New York Minute Page 5

  Toni waded out first. “I shouldn’t be snapping at you, Will. First my fucking dad, now the fucking mob. And then there’s the fucking campaign that has everyone up in arms.”

  “That’s a lot of fucking,” Kane said and Toni laughed.

  “It is,” Toni said. “My father wouldn’t like my choice of Bella if he knew. Thus, he doesn’t know. Yet.” There was a slight slur to her words and Kane finally realized lunch with father included liquid refreshment.

  “Who’s he for?”

  “Cuomo, but he’s keeping quiet publicly,” Toni said. “Ultimately he’ll be for whoever wins once it’s over. That’s the way to do business in this town. Don’t burn any bridges.”

  “That’s not building any bridges either, though.”

  “Father’s already got his bridges,” Toni said. “He doesn’t go to others, they come to him. I know who he isn’t for. And Bella Abzug is number one on his list.”

  “Is that why you’re for her?”

  “No.” Nothing more was forthcoming.

  “Why is your father against Abzug?”

  “Lots of reasons, but primarily because she opposes Westway, the replacement for the West Side Highway. She got Congress to change the requirements for the Federal infrastructure funds that the city needs so that it can be spent on Westway or mass transit. So that fight is ongoing. Westway or the subway. The election will swing the decision.”

  “I’m assuming you father doesn’t take the subway.”

  “It’s about money, Will. There’s no money in the subway.”

  “That’s why they’re so lousy.”

  “You don’t understand. I mean there aren’t big construction contracts, which means there’s no money for those who skim their percentage off those contracts. The subway is a clean-up, modernize endeavor and the companies who make trains and track are specialized and come from outside the city. The Westway means city contracts, especially concrete, which the mob totally controls. The city has already spent forty million on it.”

  “Doesn’t look like they’ve spent a penny from what I saw last night. Where’s the money going?”

  “Planning.”

  “Hell, I could plan it for a fraction of that. Blow up the elevated roadway and pave over what’s underneath. Done deal. I know some demo guys from Tenth Group up at Fort Devens who’d do it just for fun.”

  Toni shook her head. “Westway is a big plan, Will. They’re going to completely redo the lower west side. A landfill along the shore replacing the piers, with a tunnel for the highway. Parks and shops and other buildings on top. We’re talking billions. It’s the biggest project in the city since Central Park.”

  “1857,” Kane said.

  “What?”

  “That’s when construction for Central Park began based on the Viele Map of 1855. It wasn’t in the original 1811 plan for Manhattan so they carved that rectangle out of the city and evicted everyone in the way. Poor people, of course. Did you know they used more gunpowder clearing the area for Central Park than was fired at Gettysburg?”

  “Fascinating,” Toni said dryly. “Your Jesuit at the Mount give you that one?”

  “Some days Father Benedict was the only reason I got on the subway to go to high school.”

  “You went because you didn’t want to be home.”

  “Ouch,” Kane said. “But Father Benedict was a great teacher. Last I heard he’s still up there in the Bronx.”

  Toni picked up a letter opener, a replica of a West Point saber, and idly turned it in her hands. “Even after a year, father still hasn’t forgiven me for the divorce. He liked Robert. He not only lost a son-in-law, he lost a partner at the firm.”

  “Yeah, but you got your name back, this swanky office, and your dad gained a better partner at the firm to handle future rich divorcees. And you got rid of an asshole.”

  “Robert wasn’t an asshole,” Toni said, but there was no fight to rote defense.

  Kane let it go.

  Toni looked at the letter opener, realized what it was and dropped it. “I thought I’d told you what was going on. I didn’t think it would turn bad.”

  “Not a problem,” Kane said. “No harm, no foul. Listen, it ain’t like Delgado is suddenly gonna become a virgin or lop his dick off. I follow him, he’ll stick it somewhere he isn’t supposed to. Just a matter of time.”

  “Yeah,” Toni said. “You really didn’t make copies?”

  “My plan for the day, before I was so rudely interrupted, was to come here as you requested after Vic’s and my run and Gleason’s. I didn’t plan on getting jacked.”

  Toni smiled, the skin around her eyes wrinkling. “I know. But, geez, pictures of him with his dick in some guy’s mouth. Not only do we get adultery, we get leverage. And he’s a guy I could use some leverage on.”

  “Two guys,” Kane said. “I doubt they were of legal age so there’s also statutory, but we’d never get testimony. Cappucci sending Quinn means the boss doesn’t want you to have leverage. I think you can assume the divorce is going to be contested.”

  “It was going to be, sooner or later. I always prefer later.”

  “The thing I wonder,” Kane said, “is how did Delgado know it was me? He couldn’t have seen me in the pier. The flash blinded him. Does he know his bride came here?”

  “Sofia says he has no clue,” Toni said. “But going to a lawyer is like going to confession. People tend to lie a lot. What you should be wondering is how did he know you were in Vic’s?”

  “My uncle told him.”

  “Conner?”

  “Yeah. Who else?”

  “Your fucking family, Will. You deserve better.”

  “They’d disagree.”

  “Exactly.”

  “The other thing is that Delgado knew who I was,” Kane said. “I mean my past. He knew about the Army.”

  Toni frowned. “Did your uncle tell him?”

  “Doubtful,” Kane said, “but I’ll ask. Delgado also hinted he knew about Taryn and Joseph and that is something even Uncle Conner wouldn’t blab about.”

  “You—“ She paused as there was a rap on the door. Mrs. Ruiz came in with a sheaf of legal papers. Slid them in front of Toni, pointed where to sign, flipped a page, and the pattern was repeated a dozen times. She left without a glance at Kane.

  “What did I do to her?” he wondered after the door shut.

  “She’s never watched Monty Python and she doesn’t have much of a sense of humor,” Toni said.

  “I don’t have much of a sense of humor,” Kane said. “But I say hi, at least.”

  “You run hot and cold on that,” Toni pointed out. “Ted used to say going to West Point was akin to getting a social lobotomy. If you had any social skills when you showed up there, and I doubt you did given your family, by the time you graduated they were long gone. I watched it happen to Ted. He retrograded.”

  “True enough. Hudson High. Two centuries of tradition untouched by progress.”

  “And Monty Python? That’s been off the air for a few years, Will.”

  “It was the only thing in English playing overseas at the time. I think I have every skit memorized. Some of it was actually funny.”

  “Overseas where? That aired what? Seventy to seventy-four? Where did you go for those years after the accident, Will?”

  The intercom buzzed. Toni pressed a button.

  Mrs. Ruiz sounded pleased. “Ms. Marcelle, Mr. Marcelle needs you in the boardroom. Right away.”

  Toni stood abruptly, grabbing her jacket and slipping it on. Kane looped the map case over his shoulder and walked her to the door. He paused before opening it and picked something out her thick hair. A piece of glitter.

  “Party?”

  “Oh. Last night. I was out late.”

  “Someone’s birthday?” Kane asked.

  Toni turned to face him. They were close, inside the space that Kane carried around him like a flak jacket. He could smell her, a mixture of perfume, expensive booze, hairspray and
Toni.

  “A new club,” Toni said. She was staring into his eyes and didn’t step back. “Studio 54. Opened a few months ago. They scatter glitter over the dance floor.”

  “You danced?”

  Toni smiled. “Yes, Will. I danced. I didn’t get that social lobotomy at Columbia. We also had fun.”

  “You also protested against the war at Colombia.”

  “I didn’t protest you. I did it in memory of Ted.”

  “Gotta be careful at night,” Kane said. “That crazy Sam guy is out there.”

  “You worried for me?”

  “Of course.” Kane sensed she’d moved a little closer, but he wasn’t sure.

  “I was safe,” Toni said. “Frank limo’d me there and back and stood watch.” She was referring to another hired hand at the firm, more bodyguard and driver than investigator.

  “Right.” Kane didn’t know what else to say.

  Toni looked down, then met his gaze again. “Can I ask you something, Will?”

  “Sure.”

  She ran the edge of his open denim shirt between forefinger and thumb. “This past year we’ve been working together, since you came back, and I got divorced, how come—well, you know?”

  Kane blinked and answered without thinking. “I like you.”

  It was Toni’s turn to be surprised and she removed her hand. “What does that mean?”

  Kane retreated half a step, his back touching the wall. “It’s complicated.”

  “Is it about Taryn?”

  “Some of it,” Kane said. “I don’t know, Toni. You know my head’s kind of fucked up.” He tried to lighten the conversation, pointing at the scar. “Hell, I got shot in it. On it. Whatever.”

  Toni flushed, her olive skin turning a prettier shade. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. I miss Taryn, too.”

  “You’ve never heard from her?” Kane asked.

  Toni shook her head. “Nothing since the accident.”

  “None of the checks were returned here?”

  “Not yet. None have been cashed?”

  “Not as of the last statement.”

  “Geez,” Toni said. “Eight years.” She reached past him, her hand brushing his as she grabbed the knob and opened the door. They walked out together. “Stay on Delgado when you can. But be careful out there.”

  “Right.”

  Kane watched her walk away while Mrs. Ruiz glared at him. Looking past Toni, he spotted Thomas Marcelle escorting an older gentleman, short and fat, dressed in a well-tailored dark suit with a green and red striped tie as if it were Christmas, not July. He had strands of hair slicked back like dark threads on a liver-spotted cue ball. He sported thick, dark glasses. Like the junkie the other night, Kane knew the guy was trouble, just of a different sort. He looked vaguely familiar but Kane couldn’t dredge up a name.

  Toni saw the man at the same time and missed a step. She muttered under her breath: “Fuck!” She glanced over her shoulder at Kane, as if seeking succor, but resumed her dutiful march toward the two men.

  The old man’s dark glasses turned in Kane’s direction and he leaned close to Marcelle, whispering. Marcelle glanced past his daughter at Kane and said something back. They disappeared into the boardroom and Toni followed.

  Kane looked at Mrs. Ruiz. She was upright in her chair, arms folded across her large chest, glaring past him. Apparently, there was someone she hated more than Kane.

  “Who was that?” Kane asked.

  Mrs. Ruiz shook her head and resumed furious typing.

  “Gonna break it,” Kane said.

  She ignored him.

  Kane took the fire stairs down the eighteen flights and entered the lobby. He paused inside the front doors. A gold stretch Mercedes with dark windows was illegally parked in front of the building on Broadway. Three old men stood next to it. Despite the heat they were dressed in black slacks and black turtlenecks. Bulges at the waist indicated they were carrying and not being subtle about it.

  More trouble but not Kane’s. Nevertheless, he turned around and exited the building by the service door as discretion was the better part of no trouble.

  A headlight makes a unique popping sound when it shatters. Kane heard the first one as he walked toward Trimble Place, off of Duane, a block and a half away from Marcelle, van Dyck, Feinstein & Marcelle. He heard, and saw, the second one on his old Jeep get broken.

  The weightlifter from this morning’s visit at Vic’s Diner had just done a swing and a hit, not that it’s hard to miss an inert object. He wore sweat pants and a skintight workout shirt with thin straps over his massive shoulders.

  “Yo, Reggie,” Kane called.

  The weightlifter turned. “My name ain’t Reggie.”

  “I was guessing, you know, because you swing like Reggie Jackson. Powerful. Smooth.” Kane angled his walk to put the hood of the Jeep between himself and the bat with the muscles. Trimble was one block long, more an alley between Duane and Thomas. There was nobody on Trimble, but pedestrians were hurrying by on both the end streets. Being New Yorkers, they were aware of, but pointedly ignoring the brewing confrontation.

  “Reggie Jackson is a punk,” weightlifter said. “He should shut the fuck up and listen to Billy. Always gotta to listen to the coach.”

  “Technically, in baseball, I believe Billy Martin is called a manager.” Kane halted on the driver’s side. “You’re a Yankees fan?”

  “Of course.” He frowned. “Ain’t you? Not the fucking Mets, are ya?”

  “Neither. Baseball has never done much for me,” Kane admitted. “People get all excited if there’s a no hitter, but doesn’t that mean nothing happened? What’s your name?”

  “Cibosky.”

  “That doesn’t sound Italian.”

  Cibosky choked up on the bat, bringing it up for a swing. “I’m Italian. My mother was pure and my father half and half. It was my father’s father who—“

  “I don’t want your family history,” Kane said. “I was trying to be polite. I was recently told my social skills are lacking. Now we’re done with that. Why are you beating up my Jeep?”

  “Alfonso Delgado is sending you a message.”

  “What? He doesn’t like classic jeeps?” It was old, 1965, the first year the engine got an upgrade with the six-cylinder option, spray painted flat black, windshield folded down, with the original Army canvas seats on metal springs, no top, no doors, four tires, an engine, a locked footlocker chained down in the cargo space, and now, two busted headlights. Classic was a stretch. “You didn’t break my taillights, did you?”

  “Not yet.”

  “How about not ever?”

  Cibosky began to come around the front of the Jeep.

  Kane drew the .45. “It’ll hurt you more than me.”

  Cibosky spit. “Coward gotta hide behind a gun.”

  “You have a bat.”

  Cibosky tossed the bat aside and showed off, rolling every muscle in his upper body like an anaconda on steroids spotting a deer with a broken leg and preparing to swallow it whole. He frowned when he saw that Kane hadn’t lowered the .45.

  “I got rid of the bat.”

  “I didn’t ask you to.”

  “Chicken-shit,” Cibosky said. “Mister Delgado was right when he said you wasn’t much of a man. Fucking Army failure.”

  “But he didn’t say I was stupid,” Kane pointed out. “How did he know I was in the Army?”

  “You gonna shoot me?” Cibosky wanted to know. “An unarmed guy in broad daylight? There’s a firehouse around the corner. They’ll come running.”

  “Yep,” Kane agreed. “Ladder One, Battalion One. Got an uncle on the job up in the Bronx. I don’t think they’d turn me in. Probably help me.”

  Cibosky ignored him, relishing his inspiration. “You’ll end up in Rikers. We got people on the inside. We got guards on the take. You’ll get shivved.” He sounded enthused about the prospect.

  “I’ve been in jail before,” Kane said. “You’re ri
ght. It sucks.” He slid the .45 back in the holster inside his denim shirt and drew a smaller pistol with a longer and thicker barrel out of the map case.

  “What the fuck?”

  “When you go to the hospital after I shoot you,” Kane said, “you can tell your friends who come see you, if you have friends, don’t want to presume, that you were shot by a classic.”

  “What?” Cibosky had his hands up, sort of pugilistic, more wrestling, but he wasn’t moving forward any longer. Despite the gun, they were still ‘invisible’ to people hustling by on the side streets. Even more so because of the gun.

  Kane waggled the pistol. “This is a suppressed High Standard .22. Nobody outside of you or me is going to hear it when it puts a hole in you. Wild Bill Donovan demonstrated one in the Oval Office for President Roosevelt during World War II and the Secret Service outside the doors didn’t hear. The round is small but it’s a special bullet, made by a friend of mine, and if I put it through your eyeball, your brain will get turned to mush, if it isn’t already, and you will die. Trust me on that. But for today? What do you think two headlights are worth? Thigh? Nah. You need to walk to the emergency room. See? I’m considerate, despite what some people say about me. You’ve got big biceps. Left or right handed?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Is that what you and Delgado do? Admire each other’s muscles? You know what was on those photos, right?”

  Cibosky glared. “I don’t give a shit.”

  “Does Quinn know you’re here?”

  The bravado flaked at the edges. “None of his business.”

  “How did Delgado know I was in the Army?”

  Cibosky shrugged. “He and Quinn was talking about it when I drove them to the diner.”

  “How did he know about my ex?”

  “Same thing. Delgado was asking Quinn.”

  Kane pondered that for a moment. “How did you guys know it was me at the pier taking the pictures?”

  Cibosky shrugged, burning calories to move that much muscle mass. “I just drive.”

  “Back up a bit,” Kane ordered.

  Cibosky was confused.

  “Step back. I shoot you at this range, the bullet will really fuck up your muscle. Let’s give it some distance. You can probably start lifting again six weeks after they dig the slug out. Sadly, the muscle will never be the same, as tissue will be torn up. Trust me on that. You were holding the bat in your right hand. That leaves me with a decision.”