this could get real messy." He looked over at Ed, demanding he meet his eyes. "Messy enough to screw up your pension."
"Oh, yeah?" Ed turned a corner, slowed as he chose a parking spot for the Cadillac. He cut the engine, turned to Mike an indecipherable smile. "Well,fuck 'em if they can't take a joke." He stretched in his seat, rolled his big shoulders to crackle them loose."Now," he said, his voice changing entirely, becoming businesslike and instructive. "Here's the setup,and it's taken me two days and seventy-eight dollars,so keep that in mind and don't blow it. I'll go up with you, but you gotta act like you been in on this all along. Here's how it goes. I got Madam Moria's name from my little friend."
"Little friend," Stepovich snorted to himself."Your little friend must be getting old by now." He'd never been able to discover the identity of that particular snitch.
"Never mind that. He turned me on to his fortune-teller. Honest to god gypsy from what my little friend says, and one with a lot of ties to the community, or whatever you want to call the gypsies that pass through here. Anyway. Madam Moria's got an upstairs apartment over that sleazy music store we kept busting for selling hot instruments. Apartment C. I went there to get my fortune told. Gave her ten bucks,and she sat me down in a little back room. Candles,scarves, incense, crystal ball, the whole bit. She gave me a standard spiel, and then started feeling me out for more. So I gave her another ten for a more complete reading, and told her confidentially that I was considering investing my savings in a friend's business, but didn't know it if was a good move. Said that several of my little ventures lately hadn't gone as well as I'd hoped."
Stepovich groaned. He knew what came next."Turned out your money was cursed, right?"
Ed grinned white. "Righto! How ever did you guess? So she told me to bring her all my life savings,and she'd lift the curse."
Stepovich knew the old con. It was familiar enough to any bunko squad. The crone would take his money,wrap it in a scarf and do some mumbo jumbo, and give him back the scarf packet, warning him to put it in a safe place and not disturb it for two weeks, nineteen days, two months or whatever. Had to give the curse-lifting magic time to work. And by the time the gull opened his little package, and found the neatly cut strips of newspapers. Madam Moria would be three states away. He'd even heard of one sap who opened the packet early, and went back to confront the gypsy. That fortune teller must have been one smooth talker, because she convinced her gull that it was still the curse at work, and now he would have to bring her more money to add to the packet before the curse-lifting charm could work. Damn fool had,too. Bunko squad had a laugh riot over that one.
"Then what happened?"
"Then at her suggestion, I gave her all the cash I had on me right then, and she wrapped it and told me she'd hold it for me."
"And?"
"I went back earlier tonight, and let her give me her whole spiel again. Then I ripped open my shirt and showed her a wire taped to my chest and told her she was busted. Then I told her that maybe I could see my way to go easy on her if she could give us a little help with something else, something gypsy related. I left her alone to think for awhile."
Stepovich glanced up at the dark windows. "And you really think she's still there?"
"She'll be there."
"What makes you think so?"
"Her face when I dropped the name Cynthia Kacmarcik. I'd say she has a personal stake in this one, Mike. Even more personal than getting herself off the hook."
The slams of the Cadillac doors were very loud on the quiet street. This was a poorer section of town,one that was the edge of the encroaching industrial district. Many of the storefront windows were blind and empty, soaped shut to the night. The surviving businesses had an air of desperation to them, the signs in the windows curling, their merchandise dusty. Litter whispered in the snowy gutters.
Ed pushed open the glass door that opened onto a narrow stairway. Stepovich followed him in past three dilapidated mailboxes dangling on the pockmarked wall. A single yellow bulb lit the stairway. The carpeting was worn through to the wood in places, and someone had left an empty pint bottle on one of the steps. Ed moved stealthy as an old ginger cat and Stepovich followed, trying not to let the stairs creak under his lesser weight. Ed scanned the narrow hall at the top of the stairs, then nodded to himself as much as to Stepovich. He knocked at the third door,and it opened almost immediately.
The young woman inside had chestnut hair and piercing grey eyes. She wore something Jenny would have referred to as a power suit. Like it hadn't been chosen because she liked it or because it suited her,but because it made her look like an executive. She was just a little too young to pull it off; it made her look a bit like Al Capone's little sister. Ed looked at her for a few seconds before shutting his mouth.
"Come right in," she said briskly, bitterly. "Do come right in. Ignore the fact that Ms. Sarinsky is an old woman and her health is poor and this isn't exactly business hours. Just come right in. And talk to me. I'm Ms. Peabody, from the Neighborhood Legal Coalition.And just for starters, I'd like to see your credentials."
Stepovich could feel his guts sliding down his legs.Ed didn't look like he was doing much better. He bobbed his head several times, and Stepovich had the feeling he would have whipped off his hat if he'd been wearing one. Ed crabbed into the room past her,and Stepovich followed him reluctantly, feeling as if he were walking into a lion's den.