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  “We’ll catch him,” Nathan said.

  “Yeah. Sure. I gotta go catch some of the other bad guys.” Conner beat a hasty retreat.

  Nathan assumed his brother’s seat. Pushed away the empty glass, glanced at Kane’s but didn’t say anything. “How you doing, William? What happened to your Jeep? Saw it outside. Still making friends everywhere?”

  Kane gave a quick synopsis of events at Vic’s Diner and in the alley. He left out the law firm segment.

  Nathan’s face was lined with wrinkles that could be called crevices. He called them the ‘price of the job’ and in Kane’s cloudy memory they’d always been there.

  Nathan cut to the chase. “You can’t blame Conner for telling someone where you eat breakfast.”

  “I understand,” Kane said. “Do you know this Quinn guy?”

  Nathan nodded toward a rear door. “Let’s take a walk.”

  Kane followed as Nathan led the way down wood steps to a narrow spit of hardscrabble sand awash with seaweed and low-tide stranded trash that the club called a beach. Several tires were partly buried. Fifty yards to the south was the burnt out, rusted remains of a Chevy Nova.

  They had the beach to themselves, because there was no reason for anyone to be there. The greenish-black water looked particularly uninviting. The breeze had shifted and for the moment they had slightly cooler salt air from Long Island Sound.

  “Hot ain’t it?” Nathan said, the normal family dialogue. “They keep saying it ain’t the heat, it’s the humidity, like that makes a difference.”

  “Sunny though,” Kane replied.

  Nathan gave him an odd look. The older man reached down and picked up a small stone. He tossed it, skipping a few times until it disappeared into the murky water. “Quinn is the guy Cappucci taps when he wanted someone taught a lesson, permanent or less than. Of course, the old man is out west now, but his son, the new boss, inherited him.

  “Complete psycho but smart. If I remember rightly, he’s only been on the scene a few years. Came here with a tough street rep via Boston. He worked his way into the family by making his bones fast and furious. He’s never gotten arrested which means he’s good at what he does. Also means they don’t completely trust him either, though. Which is the screwed-up logic of the mob. Like it’s a badge of honor to have been behind bars instead of a sign someone fucked up. Don’t mess with him.”

  “I don’t plan on it. But I don’t understand why Cappucci would send him with Delgado to threaten me.”

  “You know how it would reflect on Cappucci if people find out his son-in-law is a fag?”

  Kane shrugged. “I guess. But Delgado dispatching his muscle guy after me with a message bothers me. I don’t think Quinn was aware Delgado sent a guy from his crew after our breakfast meeting which means the left hand and the right don’t know what they’re doing. That’s a recipe for trouble. I don’t think Delgado’s going to stop.”

  “So you stop,” Nathan said.

  “It’s my job.”

  Nathan turned to face Kane. “What’s your job? Digging divorce dirt for those shysters?”

  “Toni is my friend.”

  Nathan put a hand up. “I know, I know. I’ve always liked her. She seems solid. She looked after you and Ted while you guys were at the Point.”

  “You looked after me too,” Kane said. “Remember? You came and got me for plebe Christmas leave. Drove me home. First time out of that place since reporting to Beast in July other than a few hours for Army-Navy. Six long months there as a plebe, sucking shit, I finally get let out, and my dad couldn’t take a single day off work to get me. It wasn’t like the date my leave started was a surprise. Hell, we literally counted the days down to it as part of the shit they used to haze us with.”

  Nathan cocked his head and gave him a strange look. “That was Conner who got you that first Christmas, cause our sister asked. I picked you up at the end of plebe year the next summer.”

  Kane frowned. “Conner?”

  “Yeah. I’d have done it but I was on duty and he was off. Not a big deal for either of us. It’s a nice drive up the river. And it was years ago.”

  “I thought it was a big deal at the time, and at the end of plebe year when you did it, and still do.”

  Nathan nodded, flushing slightly. “Yeah. All right. And it was nice of Toni to give you a job when you finally came back to the city. But her father? Thomas Marcelle? The other people there? Bad news, William. I remember when Marcelle was with the US Attorney’s. He was solid and a bulldog going after people. People called him the Hammer. Then he switched sides. And now she’s a partner. That means she’s going to be involved in some dirty stuff.”

  “It’s a law firm,” Kane said. “Don’t lawyers only deal in dirty stuff? Just like cops?”

  Nathan chuckled. “You got me there, nephew. Yeah, not like I spend all my time chatting with upstanding citizens and the law-abiding.”

  “And as you say, Marcelle was on your side for a long time,” Kane added. “He only went private after Ted died. He cared about Ted more than anything.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Nathan allowed. He shifted topics. “If you met Quinn, you know what he is. Stone cold killer. I’m sure you saw worse in Vietnam. Speaking of which, I was wondering if I could pick your brain a bit?”

  “For what?”

  “The Son of Sam Task Force.”

  “The one you wanted Uncle Conner on?”

  “I don’t blame him for not signing on,” Nathan admitted. “There’re a number of experienced guys, top detectives, who’ve declined to join Omega. Afraid it’ll damage their career however it turns out. The notes that bastard leaves are bothering us more than we publicly let on.

  “Then we got other guys, ones with daughters, beating down the door to join. Scared for their kids. The city is going nuts.” Nathan sighed. “We’ve had all sorts of experts come in. Shrinks, handwriting analysis guys to go over his letters, even, and don’t tell anyone this, some psychics who claimed they had what they call insights. Bunch of bullshit. Nobody has given us anything solid.”

  “I always thought if a psychic were real, they’d be living off their lottery winnings or bets at the track,” Kane said. “Like priests. Promising shit they can’t deliver on.”

  “Hey. Watch that stuff, especially around your mother.”

  “Mea culpa.”

  “Anyway,” Nathan continued, “that’s how little we have. The shrinks say he’s what they call a paranoid schizophrenic. Like someone walks around with a blinking sign on their chest with that. They say he’s been rejected by women; hell, ain’t that every man? A lot of mumbo jumbo that doesn’t get us any closer to putting cuffs on someone.”

  “Okay,” Kane said. “What do you want from me? I was a soldier, now I’m a two-bit private investigator working for a shyster law firm, according to my uncle the detective.”

  “Nice try, William. You weren’t just a soldier,” Nathan said. “You were Special Forces. A Green Beret. You were around killers, right? Maybe you’d have some insight into this guy? What makes him tick? Why is he doing this?”

  “That was war,” Kane said. “Not New York City.”

  “I know,” Nathan said. “But we’re desperate. Women are getting their hair cut and dying it blonde since he seems to favor longhaired brunettes. The clubs are empty at night and going out of business. The city is locking up once it gets dark. People are scared like I’ve never seen and I’ve seen a lot over the years on the job. I thought if you took a look at what we have, you might come up with something, no matter how small. You’d bring a fresh set of eyes with a different perspective. Cops tend to think alike. We could use your expertise.”

  It was Kane’s turn to pick up a stone, slide it through his fingers, touching the smoothness of thousands of years of surf. He nodded toward the north. “Over there. The Hutchison River Parkway. Know who it’s named for?”

  Nathan shrugged. “Nah.”

  “A woman. Anne Hutchinson. A Puritan who go
t kicked out of Boston in the 1600’s for preaching. She had fifteen kids and settled somewhere around here. Then they got massacred by Indians. One daughter survived because she hid in Split Rock.” Kane looked at him. “It’s a big rock broken in half between the off ramp to the firing range and the Hutch. Thousands of people drive right by every day and don’t know anything about it or that it’s even there or the people who died.”

  “Okay. And?”

  “There’s things I know, like that. And lots more I don’t know.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know what I’m doing, Uncle Nathan.”

  “I don’t get it. What do you mean? What’s that got to do with Indians? And a massacre?”

  “Randomness.” Kane shrugged. “That’s my life. I follow people around. As you say. Dig up dirt for divorces. Check into businesses to see who’s skimming to pay some broad they have stashed in an apartment or hiding money in their secret overseas account. Do background checks. Other jobs as Toni needs. Research is what she calls it. Then she takes it and does whatever it is she does with the other side’s lawyer. It never makes a courtroom, but gets settled. I don’t even know how most of it turns out.

  “Lately I’ve been doing some bodyguard gigs when she asks. But it’s, I don’t know, just shit. Still, what was I going to do? No one would hire me with the dishonorable discharge.” He looked at his uncle. “Not the cops. Not the Feds, not that I’d work for those fuckers. My skill set isn’t exactly applicable to many jobs in the civilian world.”

  “You need money?” Nathan asked.

  “Nah, I got money,” Kane said. “That’s not the issue.”

  “What’s the issue then?”

  Kane shook his head in frustration. “I don’t know.”

  “You got an engineering degree from West Point,” Nathan noted.

  Kane snorted. “You know what they call a West Point degree? A fifty grand education shoved up your ass a nickel at a time. Spec and dump is what we did. Memorize, pass the test, and move on. I didn’t do any engineering in Vietnam or since. If I show someone my work history, they see the dishonorable discharge and that’s that. Plus, there are the missing years. I’m screwed either way.”

  “But that’s where you might be able to help the Task Force,” Nathan said. “You’ve seen things other people haven’t. I can get you some money as a consultant. We’ve been paying these worthless bums. But you’re the real deal. It could open up a new line of work for you if things break right.”

  “Is working for cops that much different than lawyers?” Kane asked.

  Nathan tapped the badge on his belt. “We uphold the law. Lawyers twist it whatever way they get paid to twist it.”

  “I saw lawyers in action during the trial,” Kane said. “I also saw the cops, the military cops. Some were good and doing their job, and some were doing it because they liked having power over people. I ran into some shit MPs who were sadists. Conner says he’s a collar man. That he does real police work, getting bad guys off the street.”

  Nathan looked away. “Conner is a collar man and we need those. But here’s the thing, William. Don’t be too hard on Conner. Even with Serpico’s shitstorm and the Knapp Commission, being an honest beat cop is hard. Guys don’t trust you if you’re one hundred percent straight. They don’t trust you enough, they might not back you up when things get bad. That’s what happened to Serpico. He got shot in the face and the other cops with him wouldn’t 10-13.”

  “Who you talking about?”

  “10-13 is officer needs assistance. Serpico got shot during a drug bust. Some think it might have been a set up to get him. His fellow cops on the call left him on the floor to bleed. Conner has to do things to get along with the other cops in his precinct so he can trust they got his back.”

  “Did you? Do things to make sure your back is covered?”

  Nathan faced him. “Yeah, when I was on patrol. Not anymore. Not in a long time. But never anything to hurt civilians. Only the bad guys. Like take a touch of cash when busting a drug deal. That’s true with Conner too.” He reached out, putting a hand on Kane’s shoulder. “One of the vics in the last Son of Sam shooting went your old grammar school. She survived but others haven’t been so lucky.”

  “You’re grasping now,” Kane said.

  “I told you we’re desperate. I’m desperate, William. What more do you want? Want me to beg?”

  Kane was taken aback. “What do you need?”

  “Come to our headquarters on the Island,” Nathan said. “We’re in the one-oh-nine precinct, second floor, in Flushing. A couple of blocks from Shea.”

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow good?”

  “Tomorrow’s Saturday.”

  “Son of Sam doesn’t know it’s the weekend, William. We have to catch him before he kills someone else.”

  “I know the killer doesn’t care it’s the weekend.”

  Nathan realized the Saturday issue. “You still go there every Saturday at the same time?”

  “Since I’ve been back.”

  “It’s been years, William.”

  “Three-hundred-and-fifty-three weeks.”

  “Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” Nathan whispered. He regrouped. “Is eleven late enough?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  Nathan forced enthusiasm into his voice. “I’ll show you around, then lunch is on me. I’ll buy you a couple of hot dogs from the guy around the corner from the precinct. You don’t even have to put condiments on ‘em.”

  Kane smiled. “Sounds good, Uncle Nathan.”

  “What the hell was that all about anyway?” Nathan asked. “I never could figure it out, just saw you guys fighting about it.”

  “Dad used to take me to that hot dog vendor he liked on Bruckner when I was a kid,” Kane explained. “I always took mine plain which pissed him off, because he figured it was the same price when putting everything on it, like sauerkraut and other crap. He used to pile everything on his. Kane kids aren’t supposed to waste money.”

  Nathan shook his head. “My sister is a saint to put up with him.” They headed back toward the ‘yacht club’.

  “One thing bothers me,” Kane said as they climbed the stairs.

  “What’s that?”

  “How did Delgado know it was me that took his picture last night? He couldn’t have seen me. He must know his wife went to Marcelle’s firm and that I’m on the case. But Toni says he shouldn’t know about the pending divorce. He hasn’t been served.”

  “Toni’s naive,” Nathan said. “Someone at the firm talked out of house. I’m sure Cappucci would pay to find out his daughter walked in about a divorce. You can’t trust anybody at that place.”

  “Quinn also knew about my past. The Army. Taryn. He told Delgado about it.”

  Nathan frowned. “How did Quinn know that?”

  “Another mystery,” Kane said.

  “Again,” Nathan said, “must be someone at Marcelle’s firm. They all know what happened to Ted and then to you.”

  “I guess.”

  They went through the bar.

  “Hey, let me ask you something,” Kane said. “Conner said grandpa, your father, used to take you shooting at Rodham’s and never took him. He sounded real bitter about it.”

  Nathan laughed. “I hated shooting with pop. The old man would give me grief about everything I did. How I held the gun. My stance. It was a nightmare every time. Conner had nothing to be jealous about. Geez. He’s still bitching about that?”

  “Yep.”

  “I don’t think he remembers clearly,” Nathan said. “Our mom died before Conner or Liam were old enough for pop to take them shooting. Once mom was gone, pop had no interest in doing anything with any of us. He never shot again. He dove into the bottle. If it wasn’t for our older sister, your mother, God bless her, we’d have starved in that apartment. She raised Liam, Conner and me after mom passed.” Nathan glanced sideways at Kane. “What do you remember about your grandfather?”
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  Kane shrugged. “I don’t know. Not much. He smelled funny.”

  “The booze,” Nathan said.

  “I guess.”

  They were through and down the front steps. Nathan’s unmarked Plymouth Fury with its black-wall tires was next to Kane’s Jeep with busted headlights.

  “Now go see my sister,” Nathan said. “She’s always worried about you. Make her feel better. She’s a saint, she is.”

  Kane passed on visiting the saint and chose damnation. He pulled the moleskin notebook out of his breast pocket and found the number. He needed not only the digits but to remind himself of the names of the other pertinents. He dialed, leaning against the fractured and graffitied Plexiglas in a phone booth on Bruckner Boulevard. The Jeep was double-parked, horns were blasting and middle fingers extended by drivers going around, accentuated with screamed profanities.

  The phone was answered on the third ring. She sounded drowsy. “Hello?”

  “Hey, Farrah, it’s Will. Will Kane. Got your message at the diner. Didn’t wake you, did I?”

  “Howdy, stranger. It’s been a while. No, I was getting up anyway. You beat the alarm by a minute.”

  “Yeah.”

  A few seconds of silence ticked off.

  Farrah stepped into it. “What are you doing, Will?”

  “I’m up in the Bronx. Talked to my uncles.”

  “You visit your folks?”

  “No.”

  “Going to visit them?”

  “I don’t have the energy today.”

  “Probably for the best. You know. Family.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Been a rough day.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “What’s going on?” Kane asked. “Why’d you call the diner?”

  “Oh, nothing much,” Farrah said. “Just thought it would be nice to talk with you.” A few seconds of silence. “How long would it take you to get downtown?”

  Kane glanced across the boulevard to the Expressway. “Traffic is bad. It’s Friday afternoon. Probably forty-five minutes or an hour taking the FDR unless there’s an accident. That too long? I know you’ve got, you know . . . ” he trailed off.