Chapter 18
Scavenger Hunt
5:55 P.M., SATURDAY
2 HOURS, 35 MINUTES EARLIER
They walked along a northbound street on the East Side, dodging trash and tourists and early diners, night-shift workers, dog walkers and homeless men and women... or perhaps just locals who appeared homeless — scruffy, inattentive to hair and beard and laundry.
Their mission, which was proving difficult, was to find a cab to take them to her co-op apartment. Gabriela muttered angrily, “What they did back there, those assholes, it set us back an hour! And the deadline’s in minutes!”
“At least you’re not in jail,” he said.
She didn’t respond to this tepid reassurance. “Jesus, Daniel, it’s hopeless. I knew we couldn’t get the money in time but at least we could’ve found some concrete lead before the deadline. Something to reassure Joseph that we’d have the cash soon. But now... shit.” Desperation crimped her voice. She jerked her head to the east and south, where they’d just come from. “They’re fucking sadists, those two.”
“And where the hell are all the cabs?” he muttered.
Several sped by, either occupied or off-duty. Daniel waved his wallet at one of the latter but the driver just kept going.
They turned up a street that was grubby, darker and more pungent than in tourist-land, less congested, in hopes of finding a taxi. They passed stores in which dusty displays of DVDs or lace and buttons or used books or hardware sat faded behind greasy glass, a sad porn shop lit with bile-green fluorescents, Chinese and Mexican take-out restaurants that could not possibly have passed city inspection. In front of several of these establishments sat slight, dark-complexioned men, smoking and speaking in hushed tones or making mobile calls.
Gabriela’s cell phone rang. She looked at her watch. “Deadline time.” They paused and stepped to the brick wall of a building, so no one else could hear the conversation.
She took a deep breath, hit Accept and activated the speaker so Daniel could hear.
“Joseph?”
“Ah, Gabriela. I’ve been looking at the phone. Staring. It didn’t ring.”
“It’s just six. I was going to call you! I swear. Listen—”
“You have my money?”
“I’ve found the October List!”
“Have you now?” That teasing voice again. “Cause for celebration! What does it look like? Is it thick, is it thin, is it printed on construction paper?”
She blurted, in a guttural tone, “Tell me — how’s my daughter? Tell me!”
“She’s a little... troubled.” As if Joseph was pouting.
“What? What do you mean?”
“I told her I hadn’t heard any good news from you. So there might not be any good news for her.”
“You told her that?” Gabriela whispered.
“Now, what do you think? Would it be in my interest to make your daughter feel any more panicky? Honestly, I can’t even joke with you. You need to relax a bit. Okay, the money?” he asked, his tone suddenly blasé.
“I’ve got the list.”
“Heard that part. But saying that tells me you don’t have the money. And since you dodged the question about describing the list, I’m a little skeptical of that too.”
“No, no! I swear!”
“Ever notice,” Joseph offered, “when people say things like ‘I swear’ and ‘you’ve got to believe me,’ they are invariably lying?”
“I’m not lying! I have it. It’s in a place for safekeeping. I didn’t want to walk around with it.”
“Not much need for that. Proportionately there’re less muggings in New York than Portland, Maine. So, fine. You’ve found the list. Wunderbar! Let’s get back to money.”
“I’ve been running around town all day trying to do what you asked,” she cried. “Please, just a little more time. It’s taken longer than I thought. I’m sorry!”
“Racked with guilt, are you?”
Daniel stiffened with anger. His face grew dark. But he remained silent.
She leaned close to the phone. “Please, it’s been a nightmare. The police are everywhere! I can’t just sneak into the garden behind Charles’s town house and start digging for treasure, can I?” Her voice caught. Then she muttered angrily, “Tell me right now! How is my daughter?”
“She’s alive.”
“Alive? But is she okay?”
“Pretty much.”
“She must be terrified.”
“And I’m afraid of heights. Snakes aren’t my favorite either. But we cope. Now, money makes the world go ’round. That was the deal we made.” He seemed again to be pouting. “You’ve breached it. You’ve broken our agreement.”
“I’ll get your money,” she snapped. “I just need more time! I’m doing everything I can.”
“More time, more time.” His voice was taunting.
“Just a little.”
“Could be, you know, that you’ve found the money and you’re stalling, trying to figure out a way to keep it and get your daughter back.”
“No! Why would I do that?”
“Because you’re out of a job, remember?”
She began to tremble. Daniel put his arm around her.
Joseph said, “You were Charles Prescott’s office manager.”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“So you know something about business?”
She hesitated. “What do you mean?”
“You know about business?” he repeated petulantly.
“I... I know some things. What are you asking?”
“You familiar with the concept of penalties?” Joseph’s voice was completely flat. The smarmy tone was gone. “Like you don’t pay your taxes on time, there’s a penalty? Well, you didn’t pay me on time. You missed the deadline.”
“I tried.”
“ ‘Try’ is a non-word. Either you do something or you don’t. It’s impossible to try to do something. So. New deadline. Six p.m. tomorrow—”
“Thank you! I—”
“I’m not through. Six p.m. tomorrow — you deliver the October List. And, now, five hundred thousand.”
“No! You can’t do that.”
“Is that what you say to the IRS? ‘I’m so sorry. I can’t pay what you want. No penalty for me!’ Look at me as the Excuse Nazi.” Giddy once more. His laugh was nearly a giggle.
“Why not just a fucking million?” she raged. “Or ten million?” Daniel squeezed her arm. She said to Joseph, “I’m doing the best I can.”
“Ah, just like ‘trying.’ There’s no ‘best’ or ‘worst.’ There’s keeping up your half of our agreement or not.”
“We don’t have an agreement! You’re extorting me, you kidnap—”
“Hello! Didn’t we have a conversation about movie dialogue? Now, consequences, I was saying: First, the penalty, the extra hundred K. Then, second, you have to go on a scavenger hunt.”
“A what?”
“A scavenger hunt.”
“I don’t understand,” Gabriela said, her voice choked.
“What’s not to understand? It’ll be easy. I’ll bet it won’t take you more than thirty minutes to find the prize.”
“You’re insane!”
“Well, now, that’s all relative, isn’t it? Go to Times Square. Behind a Dumpster in the alley at Forty-Eighth and Seventh. West side of the intersection.”
“What’s there?” she asked in a high, shaky voice.
But Joseph’s response was to disconnect.
They didn’t need a cab.
The prize Joseph had sent them to find was only four or so blocks away. They plunged into Times Square, a disorienting world of brilliant lights, massive high-def monitors, overlapping tracks of pulsing music, hawkers, street musicians, impatient traffic, mad bicyclists, tourists, tourists, tourists... The crowds were denser now, more boisterous, anticipating plays and concerts and meals and movies.