 
Gumshoe

A Renny Mack Story

Robert Sullivan
Copyright © 2017 by Robert Sullivan
TABLE OF CONTENTS

1. Babycakes

2. Aphrodite

3. Irish pigs 'n horror movies

4. Now I ain't a sensitive guy or nothin'...

5. What is it with dames?

6. Gunny

7. Pink Lemonade

8. Onions

9. Rocco 'n Chase

10. Apples 'n sunshine

# Babycakes

I'd just taken a sip o' yesterday's rebrew 'n was all puckered up when she walked through the door. Straight past my secretary. Least, straight past where my secretary woulda been if I'd had a secretary. She was world class. All the dips 'n curves was in the right places. Skirt so tight I could see 'xactly what she was wearin'. 'N 'xactly what she wasn't. Hair gleamin', black as coal, piled high on her head. White shirt the colour o' sunlit ice. Red six-inch stilettos. Lips the colour o' new blood. Perce started doin' the watusi.

Whoever she was she had my attention as she walked in. But hey, no red blooded man coulda called that walkin'. When she sat down the stitchin' on her skirt performed over 'n above. Perce started strivin' for world domination. 'N when she crossed her legs I thought I was gonna pass out. But I'm a professional. I kept a straight face 'n maintained eye contact. Gunny woulda been proud.

I shoulda known o' course. Nothin' that good comes walkin' inta a two bit, fly blown pad lookin' for down 'n out PIs. It don't work that way. I coulda saved myself 'n Buford a whole lotta grief by just sayin' No Dice! Trouble was, Perce was doin' the thinkin'.

She was smilin'. A funny little smile. Must be that Bugs Bunny statue on the end o' the desk. Bugs doin' somethin' with a carrot. The carrot had 'Pecos' written on it. Not the sort o' thing I'd ever look at, let alone buy. But my brother-in-law Harly gave it ta me. Harly's a long distance trucker. Don't mean ta insult the Teamsters but say no more.

But I'm getting' ahead o' myself as Ma always says. So I better fill ya in on Buf 'n me. 'N how come we was sittin' on the 5th floor, no lift, in Harvey Weinstein's old buildin' in the garment district in Manhattan. Actually, there is a lift. But it's been busted the whole time we been here. Harvey's argument is that if Buford 'n me is the only tenants, we should pay for its repair. Sure Harvey. But it don't cut the mustard amigo. If we had the money ta repair the lift we'd be moving somewhere else. Somewhere with a lift that worked. I ask ya. But hey, that's why Harvey's Harvey. It's why he's one o' the richest guys on the lower east side. Every day's an opportunity for Harvey, every meetin' has dollar signs. I figured if I stuck close enough for long enough, maybe a little bit o' Harvey's smarts was gonna rub off. But Buf says if it ain't in the blood ya wastin' ya time.

My name, full name that is, is Thomas Reinhard Mack. T.R Mack. Born 14 March 1922, in Brooklyn. Age 31 at the time o' tellin' this story. Father, William Macy Mack. Mother, Dainty Belvoir Simmons. Yep! I'm a Brooklyner. So all ya palooka's just keep ya lids on. Everyone calls me Renny. Everyone 'cept my partner in crime so ta speak, Buford Messner, who calls me Tarmac. For obvious reasons. Or when he's havin' a bad day, Roadkill. Buford normally has several bad days each week. He's got a weakness for the ponies 'n the pooches 'n a bad night at the track means a bad attitude next day. Buf also fancies himself as an actor, though he prefers ta call himself a 'thespian'. I had ta look it up. I guess he did look a little like Bogie, 'least in the hair department, but he said he had 'an affinity with Laurence Olivier.' I always liked Errol Flynn myself. Buford said I was shaller.

We grew up tagether in Flat Bush, not far from the Dodgers' ground at Ebbets Field. By the time the war rolled 'round, 'n Uncle Sam wanted some help with the Jerries, we was old enough ta enlist. Ma was upset, sure, but she didn't say much. Buford's mother bawled for days. She was certain her baby, he was the youngest o' five ya know, was gonna get killed. I coulda told her not ta worry. Buf grew up tough in Brooklyn so no way was Jerry gonna pop him. Or me for that matter. Mind ya, we was only 20 at the time, so the concept o' mortality wasn't high on the agenda. We quietened down some after D-Day 'n the Bulge. But that's another story.

We demobbed in mid '46 'n landed back in Brooklyn with army pay 'n a strange feelin' we'd missed out. Like the world passed us by or somethin'. Buford went straight back ta Mr Zim's garage where he was the grease jockey. I went back ta helpin' Dad in the plumbin' business. Four years o' takin' Jerry's shit 'n now I'm takin' all o' Yonkers. Go figure. This went on for more'n four years, but we wasn't goin' nowhere. Mr Zim wasn't never gonna let Buford get ahead o' his nephew Arvi, Arvi was a turd by the way, 'n Dad was groomin' Kenny ta take over as head plumber. I was always gonna be the one goin' down the pipe.

So me 'n Buf got tagether. We figured there had ta be somethin' we could do. Somethin' paid better 'n what we was earnin' workin' for Dad 'n Mr Zip. We was strong young guys. It didn't take us long ta come up with an idea. It sounded good, 'n yeah, maybe we was a bit over-excited, but hey, Mack & Messner, Private Investigators. Whatya think?

Ya shoulda heard the wailin' when we told the folks. Ya woulda thought we was goin' back ta war. Or movin' ta California. Or Australia. Ya know that's how parents think. Buf's mother was distraught. Yep, that's what she said. 'Bout her baby's security. Old Zip couldn't keep the smirk off his face. Arvi thought it was funny too. 'Til Buford threatened him with the grease gun.

My folks was supportive. Well Ma was, but Dad didn't cut me no slack. Heck, when did that ever happen? I busted a gut for fifteen years. But didn't matter what I did. Didn't count. Took him two days ta say hello after we got back from Germany. Then after Dad get's his dollar's worth in, 'long comes Doris. Just what the heck it had ta do with her anyhow is beyond me. For the life o' me I never understood why Harly married her. But then I never understood why she married Harly neither. Ma always says opposites attract. Whatever.

We set up nearly two years ago, April o' '51, springtime in the city. We figured that'd be the time when heartstrings started ta flutter; eyes started ta wander, big business for Mack & Messner. And it was. But not for long. 'Cause dreams is always a little tougher in the doin'. Ain't that the truth. After twelve months things slowed down. Big time. Everyone musta been keepin' their pants zipped 'cause there wasn't no business comin' our way. 'N now, after another year o' hand ta mouth, we was havin' second thoughts. Sure, we still got a buzz outa handin' out cards 'n try'na impress the broads. But there was less 'n less broads I could afford ta impress. 'N I was runnin' outa cards. So right now, any business was good business. Right? Wrong! But since when did I take my own advice?

So ya startin' ta get a feel for me 'n Buf 'n ya askin' yaself "What's a grease jockey 'n a plumber doin' playin' gumshoe?" Well, as they say, truth is stranger than fiction. Truth is the basic principles in all businesses is pretty much the same. Ya got a customer, ya give him service. Ya might be a plumber, 'n they wants pipe laid, 'n I ain't bein' cute here, ya lay some pipe. Ya might be a Private Dick ,'n someone wants someone else found, ya find 'em. But sometimes ya stickin' ya beak in where it ain't wanted. More'n a few times I took a swipe from a findee. 'Specially the broads. One thing I learned is a dame goes missin' she often means it, 'n she ain't too pleased when a pasty faced youngster in a pork pie 'n pin stripe turns up care o' the ex. Ain't nothin' surer ta get ya the cold shoulder.

I gave her the once over again. What a cupcake. She had clear dusky skin 'n dark eyes. Foreign. Italian maybe? What was she doin' here?

"You can maybe light my zigarette?" Her voice was soft and deep with a strong accent.

Not Italian. Spanish? Or maybe South American I thought as I leaned forward 'n snapped the lighter under her cigarette. Her hands was perfect. Long brown fingers, nails same colour as her lipstick. They didn't shake one bit. This patootie was cool as a cucumber. My hands? They was shakin' like leaves. As she leaned towards the flame her shirt gaped, givin' me a peep at two o' the best pineapples God ever breathed life inta, I tell ya. Perce mighta given up on world domination but he still had his eye on a continent or two. I saw her track my gaze as she drew on the cigarette. She regarded me in silence, the smoke blue in the still air. I took another quick peek at her chest. Mama!

"You are Meester Mack?" It was a statement, not a question, so I zipped the lip. I always like broads ta sing for their supper. Yeah, sure. Really I was just tryin' not ta slobber. When I didn't answer she nodded. "I 'ave been referred to you." I felt my eyebrows crawl up my forehead. Since when was we a referral business?

"But per'aps I should tell you what I need." I could tell from the way she said this that she wasn't expectin' no for 'n answer. 'N I already knew why that was. "It is a long story so you could maybe make me some coffee." She didn't even pout. I went lookin' for a clean cup 'n yesterday's brew. If I thought it'd faze her I was wrong. She took a healthy slurp, the pink tongue flickered, Perce did a double pike with twist, 'n she started.

* * *

It was a good story. She was Argentinian. Her name was Alessandra Aguirre. Ya think the name's beautiful, ya should see the broad. Grew up poor on the banks o' the La Plata. Come ta New York from Buenos Aires straight after the war. When she said she was part o' the Prancey family in lower Manhattan my ears pricked up. The Prancey's was old money so it couldn't be them. Or could it? If it was then she'd lucked out. She woulda needed somethin' goin' for her. I watched her as she talked. She had a lot goin' for her. Believe me.

Turned out it was the old money Pranceys she was talkin' 'bout. A Cinderella story if ya like. She come ta New York with her cousin Guillermo, worked in his caterin' business in Jersey for a few months before she was picked up by the Pranceys. She worked for 'em for just a year before she catches the eye o' one o' the Prancey males. Next thing she's gettin' married. Things is goin' like a dream, weekends in the Hamptons, socializin' in Manhattan 'n Boston, trips ta Bermuda 'n so on, when hubby goes 'n gets himself killed. When she mentioned her husband died in a house fire the bells was ringin'.

'Bout six months earlier, Richard Prancey, known in the tabloids as 'Prancing Dick' or 'Randy Ricky' dependin' on the editor's spleen, had been killed in a gas explosion at his summer house up Long Island. From all reports 'n accident. Young Ricky was well known. He cut a swathe through the debutantes in Manhattan 'n Boston for twenty years, never snared 'til he met Miss Argentina. I looked at her with new interest. So she was Prancin' Dick's wife. He musta been mid forties when he died, so maybe ten years older 'n her? Ya know I ain't often wrong 'bout someone's age. One thing I learned early is if dames start talkin' age always make ya best guess then subtract five ta ten. Do this religiously 'n it's a winner. If ya got any doubts make it ten ta fifteen. They know ya lyin' but they love it. Better safe than sorry as Ma always says.

From all reports Young Ricky, apart from bein' a notorious womanizer, had also been a rebel. Which prob'ly explained the Argentinian wife. Nothin' like goin' outside the family circle if ya wanta shoot the bird. Ricky Senior had long since departed but Mrs Ricky Senior was still 'round. 'N she ruled with an iron fist accordin' ta the weeklies. I vaguely recalled somethin' 'bout a pre-nup. Which is somethin' all them celebrities seem ta need. Ta protect their assets apparently. When this thought crossed my mind I tore my eyes away from the Aguirre hemline. I didn't know what she wanted but I hoped she wasn't thinkin' 'pro-bono'. Buf would vomit. Assumin' he ate first o' course.

But I needn'ta worried. She said she needed an investigator's report ta finalise the insurance claim for hubby's fiery demise. Now insurance companies got their own investigators. I know that. Since when did they need a private dick's report for anything? Weird. But I didn't smell no rat. Well, maybe I didn't sniff too hard neither. With them bazookas pointin' at me, her lips on the cigarette, 'n Perce gettin' all over twitchy, I was a gone goose. Even before she mentioned money.

Babycakes leaned forward 'n stubbed out her cigarette, her eyes bright through the smoke. "We were not ..'ow you say it...'appy with the police report. It was very brief. My 'usband was a successful man, with much money invested in property. In the last years he work very close with the unions." She pronounced it 'onions'. "We would like you to investigate a little of the union. It is called, I think, the Union of Water Workers." Actually it wasn't. It was called The Waterside Workers Union. I'd heard 'bout 'em but didn't know much. Just they had a lot o' muscle. 'N they wasn't afraid ta use it.

"Mrs Prancey. I'm gonna need a little more information before I can take the case. Would ya mind if I take a few notes?"

Babycakes reached for her cigarettes 'n waved me off at the same time. "Please."

She spoke for maybe thirty minutes while I made notes on names, addresses 'n phone numbers. I felt a bit sensitive askin' her 'bout the accident 'cause ya never know how people is gonna react. I mean, sometimes they're grievin', they don't like relivin' the memories. But it wasn't no trouble for Babycakes. Only thing was, every now 'n then she'd uncross 'n recross her legs. The office was pretty quiet 'n when she did this all I could hear was silk on silk. I was try'na look serious but I was havin' real trouble with Perce.

I was a bit confused by the time we finished. I mean, ya husband's just been blown ta kingdom come or wherever, ain't ya gonna be focused on how he died? Well, I woulda thought so. But all Babycakes talked 'bout was Ricky's cohorts (I learned that off Buford in case ya wonderin'), in particular the WWU 'n the UPG. She seemed ta think that they was the worm in the apple. She didn't come right out 'n say they was dirty or nothin', didn't pin nothin' on 'em neither, but she wanted me ta look at 'em 'n report back. While I was writin' all this down I was thinkin' 'Report back on what?'

"My 'usband was...how you say it...a good man. I do not think the union treated him very well." But she didn't offer more.

"So we are agreed. You will do for me a report I think. Today is Monday so I would like a report in two weeks. But I will come to see you in one week. I will come in at four o'clock and you can tell me what you 'ave learned." Her voice was smoke in a dark room. She hesitated 'n reached inta her purse. She pulled out a thick, buff coloured envelope 'n dropped it on the desk. It landed with a solid thud. But I'm a professional. I ignored it. Like it wasn't burnin' a hole in the desktop. Or my pocket.

"My mother-in-law, she said you would require... a retainer." She pronounced it ret-ar-nor. Now how many o' those ya think we seen in the past two years? Correct! Zee-roh! Zip, zilch, nix, nada, nothin'! Right now, if she's talkin' money, she's talkin' my language.

I musta been starin' at the envelope 'cause when I looked up she was doing that funny little smile again. But maybe it was Bugs. Then I remembered that I hadn't asked who referred her. Buf 'n I done a few good jobs, that was true, but wasn't none of 'em clients moved in same circles as this broad. I shoulda run a mile when she told me who it was.

"Your good friend the detective said you were the best." My good friend the detective? That's a joke, right? Sort o' like 'military intelligence' ya know what I mean. " 'is name is, I think, Duffee." I felt my eyebrows crawl up my forehead. Again. Duffy? Sendin' business our way? Why the fuck would that miserable mick asshole send us anything? Does she think I'm a total sap? But she ain't smilin'. She ain't jokin' neither. I took another peep at the money 'n smothered my doubts. Second big mistake. I made a lot o' mistakes that mornin', but lookin' back is always easy. Twenty-twenty 'n all that. I coulda been smarter, that's for sure, but Perce was in full cry. Between him 'n the money, Babycakes carried the day. Me? I was just a passenger.

* * *

First thing I did when she left was grab the envelope. When I flipped it open my heart flipped over with it. Had ta be three gorillas. No questions asked. I held the notes under my nose. Mr Weinstein was gonna love me.

Second thing I did was talk ta Buford. He was workin' for a car dealer down East 65th. Abraham Lubovski. Abe ran a Chevy dealership 'n seemed his profit margin was shrinkin'. Now remember, ya got a car dealer complainin' 'bout his profit margin ya need ta keep it in perspective. But it turned out Mikey Gee was the perp. Mikey was one o' Abe's salesmen, good lookin', sharp talkin', slicked down hair, black 'n white wingtips, wouldn't trust him with ya Granma. Mikey was sellin' lotsa cars all right. And lotsa extras. Floor mats, carpets, pop roofs, chrome fenders, heaters 'n so on. But not all the extras was findin' their way inta Abe's wallet. So Buf was doin' the deal today. One o' Abe's cronies was buyin' a new Bel Air with everything. Buf said Mikey was fit ta bust. I guess he was already at the track with a dame on each arm 'n a fist full o' Panamas. Jerk! Anyhow, Buf 'n Abe had already compared the crony's paperwork with Mikey's. Seemed the crony was payin' for stuff that Mikey wasn't sellin'. Well, not outa Abe's storeroom if ya believed the paperwork. But no one's that stupid. Least not for long. Today Mikey gets his ticket ta ride.

When I picked Buf up outside Abe's car yard he had that smug, stuffed look, the one he gets when he's pleased with himself. He fell inta the car, laughed 'n waved a C note under my nose. In the background I could see Abe stabbin' his right forefinger inta his left hand, bawlin' out a red-faced Mikey. While Buford unloaded on Mikey's Waterloo 'n Abe's undying gratitude – I shit ya not, he actually said that - I turned the car towards Tribeca. A hundred bucks for a coupla days work is a good return. But I smothered his chortlin' 'bout Mikey. I think he was offended but we had ta get movin'. I filled him in on Babycakes, the money, Randy Ricky, 'n the deadlines. Particu'ly the deadlines. His eyebrows crawled inta his yeller Teutonic hair when I told him 'bout the referral.

"A referral? From Duffy? Now that's gotta be a worry" he said. "Pardon me while I puke."

I ignored him. Really I'd given it no more thought 'n three gees 'n a broad with a body woulda stopped the Bismarck. Buf's right. I'm shaller. But onward. "She 'n the old lady need the insurance squared away. We got a coupla week's work. Three gees plus expenses." I could tell Buf wasn't happy but I knew he just didn't like bein' pushed 'round. Bad luck amigo. This money's ain't just talkin', it's shoutin'. He grizzled 'n moaned a bit but he prob'ly just wanted ta go ta the races. Sure enough, a minute later he asked if I wanted ta go ta Saratoga that evenin'. He was on a sure thing, runnin' in the 8th.

"No dice, Buf. Right now we're workin' stiffs. One week, remember?" He didn't stop beefin' 'til we arrived at the Times.

* * *

We pulled a parkin' spot near the Times just before two. I tossed the keys ta Charlie Perkins. Charlie ran the loadin' dock 'n for a deuce he'd watch the car, move it if the traffic cops come 'round. He said take ya time, he'd be there 'til whenever. Ta pay Charlie I broke a C note in the coffee shop. Dollar ten for two coffees 'n a cruller. I think I upset 'em a bit.

We was at the Times ta see Maxie Davies, night editor. Maxie's been with the Times for 30 years 'n lived 'n breathed newspapers. He was a star reporter durin' the war. 'Til he was wounded try'na get too close ta the action somewhere in the Pacific. Saipan I think. They shipped him home 'n tied him ta the editor's desk. Maxie never looked back. I once read he had an 'encyclopaedic knowledge' o' the industry 'n could remember every major story for the past twenty years. All I knew was ya need ta know somethin', ask Maxie.

"Renny. Long time no see. How've you been?" Maxie was at his desk, shirt unbuttoned, feet up, ashtray full o' dead stogies. His desk was covered in page proofs 'n photographs. He had his glasses pushed high on his head. He'd thinned out a bit since I last seen him.

"Hi Maxie. Good ta see ya. How ya doin' yaself?"

"Good. Good. But you know me. What am I doin' here at my age? Jesus! I should be enjoyin' my retirement. Those kids and Perminda are gonna drive me broke. Economic conscript." Maxie's a journo so he likes ta stretch the truth a bit. His wife Perminda is a successful lawyer 'n his kids is grown up 'n left home. Retirement? Forget it. Maxie had no intention o' leavin' the Times. Ever. Not unless he was carried out. I told him what I was lookin' for, 'n why, 'n the one week deadline.

"Interesting story" he said. "Prancing Dick was always gonna get himself in trouble it seemed, until he met his wife. He was a bit of a wild boy. Did a lot for charity but when it came to women he was TNT. Wouldn't be a week go by from '35 to '45 that there weren't some saucy pictures of Ricky and a socialite." Maxie shook his head.

"The accident happened in August last year, summer holidays, about the 10th I think. Prancey was up at the Hamptons by himself, waiting for his wife and mom to follow during the week. They found him, or at least what was left of him, outside in the driveway. Right next to his new Caddie. Blew him right out through the windows eh? I recall the local cops did a pretty good job. Found he left the gas on. Reckoned he probably set it off when he lit a cigar. Anyhow, apparently the New York cops were happy with the scenario and closed it pretty much straight away. Wouldn't have thought there'd be an problem with the insurance or anything so I'm puzzled. Why another report?"

I shrugged. They need a report, I do the report, they pay for it. Maxie shrugged back. He couldn't tell me much 'bout the case but pointed me at the archives. 'Artie Sumter covered it. Have a chat with him. Or check his by-lines. That'll help. Try the basement." I asked him who investigated from NYPD but he couldn't remember none o' the cops neither. "There were two New York cops involved." he said. "I think the 84th covered it." Another warnin' sign I ignored. But who was lookin'?

I tagged Buf in the foyer 'n we trotted down ta the basement ta see Bert. We entered through a large steel door that clanged 'n echoed along the cement corridors. Bert signed us in 'n pointed at the stacks, Each edition o' the Times was locked in a wooden clamp, hung three high. Everything was in date order 'n ran from top ta bottom. Each stack was thirty long 'n there was usually three copies clamped, so ya can imagine how much paper there was. At the front o' the room there was a coupla desks with hardbacks in front. Each desk had two brass lamps with green shades.

We found the first report in the Monday 12 August edition, front page. The headline had Prancey Fire Death spread over four columns. The story broke on the Sunday evenin' but didn't hit the newsstands 'til the Monday mornin'.

Richard Prancey dies in house fire – Arthur Sumter

At 3.00am on the morning of Sunday 13 August, the Bridgehampton police department received an urgent call, reporting a massive explosion in the Ocean Drive area. When police arrived they found the Prancey house, at 22 Ocean Drive East Hampton, had been devastated, the wreckage burning fiercely in spite of the efforts of the Bridgehampton Fire Brigade.

"It was worse than Iwo Jima" was the comment of one of the veteran officers, a hero in the Pacific war. The house had been demolished, literally blown to smithereens, a detached garage the only part of the structure still standing. In the driveway of the house they found the body of its owner, a wealthy businessman and scion of the New York social circuit, Mr Richard Prancey. A spokeswoman for the local police force, Officer Alfre Windschuttle, advised that early indications were that there had been a gas explosion, but that it would be several days before police finalised their investigation. Officer Windschuttle confirmed that personnel from the NYPD and Long Island Gas & Electric would also be attending.

Officer Windschuttle said that police are seeking assistance from the public in locating the driver of a late model motor vehicle which was seen leaving the Prancey residence at approximately 11 pm on Saturday the 12th. The owner of the car or any other resident having information should contact Officer Windschuttle on Bridgehampton 55-2561.

Mr Dick Sommerville, Chairman of the New York Chamber of Commerce said, "Dick Prancey was a man's man. No job was too hard or too small. He was born to privilege but never took it for granted. We'll miss his contribution at the Chamber and New York is the poorer for his passing."

Mr Ike Thommerson of the New York Board of Indigent Welfare was also fulsome in his praise of Mr Prancey. Mr Thommerson noted that Richard Prancey had acted as a governor of the board of BIW for over 6 years, during which time homelessness, poverty and health care for indigent workers was a priority. Mr Thommerson praised Mr Prancey for his 'tireless contribution to the well being of those less fortunate'.

I copied down Officer Windschuttle's details 'n made a note 'bout the utility. I'd have ta pay a visit there as well. They tended ta be solid investigators, least on the technical side. Artie's by-line the next Friday was a foller-up.

No suspicious circumstances in Prancey death – Arthur Sumter

Police officials at Bridgehampton today released a preliminary report on the recent explosion at the Prancey Long Island residence, which left son and heir to the Prancey fortune, Richard Prancey, dead at the age of 48. A police spokeswoman, Officer Alfre Windschuttle, advised that the official investigation was concluded and that both local and New York police representatives were satisfied that Mr Prancey's death was the result of an accident. Officer Windschuttle also advised that separate investigations had been conducted by both Mr Prancey's insurance company and Long Island Gas & Electric. All reports came to similar conclusions.

A visit to the utility company revealed no additional information to that provided by the Police Department. The utility representative, Mr Martin Beil, said that while all investigative units had worked well together, the police investigation had taken precedence.

On a sombre note, this edition also carries a report on the funeral of Richard Prancey, which was held today at Lakewood Private Crematorium. At the request of Mr Prancey's wife only family members attended the service. A memorial service will be held next Thursday at Saint Patrick's Cathedral in Lower Manhattan.

Three separate investigations? All finished in a week? That was unusual. I'd need ta head up Bridgehampton 'asap'. I didn't bother readin' the funeral report. The real deal was next week, at the memorial service. I looked over at Buford. He was still porin' over the old copies so I slid mine back inta the hangers then stepped 'cross ta catch up. I shoulda known it. He was too quiet. My shoes didn't creak on the polished cement 'n when I looked over his shoulder I saw he was checkin' the nags. When I tapped him on the shoulder he jumped 'n coloured up, which ain't a good look on a guy with natural pink skin 'n yeller hair.

But he hadn't been totally wastin' his time. He'd taken a lot o' notes. He ran his finger down the page. "Couple of points" he said. "There were four articles in the second week after the incident. Only two of them contained information we should be interested in. The other two were no more than fillers. The first one of substance was on Tuesday the 22nd of August, about a week and a half after the explosion. It was under Arthur Sumter's by-line. I'll read the key points."

• Article 22/8 - reports case closed – only ten days since explosion – this unusual given identity of deceased, nature of incident, loose ends i.e. Prancey's car covered in mud but all main roads sealed, deceased's movements on the Saturday not traced or investigated.

Question: What were Prancey's movements?

• Article 22/8 – reports case concluded by NYPD. When did they take it over? Incident occurred in Bridgehampton jurisdiction – unusual for locals to hand over – issues?

Question: Who/why NYPD prioritised over locals?

"The second article was three days later on the Friday. It mentioned the memorial service and, Mother of God, you won't believe the roll call. And what's just as interesting is who wasn't there."

• Article 25/8 – reports attendance at memorial service. N.B. key attendees include Dexter 'Duke' Nordstromm of the Waterside Workers Union; Barry 'The Capo' Montessori of Union City Development Corporation; John Alicante of the Knights of Malta; Peter 'Prince' Garcia of the United Packers Guild; and Brian MacMillan of City Welfare Services Inc.

Question: what was Prancey's relationship with these people/organisations?

• Article 25/8 – not in attendance was Roger Caldwell, Chair of the Welfare Foundation where Prancey was a board member for over 6 years – understood to have a good relationship with Prancey; Ike Thommerson, Chair of the Board of Indigent Welfare – also a good relationship; Dick Sommerville, New York Chamber of Commerce – relationship unknown; and Rita Perlman, Chair of Human Studies at NY State and a fellow board member on the Welfare Foundation – understood to be close to Prancey on policy and direction.

Questions: Are these people all close associates? Why not at service?"

It was still early enough so I decided ta try the union. I asked Buford to contact Caldwell at the Welfare Foundation. There was a phone in the stacks 'n one in Bert's office. Buf took the stacks while I went inta the office. The phone rattled when I picked it up. Eventually I heard a loud clunk then a rough voice in my ear.

"Union." It sounded like a bark.

"This the WWU?" I asked.

"Yeah. Dis is da dubya-dubya-yoo" The accent was so thick I couldna carved my initials in it. He didn't sound friendly. "He'p ya?"

"I think so. I'd like ta make an appointment ta talk with Mr Nordrstromm. Some time this week if possible."

There was silence for a coupla seconds then another bark. "Mr Nordstromm ain't available dis week. Who am I talkin' ta? Maybe dere's somebody else can he'p ya. If ya lookin' fer work, ya gotta go down da docks."

"Name's Renny Mack. I'm follerin' up on some property issues for a client. She said Mr Nordstromm might be able ta help. When do ya think he'll be available?"

"Mack? Mack? Ain't never heard o' no Mack. An' Mr Nordstromm, he don't talk ta no-one 'bout business. Not unless he's askin' da questions."

I thought fast. I had ta get past bozo or I was goin' nowhere as Ma woulda said. I recalled one o' the articles I'd just read, where the union picketed a Norwegian vessel bringin' in cheese. Somethin' 'bout odour sensitivities. Whatever the fuck that was. "It's that load o' cheese from Norway. I'd just like ta foller up on a coupla things." It didn't work.

"Ya ain't listenin' Mac. I said Mr Nordstromm ain't available. Ya need ta see Mr Nordstromm, ya call an' make 'n appointment."

"Well then I'd like ta make 'n appointment."

Another bark. "I ain't his seckertary."

There was a loud bang 'n the phone went dead in my ear. Jesus! I dropped the phone 'n walked outa the office. Buf was pickin' at his fingernails with a silver pick. His gut hung over his belt 'n he had a new double chin. Ma woulda called it a weak jaw but maybe that was a bit cruel. "What did Caldwell say?"

"He wasn't available. His secretary said he was gone for the day. He won't be seeing anyone 'til next week."

I shrugged at Buford. "Then we see him next week. But try again termorrer anyhow."

* * *

Lugosis was full when we arrived, one shift goin' off, another one comin' on, the place wasn't never empty. We shouldered our way in past a bunch o' muscle bound meat workers, leather aprons stretched 'cross their chests 'n shoulders. They gave off a thick smell o' grease. Buf spotted a table on the far side 'n crash tackled it ahead o' some ice workers from next door. They still had their funny white caps on 'n leather shoulder pads. I woulda let 'em have it.

Wasn't nothin' pretty 'bout Lugosis. Plain brick front facin' a warehouse, wide glass front door, large windows each side, cashier's booth up front, twenty tables, packed in, kitchen out back, faded posters on the walls. A smeared blackboard was propped against the door ta the kitchen. Papa's son in law Nicco dropped two glasses o' spumante on the table along with some greasy spoons 'n forks. He never asked what we wanted. "Food'll be out in a coupla minutes." he grunted.

I started ta make notes, thinkin' aloud as I wrote. "First thing we do is head up Bridgehampton, pay a visit ta the house, then the Donut Shop, get the low down on the whole scene. One thing local bears don't like is someone steppin' on their turf. I figure they'll still be twitchy 'bout that 'n prob'ly happy ta talk. I'd like ta know 'bout Prancey's movements on Sat'day 'n Sat'day night too. 'N who called it in?" Buf nodded his agreement. "After that we hit the utility, see Beil. 'N if we got time we check the car. If it's still there."

Buf ticked off points in his notes as I spoke. "Nothing else I can think of, but we'll be lucky to find the car after six months. It'll be long gone. Let's get moving early, beat the holiday traffic." Well, we was gonna have a busy week try'na meet Babycakes deadline. For a second I thought maybe we bit off more'n we could chew. But only for a second. I squeezed the wad o' notes in my pocket. I didn't get rid o' the doubts but I felt better.

* * *

When we finished at Lugosis Buf headed off ta Saratoga 'n I headed off ta see the folks. It was after nine when I pulled over outside their house in Red Hook. My heart sank when I saw Doris 'n Harly's car was in the drive. Last thing I needed was a double whammy with Dad 'n Doris. I was thinkin' 'bout blowin' it off when the front door opened 'n Ma's head popped out. Too late. Better go take my lumps.

When I walked in Ma was sittin' in the rocker. Looked like she was knittin' somethin' for a kid. Doris and Harly was on the settee. I could tell from the way Doris was twitchin' that she still had a turnip up her ass. Harly was lyin' at the other end o' the settee, like a fat whale, snorin', dribblin' on the cushions. Dad sat in his easy chair, cloud o' blue smoke over his head. He put the paper down 'n looked at me. I smelled baked dinner. Harly let out a low fart.

"So Renny. You want some tea? Or maybe coffee?" Ma always tried ta keep things normal, but it wouldn't last. I shook my head 'n flopped down on the other settee. As I glanced at Dad I noticed Harly come 'round 'n heave himself upright, lickin' the spit off his lips 'n blinkin' himself awake. He grinned at me vacantly. "Hi Ren. How are ya? Buford with ya?" Harly thought Buford was a hell of a PI, the wingtips 'n gold chain bein' a standout success. Least as far as Harly was concerned.

"Nope." I said. "Buf's makin' a contribution ta the bookmakers' benevolent fund."

Harly stared at me a for a long time. He could be a dim bulb, as Ma coulda said. 'Cept she wouldn't. "Oh yeah" he grunted. He started noddin' vigorously. Then I heard Doris sniff. Doris always leads with a sniff. Sort o' like 'Excuse me'. Just enough for everyone ta hesitate for a second. I'd figured out Doris was jealous 'bout somethin' but fucked if I knew what it was. She had Harly, a regular income, and her own home. I didn't have none o' those things. Far as I could see the only possible downside was Harly. Trouble is I'd prob'ly say the same 'bout Doris if I was lookin' at it from Harly's perspective. But no use beatin' 'bout the bush as Ma woulda said. Nothin' is ever gonna make Doris happy. In fact, what makes Doris happy is bein' unhappy. 'We have some serious issues here gentlemen.' Gunny said that a lot. Mostly when he was gettin' ready ta ream us.

"How's it goin' Ma?" Least I could catch up with the old girl. Ma grinned 'n rattled her needles. I was 'bout ta ask Dad how he was doin' when Doris started in. I felt my gut start ta burn as soon as she spoke.

"We really should be going Harly. It's getting a bit late." O' course. Real late. Fuckin' late. I mean, who else would come callin' at this hour? Only low-life bums gonna do that. Right? Harly blinked 'n started ta roll off the settee. Dad waved him back. It was me blew it. I musta smirked, 'cause Doris started ta go red.

"Well I think it's completely inconsiderate. I mean, coming around at this hour when most people are thinking about going to bed." I started ta wonder why I'd come by.

"I was out on a job..." But Doris was on me like a fly on dog shit.

"You were on a job? YOU WERE ON A JOB?" Doris almost jumped off the settee. "You haven't been on a job for the past two years. All you do in drive round in that car of yours and pretend you're on a job. Big shot private eye indeed." Even Dad seemed surprised at the outburst. Harly shifted ta the other end o' the settee 'n started fiddlin' with his hands. Ya mighta said he had a well-developed sense o' self-preservation. 'Cept he married Doris.

"And when do you ever come here? When? I come and see Mum and Dad every week but you? You! You come by whenever it's convenient. Which means never. Who do you think helps Mum every week? The tooth fairy? Is it always up to Kenny and me?"

"Doris. I come by every week. And speakin' o' Kenny, I ain't seen him down here much for months." O' course this was simply pourin' gas on a bonfire. Guess I was tired after a long day.

"You just leave Kenny out of this. You're the problem. You never pull your weight. You always let someone else do the hard work." I cut my eyes at Harly but the weasel was doin' the big fade. With all the hoo-hah goin' on Ma slipped out 'n made tea. It was only time I drank the stuff. It was always too sweet for me though, mind ya, that Oklahoma crude I'm drinkin' at the office ain't for the faint hearted. While I sipped the tea I looked the family over. What was the word Gunny used just before the Bulge? Dysfunctional! That was it. He told the squad it was dysfunctional. That if we didn't get our act tagether we was all gonna die. 'N fucked if he was gonna join us. Well that's my family. Dysfunctional. Or maybe it's the way all families are. Who knows? I shivered 'n shook my head. Time ta boogie.

As I drove outa Red Hook I thought back on the visit. It was always the same. 'Cept this time I didn't start arguin' with Dad. Thank Doris for that I guess. It's partly why I enlisted in '42. Doris never forgave me. She didn't move outa home 'til she married Harly 'n I think that was her problem. Deep down. That I done what she wanted ta do. 'N I was still doin' it. But for Chris' sake, Doris had ta live her own life 'n stop worryin' what others was doin'.

The streets was slick from the late showers so I drove slowly. As I crossed the Brooklyn Bridge I was thinkin', 'Good days, bad days'. This was a good day maybe. We had work. That was good. It paid well, even if it needed overdrive. That was good too. 'N the case was, what's the word I'm lookin' for here? Interestin'! The worm o' doubt crawled back inta my mind right 'bout then, but like always, I crushed the sucker. Then, just as I turned on the radio, the late score come through. The Yankees was down. Again. Ta the Sox. 4-3 in the 9th. Maybe it wasn't such a good day.

# Aphrodite

The Hamptons is a hundred miles east o' New York. Takes maybe three hours dependin' on traffic 'n weather. I figured Bridgehampton 'round ten if there wasn't no pile-ups. We took route 27 'n once we got through the 'burbs 'n out towards Freeport the houses thinned out. There was market gardens each side, a strong smell o' salt in the air. It filtered the fumes o' the factories on the East River. When we could see the ocean it had a cobalt white tipped hue. Reminded me o' the day Buf 'n I arrived back from London in '46. We was on the Anaconda, a cool breeze blowin' up the sound. We was all packed onta the decks, waitin' for that first glimpse o' the Big Apple, first glimpse in over four years. 'N first thing we see is the top o' the Empire State. The sun was burnin' off the last o' the mist 'n it seemed ta shoot up outa the fog like a golden spear. I swear ta God there wasn't a dry eye on the deck. Over the next ten minutes the wind cleared the fog from Manhattan like a curtain at a play. 'N the city sparkled for us. It was like our own special welcome home, I tell ya.

We hit Bridgehampton city limits right on 9.30. It wasn't a big place but it was money. The streets was clean 'n paved, sidewalks neat 'n green, lawns 'n hedges trimmed 'n even. Some houses was double storied joints with gables, others single story bungalows. They all looked expensive. I pulled the car over in front o' City Hall. It looked expensive too, a white timber two story with a large verandah, glassed timber front doors with columns on each side, brass door handles. Buf was in 'n out in five seconds, roneoed city map in hand. "Easy as" he said as he slid back inta the car. "East Hampton. Ocean Drive is pretty much where you'd think it should be."

Ten minutes later I turned inta Ocean Drive. It was a dead end, shaped like a light bulb. There was houses on only the right hand side o' the street, the Prancey house the last, with nothin' on its left but a short burst o' scrub 'n sand, a wide white beach, then the rollin' grey-green o' the Atlantic. All the houses was spectacular. There wasn't no fences.

At the Prancey place a shell drive curved from the road up ta the front porch, maybe fifty yards. 'Bout twenty yards from the house the drive split, one arm snakin' past the porch 'n back 'round ta the street, the other turnin' off down the right hand side where there was a parkin' area with a garage. The house was a big joint, maybe 6000 square feet. But it was a mess. We'd seen enough in four years workin' for Uncle Sam ta know a serious explosion had taken place. Whatever it was went off in there had some juice. There was timber, tiles, plaster 'n glass scattered everywhere. Our shoes crunched in it as we walked off the road onta the lawn. 'Least on what was left o' the lawn. It was overgrown 'n uncut, its surface cut with ruts. The ruts was double wides so I figured for fire trucks. The white shell driveway was the same. Rutted 'n blackened. Faded police tape flapped 'round the remains o' the front doors but it wasn't takin' its job seriously. I was surprised how bad it all looked. Six months 'n no clean-up?

The thick stone walls at the front was still standin' but the roof had collapsed 'n all the doors 'n windows was gone. The inside o' the house was burned out. The damage indicated the house blew out ta the front 'n the right hand side, away from the garage. The house walls was also blown out in this area 'n the garage wall was black 'n battered. There wasn't a lot o' burnt material scattered 'round, sure evidence o' high explosive force. While Buf picked his way 'round the remains o' what was prob'ly a kitchen or laundry or somethin', I took a look 'round the garage.

The garage was bigger 'n my apartment. All the windows in the garage was gone 'n most o' the roof tiles. The side that faced the house was scorched. Inside there was a board screwed ta the wall above a long bench. It was covered in marked shapes for tools. 'Cept all the tools was gone. There was several planks o' timber stored in the rafters 'n some on the floor, musta come down in the blast. Apart from that the garage was empty. At the rear a door opened inta a utility closet. There wasn't much in there neither, couple o' brooms 'n a rusted bucket. Everything was covered in dust. The concrete floor was unmarked.

Through the broken window o' the garage I could see Buf diggin' in the wreckage. While I watched he pulled a round black object out from under the broken timber. Jesus it gave me a fright. Then I realised it was the ball cock off a cistern. He was prob'ly standin' in what was left o' the john. The goofball held it out 'n started talkin'. Just who the fuck is Yorick? When I yelled at him he laughed 'n tossed it back in the mess. I ask ya.

We picked 'round in the debris for maybe 'n hour. Buf did a coupla sightlines on the direction of the explosion 'n I walked the grounds. But we found nothin'. Why would we? It was more'n six months. The cops woulda picked it ta death last August. Or did they? The investigations was finished in a week. So maybe not. Maybe a more careful look 'round wasn't gonna hurt. But it was gonna have ta wait. We had a date with Long Island's finest.

* * *

It was 'round eleven when we pulled up outside the Greenport/Bridgehampton Police Department. I parked the Packard near the front doors 'n we trooped in. The foyer was cramped, even compared ta my cave in Morningside. It was maybe twenty by twenty with benches on two walls, khaki walls, linoleum the colour o' puke. Things was quiet 'cause we was the only customers. The high table opposite the front doors guarded access ta the bullpen 'n the offices out back. A heavyset guy was sittin' at the table. He was givin' us the evil eye. His head was polished up like a bad apple 'n just as bald. Almost. What hair he had he was growin' long on one side then sweepin' it up over the top. Looked like it was glued down with wax. Or maybe sump oil. Why don't someone just tell these guys?

"He'p you gentlemen?" Baldy's voice was fifty years o' smoke 'n liquor.

"We'd like to speak to Officer Windschuttle if possible." Buford handed over our licence cards. Baldy peered at the cards then us, his mouth curled like he'd just stepped in dog shit.

"Officer Windschuttle's out. You can wait." He nodded towards the benches along the wall.

Buf leaned against the table. "Any idea maybe when she'll be back?" This enraged Baldy for some reason. He coloured up like a Granny Smith.

"OFFICER Windschuttle. OFFICER Windschuttle is out on patrol with a partner. As I said, you can wait."

I looked at Buf 'n shrugged. I figured Baldy just needed a dump or somethin'. Windschuttle wasn't here so we might as well ease the knees as Ma always says. But just as we settled on the bench, which was hard as a Jewish cobblers backside by the way, the doors blew open 'n three o' the local Sherlocks walked in. Two looked like Baldy's brothers but the third was a young blond guy, tall 'n lean. The old guys barged straight through, noddin' at Baldy. We watched 'em hit the coffee urn out back. Blondie nodded ta Baldy 'n gave us a once-over. Then the doors swung open again 'n in come number four. She stopped in front o' the desk. Baldy nodded in our direction. "These guys are gumshoes" he said. "They were askin' for ya."

She wore a navy shirt, looped with braid, sleeves rolled, dark uniform trousers, tight on long legs, .38 special high on the right hip, handcuffs 'n baton on the left. Her forearms were strong and smooth, her hands long and slender. She had a thick bob o' shiny black hair and a long straight nose. Her skin was the colour o' strong coffee. Her nose was a Greek classic. Ma woulda said it was noble. I woulda said she looked like Aphrodite.

She eyeballed us. We eyeballed her back. She didn't say nothin', just frowned 'n cocked an eyebrow. Nearly tall as me I reckon 'n I come in 'round six. 'N packed inta that uniform. Not that I noticed o' course. Finally she raised her hand 'n hooked her finger. We follered her through ta the bullpen where she settled herself behind a battered wooden desk that was covered in papers. She cleared some space, gestured at two hard backs in front. She didn't offer us a drink.

"So gentlemen?" she said.

"We should introduce ourselves" I said. I handed over our IDs. "I'm Renny Mack. This is Buford Messner. We run a small PI agency in Manhattan. We need maybe an hour o' ya time." Homer was still naggin' away in the back o' my head. Mrs Thompson woulda been proud.

"Sure." She held out a long fingered hand. We all shook. "I'm Ally Windschuttle, Greenport and Bridgehampton PD. I'm coming up to a break anyhow so how can I help?" Buford ran his finger quickly over his notes. She watched him attentively. I watched her. Attentively. She kept her hands clasped tagether in front but cut her eyes at me every now 'n then. She was still frownin'. I noticed she didn't have no rings on her fingers.

"We've been asked to carry out an investigation into the death of Richard Prancey. You'll recall that he was the victim of a gas explosion at the Prancey residence in Bridgehampton last August. Mr Prancey's wife has asked for an independent review in order to close insurance claims." Aprhrodite blinked slowly at him then nodded. She cut her eyes at me again. I realised I was still starin'.

Buf continued. "We understand that you were the officer assigned and that you worked with the NYPD. We're hoping that you can give us a run down."

She consulted her watch. "Yes. I guess I can give you a run down. I can remember the incident pretty well. It's not often we get a visit from the NYPD. But I can only discuss material that's publicly available." She turned to a large cabinet behind her desk, opened the middle drawer, 'n took out a thin folder.

"Ok. "But I only can spare twenty minutes" she said, perchin' silver specs on her nose. "Prancey died on 12 August. The explosion took place at approximately 2.50 am and was called in at 2.55 am. We were on the scene at 3.15 am. Briefly, as per our report, the house was burning fiercely and the body of the deceased was located in the driveway between the house and the garage, adjacent to his motor vehicle, a late model Cadillac. Over the next two days we interviewed the neighbours and the family. Mr Prancey's wife and mother arrived that same morning. Mrs Prancey senior identified the body. Both the wife and mother confirmed that they were planning to spend a week at East Hampton for a short summer break and that Mr Prancey had come up a few days early. Apparently he was writing his memoirs." Interestin' readin' I thought. If he'd been able ta finish it. It could point ta motive. I get ta say that sort o' thing. I'm a professional.

Aphrodite continued. "Our investigation indicated that a gas explosion had taken place and claimed the life of the deceased. The house was extensively damaged. So much so that the possibility of other evidence coming to light was almost eliminated. We interviewed all the neighbours who were at their homes in Ocean Drive on the evening of the 12th but only one, a Mrs Terry Randall, was able to provide any additional information. Mrs Randall lives at 8 Ocean Drive, two or three houses away from the Prancey residence. She told us that she was up late reading when she heard some voices and the sound of a car engine. She said she saw a person, whom she assumed to be Mr Prancey because of his height, walk up the driveway with two other male persons. After a brief conversation the two other male persons entered a motor vehicle and departed. Mrs Randall believed it to be a late model Cadillac, not unlike that of her brother in law. Mrs Randall said she couldn't recall the registration number of the vehicle but that it may have included the letter 'T' and the number '2'."

'What time was this?"

"Mrs Randall wasn't sure but thought it was around 11.00 pm."

"How 'bout the car?" I asked. "It was covered in mud. Did that give ya any leads? 'N the explosion. What did the utility company say?"

"There were several issues that caused us some problems initially. I'll deal with each one separately." She turned several pages before she found what she wanted.

"The Fire Department wasn't able to clear us into the house until late on the Sunday afternoon. It took part of the morning to get the fire out and several more hours before they were prepared to say it was safe. After a careful search for evidence and unusual features we identified the site of the fire's ignition and probable site of the explosion. This, we think, took place at the side of the house, the kitchen according to the house plans provided by the family, just opposite the garage. But some things about the explosion worried us." Aphrodite stopped referring ta the file.

"A lot of the debris was thrown a long distance from the house. The kitchen was destroyed completely and adjoining rooms flattened. The garage, however, was only moderately damaged. This seemed unusual given the severe damage to the house so we looked closely at the remains. It appeared to us that the main force of the explosion was in a particular direction, namely south east or, more specifically, directly away from the garage side of the house toward the ocean. That was the first issue.

The second issue was what caused the explosion. We found metal fragments in the wreckage. A portion of the metal fragments appeared to be part of a handle or nozzle. We made enquiries of the Bridgehampton Gas & Electric Company and found that the Prancey house was fitted to run on gas for both heating and cooking. The gas was supplied in gas cylinders, which were fitted in an annex at the rear of the house and just to the side of the kitchen. This location was very close to the apparent point of detonation. It appeared that the cause was a gas leak and subsequent ignition. The gas cylinders had burst and were lying against the wall of the garage, close to where Prancey's body was located."

Aphrodite paused, then pushed her chair back 'n stood up. "Before I go any further, you fellows like a coffee?" We follered her out ta the bullpen. We could hear an argument in the squad room. Sounded like Baldy 'n his buddies was Yankees fans. I could hear Blondie fightin' back but it was three ta one.

* * *

After we settled back in our chairs she continued. "The third point that gave us some concern was the mud on the victim's car." She turned again to the report. "The substance was a combination of sand, dirt and shell grit. The wheel arches and sub floor were heavily coated in this substance. Less so on the body or bodywork. There was only one beach area that seemed to have these ingredients and that was out near Montauk Point. As far as we could determine there was no reason for Mr Prancey to go to Montauk Point. Unfortunately no one was able to provide any comment on the condition of the car when it left New York. Neither the wife nor the mother were able to comment and none of the Prancey New York staff had seen the car either."

"Did ya trace his movements after he left New York?"

Windschuttle shook her head. "Mr Prancey apparently left Manhattan early in the morning though no one was able to give an exact time. Roughly somewhere between four and five a.m. was a general consensus. If we assume, say, a 4.30 getaway, then Prancey was in East Hampton around 7.30 a.m. but, again, none of the neighbours could confirm his arrival. So between 4.30am on the 12th and 3.00am on the 13th we have no track of Prancey's movements. Needless to say he could have covered a lot of ground in that time. Alternatively, he could have spent the whole day in the house in Ocean Drive. Alternatively he may have spent much of the day in New York."

"What 'bout the 'unknown male persons'?"

"We didn't do any better on that either." she sighed. "Mrs Randall wasn't able to identify the make of vehicle. And she didn't get more than one letter and one number off a six digit number plate. We did a check with motor vehicle registrations. They told us there was possibly sixty thousand motor vehicles that might fit. And that's just New York. Doesn't include Jersey, Massachusetts or Connecticut. No way we would do any good there though we did put out a broadcast asking for anyone with information to come forward. But not one iota." She leaned her elbows on the desk, cupped her chin in her hands. She had brown eyes but there was a yeller streak in one iris. She blinked slowly.

"The utility company was involved from the start of the investigation. The investigator was one of their more senior engineers, name of Martin Beil. You may have seen his name in some of the newspaper reports. Marty came down on the Sunday. He said he wasn't happy with it but he wanted to check the company records before he reached any conclusion. You know, when the bottles were last checked, when were they filled, when delivered and so on. Anyhow, he came back to us three days later on the Wednesday and confirmed it was a gas explosion. When we asked him about the direction of the blast he said there was nothing unusual about the damage and no indications that it was anything sub standard in the fittings or gas bottles supplied by the company. Apparently everything had only recently been checked. He said he company's procedures were sound."

"But somethin' had ta be wrong. Guy was blown up. Surely that ain't 'misadventure'."

Aphrodite glanced at her watch then rubbed her eyes. She looked like an owl. With glasses. "When the utility company report came back it closed the matter. We had no reason to question it." This didn't sound like good police procedure, 'n I didn't think she believed it, but I let it go.

"'N the mud?"

"All I can say is that the mud was identified as Montauk Point mud, and it wasn't possible to fully trace Prancey's movements on the 12th. The final report concluded that Prancey drove from New York to East Hampton on the morning of 12 August, arriving sometime around 7.30am. No one saw him arrive. At some time during the day he drove from East Hampton to Montauk Point, where the vehicle became heavily coated with mud and other grit from the beach. He returned to his home in Ocean Drive where he remained until the time of his death at approximately 2.50am on the morning of the 13th of August. The male persons and the car that were seen by Mrs Randall late on the 12th were not identified and were determined to be unrelated to the event."

What? Unrelated? Like Hitler was fuckin' unrelated ta Barbarossa? Jesus! But I said nothin'.

"I don't think there's much more I can give you" she said, standin' up. She glanced at her watch again. "It's after twelve. I've burned patrol time. Ralph's gonna go ballistic."

Our cue, as Ma always says. I tapped Buford on the knee. We stood up. "Thanks for ya time Officer. Much appreciated. One last thing though. Is there any way we can get a look at the car? That's if it's still 'round o' course."

Aphrodite pointed ta the map on the wall. "Strangely enough it's still in the pound in Sag Harbour. But the pound is a lock up. It's not manned so you wont be able to get to see the car unless someone takes you. Tell you what. I'm off shift at three. Meet me out front about three fifteen and I'll be happy to show you. I doubt that it's going to give you much after six months but its no problem."

"Ok" I said. "We have ta see Beil anyhow. How 'bout three thirty firm?"

"Three thirty's good." she said, holdin' out her hand. We shook 'n she walked us out. As we paused at the main doors she said "You'll find Marty at the diner 'cross from the utility company. It's only a few doors down." We thanked her again 'n stepped outside.

"So Kemosabe, what's next?" asked Buford, slappin' his notes against his leg 'n lookin' up 'n down the street.

"Well, she said the diner so that's where we're goin'. If Marty ain't there then at least we eat."

* * *

The diner was barely fifty yards from the Donut Shop so we walked over 'n climbed the front steps. It was a throwback from before the war, a long silver Airstream lookalike set on blocks in a cinder lot. It had a screen door 'n a row o' windows at the front, lookin' out over Main. Inside, under the windows, there was a half dozen low booths, 'n aisle three or four foot wide, then ten or so red vinyl stools close against a stainless steel counter. The counter was maybe thirty foot long, ketchup bottles 'n salt 'n pepper shakers scattered on top. There was three hot boxes filled with bagels 'n donuts, one at each end 'n one in the middle. Out back a waitress hovered near a hatchway. Through the hatchway we could see a single cook. He had hairy arms 'n long greasy hair, 'n wore a dirty singlet with a spotty apron. I saw a faded blue tattoo on his left shoulder. There was only one other guy in the diner, perched on a stool at the far end, close by the wall, under a calendar with Rita Hayworth. He was readin' a newspaper. He had thick black glasses 'n a shirt pocket full o' pens. He looked 'bout 40, 45 years old. He was losin' his hair 'n wore tortoiseshell with thick frames 'n thicker lenses. He had a big paunch, low over his belt. Might as well a had 'Engineer' tattooed on his forehead.

"If I ever look like that just kill me" I said. Buford ignored me 'n picked up the menu. After we ordered we sidled over. Marty saw us comin' but kept his head down, flickin' his eyes at us every now 'n then. When we reached him he twitched 'n looked up. He had a high, whiny voice. "Do I know you?"

"Name's Renny Mack. This is my partner Buford Messner. If ya Marty Beil we'd like ta speak with ya. We're doin' some work on the Prancey place." Marty face paled 'n he started ta shake his head. Talk 'bout startle the pigeons as Ma woulda said. He flapped 'round with his paper for a second or two then tried ta stand up. I put a hand on his shoulder, kept his butt planted on the stool. Buf 'n I sat down. One on each side.

"It's nothin' ta worry 'bout Marty. Folks in New York just wanta close out the insurance claim. Routine." But Marty was spooked. Now we had ta find out why.

"But I gave my report to the police last year. I didn't expect to have any more to do with it."

"We only need a few minutes o' ya time Marty. We won't even take notes. It's only background." This calmed him down 'n he settled back on the stool. The waitress slapped two coffees down on the counter with a grunt.

"Tell us what happened? Don't worry, we wont be quotin' ya or nothin'." Marty's eyes bobbed 'round behind the lenses like brown marbles. I kept my eyes on Rita. I didn't wanta have 'n epileptic fit.

"Ok. I'll do my best. I was called about 8.00am on Sunday morning. I think it was the 13th or 14th of August. Close to that anyhow. It was my boss, Roger McTiernan. He said the cops had called him. The Prancey house down on Ocean had blown up and they were saying it was gas. He wanted me to check it out and get a report to him by Monday night. We knew there were no mains in that area but we'd been selling bottled gas for nearly two years so an explosion was possible. Anyhow, I went down there and the place was crawling with police, fire department, ambulances and every other hanger-on you can imagine. I didn't want to go in but one of the cops spotted me and waved me through. The house was a mess. I had no doubt it had exploded. I just had to find out why. Or try to.

Officer Windschuttle was there and so was Ralph, the station sergeant. He's a rude man. But Officer Windschuttle was very nice. She guided me down the side of the house near the garage and just told me to do my thing. When I checked the kitchen area I could see evidence of significant fire damage. There was also clear evidence that a severe explosion had occurred. This was evident in the flattened stone walls and the general razing of all internal walls and fittings in that area." Buf looked up 'n frowned.

"R-A-Z-I-N-G." said Marty. "Basically it means everything has been flattened. Nothing left."

What a lunkhead. Even Yorick woulda known that. Marty continued.

"So the area around the kitchen had been flattened. But the damage appeared to be directed away from the area near the back door, 'cross the kitchen toward the living room, and finally out through the front of the house and toward the ocean. This I found very unusual."

"Wasn't the gas bottles stored in that area?"

"Yes, they were. But it would be unusual for the bottles themselves to be the point of ignition. If there is a gas explosion, and thankfully we don't have many, it's usually the result of a leakage of gas somewhere in the seals or the fittings. And when it does occur, it's often in kitchen areas where a fitting might be left open. The reason that kitchens are the most likely culprit is the chance of the leakage coming in contact with an open flame. Someone comes into the kitchen, decides to make some coffee, turns one of the burners but forgets to turn it off. If there's a leak somewhere the gas will build from the floor up. It's heavier than air. As soon as it tops the burners, Ka-Boom! That's the most likely scenario. It could occur around the bottles but that would be rare."

"So what happened?"

"It was clear from the damage that the blast originated close to where the gas bottles were stored in an annex next to the kitchen, the main force driving though the kitchen and out the front of the house as I described. If the blast was caused by a leakage in the kitchen the blast would have been more evenly distributed, doing similar damage in all directions. From what I saw there must have been some form of interference with the gas bottles to let gas escape and then expose it to a flame. Nothing else stacked up."

"Is that what ya put in ya report." Perspiration popped on Marty's forehead. He started ta get all furtive. After years o' workin' with Buford I knew the look well.

"You said this was off the record. That's why I'm telling you these things. But you can't repeat them." He pointed at Buford. "Why's he taking notes? You said you weren't taking notes."

"That's for our reference. Ours alone Marty. I shit ya not. Won't be sharin' nothin'." Marty gave Buford a look. Buf shrugged 'n closed his notebook.

"Well. I went to the Chief the next day - that's McTiernan by the way - and gave him a quick run down on what I'd seen. I was surprised because he wasn't interested. He said it was a simple gas explosion. I told him I thought it warranted a closer look but he said he'd think about it. Then he told me he expected my report to indicate a gas leak had caused the blast. I didn't do anything for a couple of days but when I went back on Wednesday with my report he said he had decided not to investigate any further. He said there was a major line failure somewhere between Brentwood and Greenport and he needed me on it straight away. He asked me to finalise the report immediately so I did."

"So even though you were concerned you still submitted the report that he asked for?" asked Buford.

"Yep. I figured he was probably right. He's a lot more experienced than I am and who'd go blowing themselves up anyhow? Officer Windschuttle told me that Mr Prancey must have been in the kitchen and that he was blown out through the windows into the drive way. I can't see any reason why he would have sabotaged his own gas bottles, left an open flame nearby, and stayed inside the house."

"Ya told Windschuttle all o' this?"

"Nope. Didn't see the need to. In any case I didn't speak to her except in the first few minutes when I arrived at the scene. After that I just finished the report and handed it to the Chief. Everything must have been fine because I never heard another thing about it." He checked the clock behind the counter. "Time for me to be getting back to work. We've got seven miles of overhead to get up by the weekend out near Montauk. It's going to be tight but we can't have everyone blacked out over the Easter weekend. The Chief would shit lightning bolts." After takin' our cards, 'n agreein' ta call if he remembered anything, he waddled out. We watched him climb inta a red 'n white truck, the tray heavy with drums 'n cable. A guy with a red beard joined him. Same hardhat, same overalls, same paunch, same pens.

The waitress refilled our cups while we considered what Marty told us. Some aspects didn't stack up. Marty said the explosion blew through the house from rear ta front. But Prancey was found at the back, in the driveway between the house 'n the garage. Maybe the Chief did have more experience than Marty but what Marty said just raised more questions.

* * *

It was 3.15 when we left the diner. Buf was still hungry 'n bought a coupla Twinkies. We sat in the car 'n waited while Buford dropped crumbs all over the place. Just before three thirty the doors o' the station opened 'n two cops walked out. They was both in civvies 'n carried bowlin' bags. They jumped in a Studebaker Skyway 'n headed off. 'Bout two minutes later Windschuttle pushed the doors open. She spotted us straight away 'n walked over. She had her uniform jacket buttoned 'n her cap in one hand. In the other she was swingin' car keys. She leaned over 'n tapped a key on the window. Her eyes was very bright. I noticed she had a spray o' freckles 'cross her forehead.

"So. Hi again fellers. How did you go with Marty?" She didn't wait for 'n answer, nodded towards a Plymouth parked at end o' the lot. "How about you drive over with me? Your friend can follow." I hopped out 'n follered Windschuttle while Buf swapped sides. She had a '41 coupe. It started soon as she kicked it over. We was in Sag Harbour in fifteen minutes. Best I can say it was a poor version o' Bridgehampton. Engineerin' works, gas stations, tired shop fronts. There was one intersection in the middle o' town. Windschuttle slowed down as we passed, watchin' the streets on the left. "I always miss the turn off." she said. "There it is. Merle Street."

She turned left on a narrow strip o' tarmac that wound itself between banks o' tall grass. On our right I could see a wire fence. The road follered the fence for two hundred yards then turned a sharp right. We pulled up on a gravel lot in front o' rusted steel gates. The gates was a skanky green with most o' the paint flaked off. They was chained tagether with a padlock 'n a loop o' cable. Behind it, a coupla run down sheds squatted in the pale sunlight. They looked like old warehouses. There was cars parked next ta one o' the sheds. Half a dozen tall pitch pines made a dark pool 'round the cars. Whole place was on its knees.

Aphrodite popped the glove box, grabbed another set o' keys, then slipped outa the car 'n opened the gates. We slid through. I pushed the gates closed behind us but didn't lock 'em. It was dead quiet, spooky even. We walked over ta the parked cars, maybe fifty yards. The yard had no lights 'n it was hard ta see in the gloom. I noticed Windschuttle snap the flap cover on her .38. I looked back but there was no sign o' Buf. I wondered where he was. He was right behind us when we left the Donut House.

There was five cars in a small cluster along the side o' the biggest shed. Two had spotty tarps pulled over top. The other three was uncovered. The nearest car was a Packard like mine but a newer model. Its whole right side was stove in. The door was pushed 'cross onta the passenger seat 'n the front windscreen 'n side windows was smashed. The right side o' the bonnet was peeled open. I could see the engine had been pushed back inta the foot well.

"Last New Year's Eve." Windschuttle stood next ta me, starin' at the wreck. "Three kids from Greenport and one too many Rheingolds. Pulled them out of Lacey's Creek. One dead and one in a wheelchair. It was a tragedy all round. I see their mothers in the street at least once every week. They're broken women." She turned ta the right, a dirty Caddie, slewed ta one side with flat tires. Chrome gleamed under the dirt. "That's Prancey's" she said. It was a Coupe de Ville, two doors 'n white-walls. It was dirty but didn't appear ta be damaged. There was black marks along one side but these wiped off when I swiped my fist 'cross the metal. I walked round the car. Windschuttle follered.

Prancey's car was covered in dust, birdshit, batshit, spiders, all sorts o' stuff. Been in the pound six months, maybe more, so it was a little crusty. I wondered why the family hadn't claimed it. I wiped the flat o' my hand 'cross the front mudguard, brushin' away dust 'n other goo. Underneath there was a brittle coat o' white mud. I picked at it with my fingernail but no dice! Six months in the open had baked the mud hard. I peered under the guard. The wheel arch was clogged with more o' the white muck. I asked Windschuttle if I could have her car keys. I selected the longest 'n used it ta pry off a chunk big as a large egg. My knees popped as I creaked ta my feet. I held the egg under the light. The mud was hard 'n brittle 'n bone dry. Small pieces broke off between my fingers as I examined it. It was a mixture of dark soil, fine white sand 'n somethin' gave it a sparkle. I sniffed at it but it didn't have no smell. I wrapped it in my handkerchief 'n put it in my jeans pocket. I looked up at Windschuttle who turned the light away. She gestured towards my pocket. "You planning to test that or something?"

"Or somethin'." I said. "I'll keep it 'n talk to Buford 'bout it later." I turned towards the gates. Where in the heck was he?

Windschuttle saw me lookin'. "No problems. He can't go too far. It's hard to get into any mischief up here." But it was gettin' dark, wet 'n late, 'n we had a two maybe three hour drive ta New York. I made ta walk back ta the car but Windschuttle started hoverin'. "You know" she started. "There's a couple of things...ah...I thought we might be able to talk about. Maybe...um...a bit unofficial but related, sort of, to what we were talking about earlier."

"Ok" I said slowly. I thought for a moment. "Ok. We need ta get back ta the city but maybe we can catch a quick dinner?"

She nodded. "That would be fine." She glanced at her watch. "It's just after five. The Crowns does an early session."

"Ok. Lets find Buf 'n we'll head down the Crowns." We walked back ta Windschuttle's car 'n climbed in. Windschuttle turned the car 'n was 'bout to pull onta the main road when a set o' lights turned off 'n come towards us. We slowed 'n pulled alongside each other. Buford 'n Windschuttle cranked their windows.

"Sorry" yelled Buford. "I must've missed the turn. I ended up in Noyack and had to turn 'round and come back. What'd I miss?"

I leaned over, my face close to Windschuttle's. "We're gonna have 'n early dinner with Officer Windschuttle then head back. It'll be late getting' home. We're eatin' at the Crowns in Bridgehampton. Don't get lost this time." As we drove off I ticked off a mental checklist. With only two days before the holiday weekend I figured Babycakes deadline was already a bust. We might have ta pull some all-nighters. No excuses. The ponies 'n the pooches was benched. 'N fuck Yorick.

* * *

We sat down at the Crowns' at six. While we waited for our orders we discussed the case. Both Aphrodite 'n Marty Beil had hinted at interference. But what? 'N by who? Beil felt he'd been pressured. This suggested it was internal. But what this meant in terms o' who was who in Bridgehampton I didn't know. I figured I'd have ta talk with Beil again. 'N there was other questions too: why was the NYPD involved; what was the source o' the explosion; what was the cause o' the explosion; who was the guys at the house with Prancey; who was the guys come later; what was Prancey's movements; where'd the mud on Prancey's car come from; was it even relevant; why wasn't Prancey's car damaged? Was these even the right questions? What other questions I should be askin'?

Aphrodite stared at me 'n cradled her tea. " Like we've said, there are aspects to the accident that don't add up. Let me give you my thoughts, but interrupt if you have a question. First the explosion. All the force appeared to be directed away from the kitchen area toward the front of the house. It didn't look like a normal gas explosion. That would have been more generalized in its damage. I'm sure Marty Beil felt the same way but his report said there was nothing unusual. The second thing was the source of the explosion. It looked like the explosion was centred right where the gas bottles were stored. Marty said these were very safe and that some sort of naked flame would need to be placed right next to them and the fittings loosened. He said it would be very unusual for this to happen. But again, his report had no comment in regard to the source other than as a gas leak." At this point we was interrupted with our orders. They smelled terrific. After a taste 'n compliments Windschuttle continued.

"Then there was the mud on the car. There wasn't, as far as I know, anything on Long Island that might resemble it, but before we could check it out the NYPD arrived." She shook her head. "What they were doing up here I have no idea but they arrived within two days of the accident. And once they arrived they pretty much took over. They investigated the mud and decided it came from Montauk Point. But I know they didn't even go up there. And I know they paid a visit to McTiernan at the utility."

"They put the squeeze on?"

"I don't know. They spent a lot of time at the house with the utility people. Marty wasn't anywhere near as talkative after they arrived. I got the distinct feeling that he'd been instructed not to talk to us. And the same thing happened with the Chief. They visited him as soon as they arrived. He informed us that the investigation was theirs and that we were to do everything required to support it. It was out of our hands after that."

"Did anyone follow up on the men seen by Mrs Randall?" Buford asked.

She shook her head. "We put out a bulletin on the Monday morning but the NYPD took that over as well. I don't know if they made any attempt to follow it up."

"What else?"

"There was the autopsy. Prancey's body was taken to the Bridgehampton morgue early Sunday morning. Doc Talbot carried an autopsy out two days later. The cause of death seemed obvious, the guy had been blown up. But the body was so damaged from the explosion that the Doc wasn't able to make much of it. He said it was impossible to determine whether Prancey had any prior injuries. But, again, something was worrying him. Some of the undamaged tissue showed signs of bruising, which wouldn't have had time to form if it came from the explosion. There wasn't enough to be conclusive but the Doc said there seemed to be extensive bruising in two places adjacent to severe bones fractures."

Buf spoke again. "You're saying that Prancey was beaten up? Is that what killed him?"

"We'll never know. It was a huge explosion and the injuries were so bad the Doc wasn't prepared to reach a conclusion. His report cited death by misadventure. Just another wrinkle I guess." Windschuttle hesitated.

"More than a wrinkle maybe. Ya said the car was in between the house 'n the garage when the artillery arrived. I assume no one moved it? Right? So we visit the pound. Check the car. Car's dirty. Covered in mud. Some black marks. Looks like fire damage. Sure. But it rubs off. The car ain't been touched. What's the deal here? The garage is damaged but the car ain't? 'N now ya tellin' us Prancey didn't die in the explosion? Ya know what I'm sayin'?"

"Yes. He may not have died in the explosion. And the car might have been parked there after the explosion occurred. That means that there was someone else on the scene either when the explosion took place or shortly afterward. Someone that hasn't been identified."

"What'd the NYPD say when ya told 'em?"

"Not much. My partner Bernie and I both mentioned it on separate occasions. The first time I mentioned it they said they'd examine it but we heard nothing. The second time, maybe four or five days into the investigation, Bernie raised it again. Later that day the Chief called him in and told him to 'stick to his knitting'. That the NYPD knew what it was doing and he should do what he's told."

"Why's that? Who was the guys from NYPD? They woulda just been a coupla D's? Why would the Chief roll over for them?"

"There were two of them. The lead detective was man called Duffy. The other was called Thomas. Or something like that. Duffy did all the talking. He was arrogant. He said it was a team effort and that he wanted everything we had. He and Thomas took over and that was that. Bernie and I didn't have much to do. We were really surprised when they closed the investigation within a week."

Duffy! Again! I ain't seen him in years. Why the heck did this fuck keep turnin' up? God he'd love it too, comin' in 'n lordin' it over the locals. 'N one of 'em a black woman. Musta been all his wet dreams come true at once.

"What about the Chief?" asked Buford.

She snorted. "He couldn't look us in the eye for weeks. But we knew he didn't have any authority." Well somethin' sure stank ta high heaven as Ma woulda said. When there's pressure ta gag 'n investigation things get ugly. Real quick. Worst thing is ya can't trust no one.

But it was time ta get goin'. We finished up the meal, settled up with Bert, 'n walked out ta the cars. Windschuttle held out her hand. "I hope I've been able to help. Good luck with the investigation." She had a strong grip. "Anything else I can help with just give me a call."

"Will do." I said. She shook Buf's hand 'n we watched as she drove off. Then we hit the road. Buf didn't seem ta mind drivin' 'n I was tired anyhow so I dozed most o' the way back. We didn't talk 'bout the case. That mighta been a mistake.

# Irish pigs 'n horror movies

"Just mud" said Buford. "But I can see white sand and a lot of glitter." He was hunched over scratchin' at the mud I jagged off Prancey's car the day before. We was sittin' in my car not far from the office.

"Tell you what" said Buf. "You remember my buddy Dave Leibovitz? He's a chemist at Dulux. I can slip by and get him to take a look."

"Good idea. While ya doin' that I'll go see Sommerville." We had a dozen names ta chase down, some from Windschuttle, some from Artie Sumter. I had Sommerville 'n Perlman 'n I wanted ta get ta the library. Buf was gonna chase down Thommerson 'n Caldwell. We agreed ta meet at six at Lugosis.

The Chamber o' Commerce is middle o' Manhattan, not far from the Flatiron. Sommerville's office was on the third floor in a converted brownstone just off Fifth Avenue. Foyer was white marble, dark panellin', polished brass. I creaked up ta the third floor in a lift that musta been older 'n my grandfather. When I walked in the entry ta Sommerville's office first thing I see is a bloodhound with blue hair. I shit ya not. The woman at the desk was fifty years old 'n fifty inches high. She didn't say nothin' when I asked ta see the boss, just hopped up 'n went through the doors at the back. Was twenty minutes before she come out 'n said he'd see me.

Sommerville's office was same size as Carnegie Hall, with grey carpet that sucked at my feet. One whole wall was windows. I could see the Flatiron in the distance. His desk was burled wood, walnut maybe. It glowed like a good whisky. There was a tall leather chair behind the desk with what Ma woulda called a pretentious artwork above it. Charge o' the Light Brigade? Or maybe a Macy's sale. Sommerville was standin' behind the chair, packin' papers in a briefcase just like mine. Funny. I ain't never seen him down at Bernie's Five & Dime. When he saw me he stopped what he was doin' 'n picked a card off his desk. It was mine. He looked at it 'n sniffed. My 'arsehole' radar went off.

"I'm in a hurry Mr Mack, so we'll need to make it quick. I'm heading up to the Vineyard for the weekend." The Vineyard? I ain't never been there but he looked the part. Whatever that was. Penny loafers, pink shirt, dark blue pullover, the crease in his trousers so sharp ya coulda peeled spuds with it.

"I'm Renny Mack...." I started.

"I know who you are. I read your card. How can I help you?" What a shithead.

"My partner 'n me are doin' a foller up investigation. On the death o' Richard Prancey. We understand ya knew him."

"Good Lord, what are you following up? The man died six months ago. Surely you can let him rest in peace."

"Our client is Mr Prancey's wife Mr Sommerville. She's expectin' a report early next week."

"A report on what? What are you searching for? The man died in a gas explosion for God's sake. Read the police reports and save yourself a lot of time." Sommerville snapped his briefcase closed 'n dropped inta the chair. I took the opportunity 'n sat down opposite. Sommerville frowned.

"We seen the police reports Mr Sommerville. So our questions is pretty routine really. We're lookin' for background. Anything that might help."

"Help what? Help you? Are you mad?" Guy was a real pig. "Of course not. And why would I tell you something that I hadn't already told the police? Read the police reports and you'll see my statement. I told them everything I knew. Which wasn't much I might add."

"But ya knew Mr Prancey for a long time?" Sommerville stood up 'n startin' shufflin' more papers.

"I knew Richard for many years. We worked together on many large projects. Projects that were good for the city. He was a fine man and we all miss him. There's nothing more I can or will say. I have to go. Thank you Mr Mack. Please show yourself out." But I wasn't done. I didn't move. Sommerville started ta twitch. He kept starin' at the door like the bulldog was gonna save him. After twitchin' 'n squirmin' for a while he sat down.

"Alright" he said. "I really have to go but I can spare five minutes." He stretched a leg 'n plucked at his crease. "Richard and I weren't friends. Not really. We worked together for many years as Governors of the Chamber of Commerce. We had a common interest in property development during the forties, particularly just after the war." He hesitated for a second. "No, we weren't really friends, but I'd have to say I respected him. In our early days as Governors we worked closely together. We seemed to have a lot in common. But the last few years have been difficult. I guess you could say Richard's interests changed. During the early forties he was as keen as I to see modern development, particularly on our waterfronts. We worked together on Boston harbour. We made a lot of money and created a lot of jobs. But since about 1948, when he met that woman, he changed" I was surprised at the spite in Sommerville's voice. "From then on we seemed to be at odds over everything. He'd become involved in the Welfare Foundation and he seemed to think we weren't doing the right thing by the down and outs. Christ! You think anyone gets it easy. He wanted to build shelters and soup kitchens right through the lower East Side and Hells Kitchen. Why bother? The hobos aren't going to appreciate it." Sommerville shut up sudden, like he'd said too much. He stared at me, runnin' his tongue over his lips. "Let's just say we had our differences" he said. "But apart from that I thought well of him. He worked hard for what he believed in. And I meant what I said. He will be sorely missed."

He was eyein' the liquor cabinet as I walked out. I pulled open the double doors 'n stepped inta the corridor. Just before I closed the doors I glanced back. Sommerville was at his office door, the secretary at her desk, both watchin' me, almost the evil eye. I felt a chill run up my spine. Wasn't 'til a lot later I realized they was scared.

* * *

My next contact was Rita Perlman, professor o' anthropology at the university. She had a small office on the ground floor o' what woulda been 'n old hardware store. The front windows was flush with the street, split in the middle by a small tiled porch with a green door. Through the windows I could see some desks. A small woman with short hair 'n glasses was sittin' at one with a large pile o' papers. When I knocked on the door she glanced up. After a short pause she come over 'n cracked the door. She leaned on the jamb. Her body language wasn't invitin'.

"Can I help you sir." She was maybe forty, forty-five with short salt 'n pepper hair. She wore wire glasses, dark green pullover, grey skirt, stockin's, no shoes. She was built like a bird. Did I mention she was a looker?

"Hi ma'am. Name's Renny Mack. I'm a private detective. I was wonderin' if ya had a few minutes. I'd like to talk 'bout Richard Prancey." I handed her my card and licence. She checked them, then checked her watch, looked back at her papers, then sighed. "Ok." she said. "Come in." She pointed at one o' the chairs near her desk. Then she excused herself 'n went through a door at the back o' the office. She closed it behind her but I could hear phone noise 'n low mutterin'. I guessed she was checkin' up on me. She was back in a coupla minutes.

"Ok" she said, settlin' back in the chair. She looked at her papers again. "I can spare twenty minutes. That's it." She cradled her coffee cup in both hands. "I knew Richard for almost six years. He and I joined the board of the Welfare Foundation at the same time in 1943. I had just taken the chair at the university and felt I might be able to influence some of the funding the Foundation provided. Richard told me at the time he was hoping to put something back in after so many years of successful property development."

"I thought Mr Prancey worked mostly down Florida."

"He did. But that only started after the war. During the late thirties and mid forties Richard was working in New York. He built a number of buildings in Manhattan and was busy in Boston and Baltimore. He was very successful. Are you aware of the Welfare Foundation? Do you know what it does?"

I shook my head. Only what I read in Artie Sumter's piece.

"The Welfare Foundation was set up in the mid thirties by the then Mayor Jackson of New York. The Great Depression had a devastating effect on people all over the world. In New York we had some of the worst poverty ever seen. Jackson was forward thinking and established the Foundation as a means of distributing City and charity funds to where they were most needed. The Foundation was always managed by a Board of Directors, six in all, all appointed by the Mayor for terms of five years. Richard and I have been Directors since 1947. We had our differences early on and spent two years or so resisting each other's ideas. His ideas during that period were really more directed toward development opportunities than the wellbeing of the homeless and unemployed. Then maybe eighteen months ago he started to change. I couldn't believe it initially and I thought he was playing some cheap trick, but over time I became convinced he was sincere. I think he was tiring of the property development game and its politics and nastiness. He'd made lots of money anyway and I believe he meant it when he said he wanted to give something back. This was a relief because the past few years things have been quite stressful. Many of the wartime industries had closed down so there had to be someone there to help people. The City's been generous in its funding for the Foundation. There was a genuine desire to inject money into the local economy after the war."

"But the main game was property?"

She shook her head. "No. Our primary role was to provide assistance to the homeless and unemployed as I said. The problems we faced really had their roots in the thirties. During its first ten years the Foundation acquired real estate, quite a lot, throughout Tribeca, Soho, the Irish District, Hell's Kitchen it's called now, and also in some spots in the Garment District. These areas were very depressed and quite decrepit at that time. I think the Foundation paid very little for them."

"Just how much real estate?" I asked.

"I think we have something like two hundred properties, worth over twenty million dollars." She raised her eyebrows. I near fell off the chair.

"To cut a long story short, the property is now worth much more than it was when the Foundation acquired it. In some cases a hundred times more. And of course there are other people interested in that property. They see it as an opportunity to make a lot of money. And they won't stop at anything to get what they want." She stopped and frowned at me. Jesus! Twenty million dollars! I remembered Artie's memorial piece.

"Who are these other people?"

"Mostly property developers. But the waterfront unions are also involved. They're large and powerful, as you may know. And wealthy. From what Richard said he came under a lot of pressure through his work with the Chamber of Commerce. Did you know he was a Governor?"

"Yeah. I did. I spoke ta Dick Sommerville this mornin'. Can't say it helped any."

"Sommerville's old money, and an idiot. But he's pro development all the way and that's just what they want in the Chamber. He and Richard argued a lot over the Chamber's activities. Things got heated after Max died."

"Who was Max" I asked.

"Max Richards. He was a close friend of Richard's. Max was killed almost twelve months ago. His car exploded near his warehouse in Tribeca."

"What happened?"

"I don't know. Richard was very upset, very angry." She stopped 'n looked down at the papers on her desk. "I've got a stack of work to do. I really have to get back to the marking." She picked a small white card from her desk 'n passed it over. It was a Foundation business card, her address written on the back. She lived on the upper west side. "You're welcome to come and see me on Sunday. I'm free in the morning. Ten o'clock?"

We agreed a time 'n I headed out the door. It was just after three. If I double-timed it ta the library I'd get a coupla hours in. I had plenty ta think 'bout. Like 200 properties 'n $20 million!

* * *

When I arrived at the library I headed for the information desk. I needed the City Almanacs. The clerk pointed me towards the southern end o' the buildin'. The room was panelled in dark wood 'n had six or eight long tables with green lamps, shaped like eyeshades. There was an attendant in a panelled booth just left o' the door as I walked in. I listed what I was lookin' for 'n passed it over. I reckoned the period '40 to '49 should cover it. He was back inside ten minutes with several cardboard boxes, each one maybe two inches thick. I took 'em over ta one o' the tables 'n positioned the lamp. I needed information on the palookas Sumter mentioned in his first article. It was gonna be a long list, but some aspects we'd already covered.

I started in '46, searchin' for City Welfare Services. But there wasn't nothin' on the company or Brian Macmillan in the '46 edition. I tracked through '47, '48 and '49 but no go. Ok. Somethin' ta check later with Buford. One down. Next up was Knights o' Malta. No problem. There was an entry in '47.

Knights of Malta, The: A semi religious organization dedicated to the provision of assistance to the destitute and the elimination of poverty. The organisation is funded through government grants and donations but in recent years has been developing a revenue base through selective investments throughout Manhattan. Its aim is to lessen the call on the public purse and achieve 50% self-sufficiency by 1952. It is also planning to move into provision of aged care services and hostel accommodation.

Its new Governor, John A. Alicante, has brought a renewed commercial focus to the traditional organisation. Mr Alicante says he is committed to building the organisation's investment base to ensure it is able to meet its social commitments. "Our property portfolio has grown by over 300% since 1944" says Mr Alicante. "The future of Manhattan is the future of the Knights of Malta."

I looked at the blurry photograph. Alicante standin' outside the Knights' buildin'. In the photo he was a short fat guy. I had no other references so I checked the next name: Union City Development Corporation. The first entry was '48.

Union City Development Corporation: est. 1948. UCD Corp. is an unlisted property development company. The company has commenced operations in 1948 and already established itself as a leading contender for major works. During 1948 it successfully bid for and built part of a new terminal and wharfage along West Street to the south of the Holland Tunnel. The company is part of a conglomerate operating under the ownership of the Blackmore Leggitt Corporation, which is headquartered in Boston. Its President, Mr Barry Montessori says "We see enormous opportunity for business in Manhattan and New Jersey. We believe New York is all about success and we want to be part of that."

There was other several entries 'bout the WWU 'n the UPG. These was mostly devoted ta the bosses, Nordstromm 'n Garcia. Nordstromm got ta be top dog just after the war. Now he was runnin' 'n organisation with four thousand fee payin' members, drivin' 'round in chauffeur driven Caddies, wearin' suits from Fifth Avenue. It was a long way from the Boston docks. There was a group photograph showin' Nordstromm towerin' over the rest. He was built like a Sherman tank.

Garcia looked slick. Like a weasel wearin' Brylcreem. He started off in the Social Democrats faction, worked his way up breakin' heads. The UPG had nearly three thousand members 'n Garcia was well known for stickin' up for members' rights. He was also known as 'The Prince', ever since he done time after the union wars in '46. I come 'cross a group photograph showin' a crowd o' the UPG squirrels. I ran my finger down the names. Garcia was on the left, one o' the tall ones. The photograph was grainy 'n all the features was blurred but Garcia seemed familiar. I noted the grey hair 'n paunchy build 'n made a mental note. I figured I'd seen him before somewhere. The other three I didn't know, Rocco Silviani, Chase Hartsuyker 'n Dante Rosano.

Buford always says foller the money, so I checked the financials for both unions. The WWU was pullin' more'n three hundred thousand a year in fees 'n UPG wasn't far behind. I guessed Nordstromm 'n Garcia earned fancy salaries. Big bucks, big egos, big plans. Maybe big problems. I finished up 'round five-thirty 'n headed over ta Lugosis. While I walked I pondered on the case. It had more wrinkles than 'n elephant's butt. Prancey 'n his friend Max dead in separate explosions. Just coincidence? Maybe. But I didn't like coincidences. Windschuttle felt the original investigation was compromised, but wasn't sure how or why. Marty Beil felt he'd been heavied. When I visit Sommerville he's a deer in the headlights. Meanwhile, Perlman's talkin' twenty million in real estate. So what did I think 'bout all o' this? Let's just say I was outa my comfort zone.

* * *

Lugosis was full o' the usual suspects when I arrived. Six thirty. Feedin' time. Meat workers, truck drivers, the guys from the ice house next door, dozen or so longshoremen, blue beanies, dark blue overalls, prob'ly WWU. Over near the door I could see two guys in suits. They seemed familiar. One had brown 'n white wingtips, the other black oxfords. I was still lookin' at 'em when Wingtips glanced over. I looked away. When I looked back he was starin' at the menu. Office chumps havin' an early dinner. I shoulda paid more attention.

Nicco turned up on cue with somethin' he called carpachio. I took a mouthful then realised I wasn't hungry. Buf stared at me with his cheeks puffed out like a raccoon. While he ate I gave him a run down on my day. He was silent throughout, but glanced up when I mentioned the property portfolio. "Jesus! I told you it was money." He shook his head and repeated himself. "Big money."

He tapped his finger on his notes. "But I've been busy too. Listen to this. Right after I dropped you off I went to see Dave. I showed him the mud you pulled off Prancey's car and asked him if he could analyse it. No problemo he says, so while he and I go get some lunch one of his lab techs takes it apart. We get back an hour later and voila! And what's in it? Let me tell you. Most of it was plain mud. Dirt and water. But there was something else altogether. You remember how it sparkled? You know what it was? Silica. You know. That stuff they use to make glass. It's fine white sand. But there isn't any sand of this quality in the country. It has to be imported."

"So who imports it?"

"Correct. Who imports it? A company by the name of Spanish Glass Inc. How did I find out? I rang Dow Corning and asked them where they get their glass. They told me they buy it from a crowd called Spanish Glass. So I ring Spanish Glass, get some dame who didn't wanta talk to me but finally puts me through to the boss. And yep, they make lots of glass, anything you want, but mostly industrial, cars, shop windows, that sort of thing. I asked what they make it out of and find out it's made with sand that they get from Sardinia. That's near Italy."

"I know where Sardinia is." Buford thinks everyone's stupid sometimes. "Did ya find out anything else 'bout the company? Like who owns it?"

"Nope. We'll have to go to the Companies Office for that."

"So where's Spanish Glass got its office?"

"Down in Tribeca, one block back from Pier 32."

Just then Nicco dropped our mains on the table. The restaurant had thinned out some by now but I saw that Wingtips 'n his buddy was still there. This time the buddy was starin' at us. But he looked away soon as I looked over. I wondered did I know these guys? They finished up 'n I watched 'em move over ta the cashier. They didn't look at us again. I couldn't see 'em after they went inta the street.

"What 'bout Thommerson 'n Caldwell?" Buf shook his head.

"What? Ya didn't see either one?"

"Nope. I went across to see Thommerson but his secretary said he was gone for the weekend. Not bad eh? Then I came back up town to see Caldwell. He was there but refused to see me. In the end I gave up."

I figured the deadline was definitely a bust, but we finished up 'n decided ta call it quits for the day. Buf said he was gonna catch the subway ta Saratoga. I was headed home for some serious sack time. Buf flipped me the keys 'n told me where he'd stashed the car. It wasn't far. "Make sure you slip Teddy a five."

* * *

I live in an old railway buildin' in the Heights. It has 1884 engraved above the door. I call it the Rat Hole. Third floor, two rooms, three if ya count the curtain 'cross the kitchen as a wall. A small livin' room 'n a smaller bedroom. Enough space for a single bed, one old chest, two easy chairs 'n a small table. I walked up the stairs, boots loud on the risers. The stairs was carpeted but so worn ya could see the wood. Said hello ta Mrs Fahey on the second floor. She was always peekin' out her door, stogie in hand. She had the same name as my sister. Her old man, Maurie, he was always yellin'. "Doris. Doris. When ya gonna stop smokin' the place up? Ya know I got weak lungs. An' its bad for the dogs." Doris 'n Maurie got two o' the ugliest mutts ya ever seen. Chows. Always snortin' 'n dribblin'.

Aynyhow, the Rat Hole's at the back o' the buildin', above the alley. A fire escape runs up outside, past the bedroom window. I always kept the place locked up 'n never worried too much 'bout security. Didn't have nothin' worth stealin'. 'Cept the car maybe. But maybe I was careless. I guess I woulda picked it if I hadna been tired, but ya know how it is. As I opened the door it pushed back at me, like when ya got a breeze comin' through. I reckon I had maybe a half second, but even then it woulda been too late. I never saw it comin'. Just a loud noise in my head, then I'm inside a bell, goin' down. I heard the thump when my head hit the wall, then a clatter as I hit the floor, but I didn't feel nothin'. I heard voices but I couldn't understand no words. Then someone grabbed my collar, flipped me over, breath hot on my face. I smelled garlic. A voice, close by my ear. "Dis is it gumshoe. Ya first an' last. Finish it wit' da dago." Then somethin' else hit me 'n I was fallin', spinnin' away down a deep hole. Last thing I remember is a brown 'n white wingtip comin' at me.

When I come to I was lyin' with my face jammed in the corner o' the floor 'n the wall. My cheek was stuck ta the floor 'n one arm was caught underneath me. I knew I was in trouble. I groaned out loud 'n slowly turned over, peelin' my cheek off the floor with a suckin' sound. Like paper tearin'. I fell onta my back 'n lay there. A wave o' nausea washed over me. My back felt like it'd been busted. My kidneys felt like they'd relocated ta my navel. My legs ached, my arms ached, my right hand ached, my ribs felt like they was on fire. Fred Astaire was tap-dancin' 'round the inside o' my skull. My left eye was glued shut. I was a fuckin' mess.

It took me a long time ta get off the floor. When I finally stood up I just made it ta the sink before I vomited. After holdin' onta the sink for 'bout a million years I went 'n sat in the bath. I let the shower pour hot water over me 'til it ran cold. But the hot water worked its magic. I could move 'n my left eye come unglued. I looked at my right hand. The second finger was busted. I could see the lumpy edge o' bone under the skin. It was shaped like a hot dog from Yankees stadium, only bigger. I finally settled inta the easy chair with some Haig 'round four in the mornin'. I popped three or four painkillers 'n took a stiff pull on the whisky. I'd been out for six hours.

There was glass all over the bed 'n the bedroom floor, so they come up the fire escape, smashed the lock on the window. Nothin' else was damaged. 'Cept me. "Ya first 'n last! Finish it with the dago!" It was the Prancey case. But who was pushin' my buttons? I winced as I shifted in the chair. My legs hurt, my back hurt, my head hurt, my hand was busted, two front teeth was loose, I was gonna be pissin' blood for a month. Christ! If the teeth drop out I'll end up lookin' like Mr Zip. Another wave o' nausea hit me. I thought I was gonna be sick on the easy chair.

* * *

When I finally managed ta get upright again my first stop was Doc Roach. Her office is nearby in Morningside. She gave me an injection for the pain then pulled the finger bones back inta place. Ease the pain? How come I'm goin' through the ceilin'? I actually heard the bones click inta place. 'Least I didn't puke. But gettin' my coat back on was a killer, let me tell ya. My right hand was big as a boxin' glove.

When I got ta the office there wasn't no sign o' Buford. It was after 12.00. What was he doin' that he's not in the office? So I waited, one hand lookin' like the Mummy's Curse. I mighta got the coat on, but now I was wonderin' how I'll get it off. Then I wondered how I was gonna take a piss. 'Bout one thirty I heard some feet on the stairs. But when the door opened, standin' there in front o' me, shinin' like a two bit wop haircut, was the Black Prick. He was wearin' that shit-eatin' grin, somethin' between a sneer 'n a smile. God he's an ugly palooka. What did he want?

I've known Duffy maybe ten years. From before we enlisted. He was a beat cop in Red Hook. We useta see him regular when he was on shift. He called all the older women ma'am, took his cap off. They thought he was wonderful. We hated him. When we got back from Germany we found he wasn't on the beat no more. He'd transferred ta the Ds. While we was busy fightin' for the Stars & Stripes, Duffy was goin' ta night school. 'N the city was payin'. What a deal! By the time Buf 'n I decided to go gumshoe Duffy had moved over ta the 84th. Same as Alf. Alf always said Duffy was a lyin', connivin' Mick. Which was true.

Duffy didn't say nothin'. Just sat down in Babycakes chair, crossed his legs, lit a cigarette. While he sat there blowin' out smoke I looked him over. Black pin stripe, black 'n white brogues, waistcoat, chain, greased hair, white skin, dark blue eyes. The Black Irish. Black Irish fuckin' pig I woulda said. With his snout in the trough. Doris always said he was dishy. Made us puke. Far as I was concerned he was shifty as a sewer rat with less morals. I reminded myself there wasn't nothin' I could trust 'bout this guy.

Duffy sat there smirkin' for a while. Finally he took a last pull on the butt 'n ground it out in the ashtray. He licked his lips. They looked like red worms crawlin' 'cross his face. "You busy?" I just stared at him. What a greaser.

"You deaf Mack? I asked if you was busy."

I took sip o' coffee. Maybe it was better than Windschuttle's. "Yeah. I'm busy. Whatya want?" I was tempted ta say I was closin' in on the perp. Or maybe there was a 211 in progress. Or somethin'. But that woulda been havin' a conversation with the rat. Fuck that. Woulda been funny ta watch his face though.

The Black Prick nodded 'n pursed his lips. "I heard you was busy. It's good to be busy. But you got some people worried that you're maybe too busy. Goin' all Sam Spade an' stuff. You know what I mean?" Now ya know there ain't nothin' more certain ta piss off a stupid person than talkin' with another stupid person. I been in the military so I know that's true. So when I shook my head 'n looked blank he started ta go red. He pulled out another cigarette 'n lit it, then blew a smoke ring at the ceilin'. Real cool. He looked back at me 'n frowned. He decided ta try another tack.

"When you're workin' hard it's important to stay focused. Stay on the right track. You know what I mean?" This time I nodded. Duffy looked pleased.

"You stay on the right track, you work for the right people, no accidents happen. You know what I mean? There's some people out there, some people in high places, that are worried you're not focused. Not workin' for the right people." Is he talkin' Swahili? So who's the 'wrong people' arsehole? Babycakes? She the wrong people? My face obviously didn't show what I was thinkin' 'cause Duffy started noddin' 'n smirkin'.

"I see you got it" he said 'n stood up. "Remember. I won't be comin' back a second time. You only get one. Capisce?"

"One what?" I asked. Duffy just stared at me 'n took a long pull on his cigarette. It glowed bright in the gloom. He jabbed it towards my hand. "Don't be stupid Mack. Make sure you get better." Then he turned 'n walked out. Duffy seemed happy, but I had three thousand other priorities in my pocket. Thinkin' back on it, it'd prob'ly be a fair observation ta say I wasn't listenin'.

# Now I ain't a sensitive guy or nothin'...

The 84th is headquartered on the border o' Murray Hill 'n Grammercy. Eight blocks south o' the Chrysler Buildin' 'n a block or two back from the East River. I remember Alf tellin' Dad it was an OK place, 'cept it was too close ta the river. This bein' 'cause o' the number o' stiffs they dragged out every second week. Alf had a theory the mob used the East River whenever they had a problem. "Yeh got a missin' hooligan? Well yeh be lookin' in t' East River. But maybe yeh be bringin' a crane. Because if t'at's where he is, yeh can be sure he's wearin' a concrete overcoat." Always gave me cold shivers, no matter how many times I heard it.

I pulled in near a fireplug 'n tossed an 'Official' sign on the dash. Looked like the real thing if ya didn't get too close. I trotted up the steps inta the 84th. I was in luck. Alf was workin' the front desk, perched on a high stool, 'lordin' it over the great unwashed' as Ma always says. Alf spotted me 'n pointed at the pews near the door. I sat 'n watched the action.

There was three drunks standin' in a huddle near the high desk, a young cop writin' in a note pad. Alf was talkin' with a short dark broad, as wide as she was tall, kid under one arm. There was another kid snufflin' 'round her feet, snot runnin' down his chin. From what I could hear it sounded like she was askin' Alf if he could get her old man outa the can. Somethin' 'bout food 'n drink. Alf kept shakin' his head 'n swipin' his hands back 'n forth, 'n when the broad turned ta leave I see she's got a shiner. I watched 'em go 'n said a small prayer for my own brand o' good luck. Alf watched 'em onta the street then dropped his eyes 'n shook his head. Then he looked up, winked at me 'n spun round. "Roly" he yelled. "Oih'm goin' out wit' t' nephew. Keep t' desk."

Alf's come out from Donegal when he was 18, a few years before the Great War. Started up in Queens, deliverin' newspapers. Him 'n Dad joined up in '16 but they never saw no action. Never got outa the country. Which is a good thing ya ask me. Anyhow, he joined the cops soon after he demobbed. Alf's been the desk sergeant at the 84th Precinct for maybe ten years. He's way past retirement age, coulda pulled the pin years ago 'n taken his pension, but Grace 'n him don't have no kids 'n Grace is always busy. Alf didn't have nothing' else. So he stayed at work.

But when he climbed down from the high desk he seemed shorter, like he shrunk or somethin'. He was maybe five seven, looked like the fireplug outside. Red face, white hair, broken veins on nose 'n cheeks. He walked over 'n shook hands, his short fat fingers nearly crushin' mine. He always got a kick outa this. I always tried not ta yell.

"Renny. How in t' darnation are yeh boy?" His eyes flicked over my hand 'n face. "Are yeh lookin' a bit t' worse for wear boyo?" He didn't wait for me ta answer, just ploughed right on out the doors 'n down the steps. We headed 'cross the street ta Milo's Grill. It wasn't no grill really. More like a greasy spoon. There was five or six dirty tables on one side, steel kitchen bar on the other. A big hairy guy stood behind the bar, arms folded, wearin' a t-shirt he hadn't washed since '46. I wondered if food poisonin' was fatal. We sat near the door, Alf wedged between the table 'n the windows. We didn't order nothin'. Like Lugosis I figured.

"So boyo. How is it t'at oi ain't been seein' yeh t'is last t'ree months? Are yeh maybe gettin' along a little better wit' yeh father?" Ma always said he wasn't a man for wastin' words. Alf hadn't even finished speakin' before Milo, if that's who he was, slapped down two mugs o' black coffee. It was thick as sump oil. I was surprised how good it tasted.

"Dad ain't never cut me no slack Alf, but I ain't gonna complain. I got my own business now. We ain't 'xactly overworked but we're busy. We're makin' money." All this was true.

"Ah, t' be sure, t' be sure. So tell me what's keepin' yeh busy, as yeh be callin' it. An' be makin' it quick because if oi'm not back at t' desk before twelve t'at Roly will be lettin' out half t' criminals in Manhattan. Oi t'ink yeh good mother would be callin' him a dimwit." Milo dropped two plates o' stew on the table. At nine am? I could almost feel it gummin' up my arteries.

While Alf ate I told him what I knew. His eyebrows rose when I mentioned Nordstromm 'n Garcia. 'N when I told him 'bout gettin' beat up 'n the visit from Duffy he started shakin' his head. "So what is it yeh be wantin' boyo? Is it some advice yeh be lookin' for by any chance? Well oi'll be happy t' give yeh some advice young feller. It's true, t'at yeh shoundn't be startin' somet'in' t'at yeh can't finish. But it's true too t'hat t'ere's always times when yeh have t' tread careful like. T'is sounds like one for sure. A lot o' t'ose people yeh talkin' about are damn powerful. Ruthless too. Oi've been around t' docks fer a long time and what oi seen t' unions do I wouldn't be repeatin'. It ain't a crime t' let somet'in' go when it's t' right t'ing t' do. And it ain't a crime t' get some help when it's needed. But it's only yehself t'at's gonna be able t' make t'at call." With this Alf stood up 'n headed for the door. I headed over ta pay Milo but he just pointed at Alf 'n shook his head. I follered Alf 'cross the street ta the front steps o' the 84th. He stopped at the bottom, looked me in the eye.

"Renny. If I had t' time I'd be offerin' t' help meself. But you know how 'tis wit' Grace and t' 84th. What was t' name of t' policewoman you mentioned? From Bridgehampton? I'm t'inkin' you're plannin' t' pay a visit back t'ere anyhow so why don't you go see her and see if she can help? Or maybe t'at friend from yer army days? T'ere ain't no shame in askin' fer help when it's needed. But if you be needin' advice or somet'in' t'en yeh'll be welcome t' come and see me. Anytime." Alf plodded up the steps. He made 'em look like Everest. He turned back as he went through the doors. "Be sayin' hello t' your Ma and Da fer me."

O' course he was right. Some help would be mighty welcome. But who to ask? Aphrodite? Gunny? I hadn't spoken with Gunny for years. 'N Christ knows, me 'n Buford shoulda been all the help we needed. Where the heck was he anyhow? I decided ta get down ta the office, give Windschuttle a call. I headed back ta the office. My hand was still swollen, the pain a dull ache along my wrist. It weighed a ton. Every shake o' the steerin' wheel hurt like the blazes. I didn't know how I was gonna write up my notes. I still hadn't figured how ta get the coat off.

* * *

When I rang the Greenport & Bridgehampton Police Department a raspy voice come on the line. It was Blondie. He told me Windschuttle had left her number. After just enough chat with Blondie ta be polite I hung up 'n dialled Windschuttle. She answered on the second ring.

"Officer Windschuttle" I said. "It's Renny Mack..."

"Mr Mack, I thought you'd never call."

"Officer Windschuttle. How ya been?" Jesus! I gotta do better than that.

"I've been fine. How about you? Anything further on the case?"

"That's why I'm ringin'. I need some advice."

"It's Friday, it's my time off, and it's a long weekend. Let me get a chair." While Windschuttle got herself set I went through everything in my mind.

"OK. I'm back. How can I help?"

I spent fifteen minutes bringin' Windschuttle up ta speed. She was quiet for a moment after I finished. "Sounds like you've been busy" she said. "What are you doing over the weekend? You won't be able to do much more until next week. Why not come up to Bridgehampton for a couple of days? I'm off shift. I'd be glad to spend some time on it.'

I had ta think 'bout that. Right? Yeah. For maybe two seconds. Ok, it wasn't that long really. "Sounds good" I said. "I can come up later today, 'round one or two, give or take?"

"Any time is fine. If you're early enough I can rustle up some lunch." She paused for a second. "Sixty two on the Boulevarde Mr Mack."

"See ya" I said, 'n hung up. I hadn't told her nothin' 'bout Duffy' or gettin' beat up. But she was gonna see that soon as I arrived. I scribbled a note for Buf. Told him he could contact me on Windschuttle's number if anything come up. I propped the note against the phone where it was easy ta see 'n picked up my briefcase, then I was out the door 'n gone. I grabbed some clean clothes at the Rathole and was on my way inside an hour, headin' over the Triborough Bridge. I juiced up at Levittown 'n bought some Twinkies. I might be early. Was that good? Or bad? Jesus! Get a grip.

I hit Bridgehampton city limits at twelve thirty 'n checked the address. Didn't take me long ta find the Boulevarde. It was three streets from the Crowns, a dead end filled with elms 'n sycamores. They formed a green tunnel. There was white timber cottages both sides o' the street, green shingle roofs, enclosed porches, some with short driveways. Lotsa red 'n white flowers 'n bright green lawns. It was as far from the Rat Hole as I could go 'n still be in the same country.

Fifty-eight, sixty, sixty-two. There it was, Plymouth at the side, lawn trimmed, path made o' crushed shells. I pulled in against the kerb 'n popped the door. I checked my shirt for Twinkie bits, gave my face a rub, checked the teeth in the mirror, slid out 'n headed for the door. Windschuttle musta heard me pull in. She opened the door just as I walked onta the porch. She didn't say nothin', just smiled a killer smile, then a slim brown arm snaked 'round my neck. 'N that was it. Now it ain't I'm a sensitive guy or nothin'. In fact ain't no one ever said I even got a sensitive bone in my body. So I ain't sayin' nothin' 'bout the rest o' the afternoon. But wasn't much casework got done.

* * *

Me 'n Windschuttle was in the kitchen, sippin' coffee, me wonderin' what ta talk 'bout, Windschuttle watchin' me with one eyebrow raised. Guys ain't too good in this sorta situation, but I guess ya know that. I was just startin' ta fidget when I was 'saved by the bell'. The phone rang. Windschuttle answered, then turned 'n looked at me. "Marty Beil" she mouthed silently. "Hi Marty. How are you?" She was wearin' jeans, blue check shirt, sleeves rolled up, bare feet. She had strong hands. I could see the muscles movin' under the skin on her forearms.

"Yes. I met him." She stabbed a finger in my direction. "Yes, that's right. I spent an hour or so with them. They seemed to know what they were doing." She rolled her eyes at me, nodded a few more times, mm-mmmed a bit. "I was never comfortable with it either Marty. I can't really say much but I think we could have done more. I've never felt that we really put it to bed." My Ma woulda said that. Some more mm-mmm's 'n nods.

"OK. I'll come over and see you. Let's have a chat. Mr Mack is actually in Bridgehampton this weekend. Would you like me to find him and bring him along?" She was silent for a few moments, her tongue in the corner o' her mouth. "Great. I guess it will take me about twenty to get there so allow another twenty to find Mr Mack. We'll see you around five thirty." Windschuttle hung up and shook her head.

"Well. Marty Beil would like to talk. It seems your visit may have been the catalyst we needed. It also sounds like there are a few things that he might not have mentioned last year." She reached down to grab some sneakers. "OK" she said. "Let's get going." I follered her out.

Fifteen minutes later we pulled up at a small farmhouse. Marty lived between Bridgehampton 'n Sag Harbour, not far from the pound. The farmhouse was set back twenty, thirty yards from the road, behind a screen o' poplars. The main structure was a neat, dark two story, with a small shed to one side, coupla silos down the back field. A truck was parked at the door o' the shed. Sign on the side said Long Island Gas & Electric. The sun was still warm on our shoulders as we stepped onta Marty's wooden porch. There was a bell hangin' beside the door on a tattered cord. Windschuttle tugged the cord. The bell gave a single flat clank.

When Marty opened the door he was straight outa the Bowery. His clothes was wrinkled 'n filthy, like he'd been wearin' 'em for weeks, he hadn't shaved, 'n he smelled bad. Like sweat 'n dirty feet. The poor sap's eye's was flippin' all over the joint, like he thought someone was gonna jump him. He looked like a bum. But he smelled like a lush.

Inside was same as Marty. Dirty, dark 'n smelly. The sink was full o' grimy dishes, newspapers 'n empty cups scattered 'round. Guy wasn't runnin' no tight ship here that's for sure. Gunny woulda had him doin' the latrines in a second. Come ta think 'bout it, he smelled like the latrines.

"You like a coffee?" he asked. He pronounced it kawfee, same as Harly. We waved it away 'n took a seat on the settee, pushin' aside newspapers 'n food scraps. Marty shuffled out ta the kitchen. After clangin' pots 'round for a while he come back n' flopped down in an easy chair. He propped his feet on the coffee table.

"Sorry about the mess" he said. "I haven't been able to get interested in the house for a while. I've been worried sick about the Prancey thing and I needed to talk to someone. You're probably the only one I trust Miss Windschuttle." He cut his eyes at me when he said this. "No offence Mr Mack. I don't know you very well. But I trust Miss Windschuttle's judgment."

Windschuttle spoke. "Well Marty, we're here. Tell us what you know. This might be our last chance."

Marty made a sort o' snortin' noise in his throat. "That's partly what I'm worried about." He laughed, but it come out shrill. I heard it a lot in Germany. Sometimes in my own voice.

"There was one thing I didn't ever mention to anyone. And it scared me. You'll both recall that I had some concerns about the explosion, both its point of ignition and direction?" We both nodded.

"And you'll recall that I spoke to McTiernan about this but he just didn't want to know?" More nods.

"Yeah. Well. The first time I went to the house, as well as the overall damage and so on, I looked at the fittings, at least whatever I could find that was left of the fittings. Now the Prancey place wasn't connected to the mains. I mentioned that last time we spoke. Instead it had a small annex off the kitchen where the Prancey's stored their gas bottles. This was connected to two appliances in the house. The kitchen stove, and a water heater that was located above the kitchen. I went looking for both appliances on that first morning."

Marty took another tug on his coffee. He held up the cup, eyebrows raised. I nodded. Windschuttle shook her head. "Marty" she said. "There's nothing in my notes about you finding anything. And I was led to believe that all the fittings were checked and found to be OK."

Marty shook his head as he come back inta the room. He handed me my coffee 'n sat down. "Didn't happen. I don't think anyone actually said that the fittings were inspected and passed. I think it was more likely a sin of omission. And certainly McTiernan didn't push for it, even though I wanted to do it. All he seemed to be interested in was getting a 'no problems' report off his desk as quickly as possible."

"What did you find when you checked the fittings?"

"I wasn't able to find anything of the water heater. It was in the ceiling so in all likelihood it was somewhere in pieces between the front door and the beach. But the oven fittings were underfloor and protected by the kitchen island. Everything was flattened but the pipes were still there. Every tap was fully closed. There's no possible way any leakage occurred at the taps. I also had a look at the pipes and, as far as I could see, the lines were intact. Twisted and damaged, but there was no evidence of any leaks. Anywhere."

"Did you tell any of this to McTiernan or the police?"

"Nope" said Mary. "When I went to see McTiernan after the first inspection he told me to go have another look, that he expected no problems. I went back out on the Tuesday and that's when I started to get scared. All the oven fittings and gas pipes were gone. Someone had even pulled up some of the flooring and cut the pipes off. The ends were rubbed with grease and ash to hide them but the metal was shiny underneath. I didn't know what to do. It's been killing me."

"Have you spoken to anyone else about this?"

"Only you two and McTiernan." But he was uncomfortable.

"No one else Marty? It's important."

"About four months ago I was out near Montauk, checking some lines. I was sitting in the truck writing up the report when a car pulled up behind me. I was a bit annoyed because I was parked nose in on a layby and I wouldn't be able to get out. I climbed out of the truck just as the man driving the car came over. He was a short fat man. He had lots of dandruff." My 'arsehole' radar went off again.

"He said 'The Prancey report is closed. You understand that don't you Marty?' He knew my name and he kept his hand on my shoulder for a long time. He had terrible breath. I was so frightened I felt like I turned to ice. I had to come home afterwards."

"Has anything else happened?"

"No. But...and this sounds crazy I know...but sometimes, on the way home from work, I get the feeling that I'm being followed. But it's hard to tell. Maybe I'm just nuts. Its just a feeling I get."

"Sometimes a feelin' is all ya need Marty. Trust me. Always go with the gut. Pays ta be careful." I glanced at Windschuttle 'n cut my eyes at the door. We all stood up tagether. Marty looked better for talkin' with us but lookin' over ya shoulder alla time ain't healthy. It's only gonna send ya crazy.

We shook hands. Windschuttle warned him again not ta talk with anyone. Marty nodded 'n closed the door behind us. A few minutes later we was headin' back ta Bridgehampton. We drove in silence. Seemed the fish was rotten ta the core. Maybe I was mixin' my metaphors as Ma woulda said but I had a bad feelin'. Initially I'd been worried 'bout me 'n Buf. Now I was worried 'bout Marty 'n Windschuttle. Though not necessarily in that order.

* * *

Apart from a short 'SIOP' on the phone I hadn't told Windschuttle much 'bout what we'd been doin' in New York. It was less 'n two days but already it seemed like a lifetime since I made friends with Wingtips. We had a twenty-minute drive so I decided ta tell it how it happened. I started with Sommerville.

"They was jumpy, Sommerville 'n his secretary, like they was expectin' me. The secretary didn't ask who I was, just scarpered in ta see the boss. For sure someone was on the blower. Sommerville gave me maybe fifteen minutes. He said he didn't like Prancey much but he respected him. Apparently they worked tagether in Boston 'n New York. Sommerville thought the new wife was the reason Prancey lost interest in property development. When I left they was both watchin' me like hawks. I think they was worried. Anyhow, after I seen Sommerville I decided ta head over the university, see the Perlman broad." A frown formed on the gorgeous forehead. "She's a professor. Anyhow I track her down, she checks me out but she decides ta talk. She tells me 'bout Prancey 'n the Welfare Foundation.

"How old is this Perlman woman?" Like I said, I ain't no way a sensitive guy. But us guys is all the same, we ain't totally stupid. Like Harly, we can all sense danger at long range. 'Specially where broads is concerned. I think Ma woulda called it 'fight or flight'. Whatever. I knew I was treadin' on thin ice here. A few omissions wasn't gonna hurt.

"Prob'ly fifty, fifty-five." OK, so I added ten years. I ain't bein' a hypocrite or nothin'. Same rules apply as before. 'Cept in reverse. Add five ta ten. Better safe than sorry.

"Perlman told me that she 'n Prancey worked tagether at the Foundation. She said that Prancey had lost interest in the property game 'n wanted ta give somethin' back. Interestin' dontcha think, 'cause it ain't often a leopard changes its spots. As Ma always says." Aphrodite had her head cocked as she listened.

"Then Perlman drops a clanger. She tells me the Foundation has more'n two hundred properties. Two hundred! But that ain't all. They're worth more'n twenty million dollars. Prime. Tribeca, Soho, East Village. 'N everybody wants 'em. Property developers, unions, other welfare services. 'N Buford mentioned a company called Blackmore Leggitt."

"Do you have any idea whether any of these organisations are related?" asked Windschuttle.

"Nope" I said. "Zippo. The one thing in common is they're all interested in property. With a capital P. Only problem is they can't do nothin' while the Foundation owns it. I bet Prancey 'n Perlman was fightin' 'em off. One thing for sure. Ya get ya hands on that property 'n redevelop it, ya gonna make a packet. Make double, triple ya money. Maybe more."

Windschuttle leaned closer. "Tell me about the mud you took off Prancey's car?"

"Yeah. Buf's buddy Dave. Works for Dulux. Dave said it had sand in it. Fine sand. Full o' silica. It's used ta make glass. But no way it comes from up Montauk. It don't come from nowhere in this country. It's all imported. Brought in by a company called Spanish Glass. So the mud on Prancey's car mostly come from Spanish Glass. But we ran outa time. Perlman said me ta come 'round Sunday. She'll tell me the rest." Aphrodite snorted when I said this. Then I remembered Max.

"Another thing she told me was one o' Prancey's friends, guy by name o' Max Richards, died just over a year ago. Blew up. Same as Prancey. 'Cept he was in his car. I ain't done no work on Max but it's worth checkin'. Anyhow, after I finished in the library, I met Buford. He said he couldn't get in ta see Thommerson or Caldwell. Thommerson was outa town 'n Caldwell wouldn't meet. Two strikes so we decided ta call it quits for the day."

Windschuttle leaned forward 'n rested a hand on the Mummy's Curse. "And then this happened?"

"Yeah. I didn't see it comin'. Walked through the door 'n whammo. Only thing I remember is the shoes."

"The shoes?" Windschuttle was puzzled.

"Yeah. The shoes. Guy kicked me was wearin' brown 'n white wingtips. I'll know him when I see the shoes. He'll wish he was somewhere else, I tell ya." Tough guy. "When I woke up it was four in the mornin'. Took me a long time ta get goin' I tell ya. But eventually I cleaned up 'n headed down the office. I wanted ta talk with Buf, decide what we was gonna do. But guess who turns up? Our old friend Duffy."

"Heavens! He never sleeps! What did he want?"

Windschuttle braked for the turn inta Ocean Drive. "Yeah, he was cute alright. Didn't say much. Just that if we didn't drop the case there was gonna be an accident. Least that's what I think he meant. Anyhow, Buford finally crawled in 'round two. Big night on the ponies I reckon 'cause he ain't too happy. I told him what happened but we agreed it didn't make no difference. We ain't never dropped nothin' half done. No reason ta start now. We'll just have ta keep our eyes open." But as I said before, since when did I take my own advice?

* * *

The Prancey house looked even more desolate when I seen it the second time. The grass was more overgrown, the bushes 'round the house thick 'n heavy, weeds through the floorboards, yeller police tape flappin' 'cross the hole where the front doors shoulda been, glass 'n broken tiles littererin' the driveway. Windschuttle parked in the street n' grabbed her flashlight from the glove box. We walked up the drive.

I tried ta remember 'xactly what Marty said 'bout the pipes. Cut off somewhere under the floorboards. So somewhere between the back door 'n the kitchen island, wherever that used ta be. I pulled aside some o' the tiles 'n burned timber near the rear steps. The floorboards was pretty much OK. The blast woulda gone right 'cross the top so the only real damage ta the floor come from the walls 'n roof fallin' in. Plus fire damage from after the explosion. 'Bout five feet from the door I found a hole three boards wide had been opened in the sub floor. Windschuttle handed me the light 'n I managed ta stick my head 'n one arm inta the hole. I saw straight away what Marty was talkin' 'bout. The pipes ended 'bout two feet back, the ends all greasy and black. When I rubbed 'em the dirt come off 'n I could see the shine o' new metal. I could even feel the rough edges left by the saw or whatever it was used ta cut 'em. I pulled outa the hole 'n stood up ta let Windschuttle take a look. She knelt down 'n stuck her head in the hole, her butt in the air. I was admirin' it when someone spoke. I near jumped outa my skin.

"Oh. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you." It was a short blond lady with prominent features as Ma woulda said. She had blue eyes 'n a healthy pink complexion. Maybe fifty or so, she was dressed in navy slacks 'n a blue pullover. She looked expensive, but she had a kind face.

"Hi Terry." Windschuttle's butt was back in the upright position.

"Hello Officer Windschuttle. How are you? I haven't seen you since last year when this terrible thing happened. It's such a shame. When do you think someone's going to clean up the mess? The whole street's been worried."

"I'm well Terry. Thanks for asking. It has been long time hasn't it? I'll follow up on what's happening with the clean up when I get back to work."

"Yes. We wouldn't want to complain or anything but six months is quite long enough for everyone to cheer up a little don't you think?" Dunno I thought. Maybe if it was Doris 'n Harly?

"Terry, this is Mr Mack, a friend of mine. We just checking to see there are no gas leaks or anything." Windschuttle rolled her eyes at me. Good one Aphrodite. I shook hands with Mrs Randall.

"Gas leaks? But someone was here only last week checking for gas leaks."

"Oh darn!" said Windschuttle. "Sometimes we get ourselves mixed up. I don't suppose you happened to get his, or her, name so I can check when we get back to the office?"

"Yes, I did. It was a lovely young man, very well spoken and nicely dressed. His name was Rocco and he had a friend with him, another very nice young man in sunglasses. I'm sorry but I didn't get his name." Ok. I know. But I was asleep on the job. Again.

"That's Ok" said Windschuttle. "It sounds like Rocco and Marty." Aphrodite looked at me 'n raised her eyebrows.

"Well, if you can let us know when someone is going to clean it all up we'd really appreciate it. Nice to meet you Mr Mack." Mrs Randall turned 'n started to make her way back down the drive. Windschuttle follered.

I started pokin' 'round the wreckage. I could see the scavengers been through. Rocks from the walls was gone, so was some o' the floorboards. There was even a coupla holes in the garden that mighta held trees or shrubs. I walked back ta the car 'n hopped in. I could see Windschuttle standin' with Mrs Randall on her front lawn. After a coupla minutes they shook hands then Windschuttle turned 'n walked back ta the car. She had a pullover draped over her shoulders, her long arms swingin'. She folded herself inta the car 'n pulled the door shut with a clunk.

"So." She said. "Very interesting. Someone was up here last week?"

"Well, we ain't gonna find 'em up here. Whoever they are, they're New York, not Long Island."

She nodded as she pulled away from the kerb. "You're probably right. But I have to tell you what Terry said. Do you remember that her original statement to the police mentioned seeing someone she thought was Prancey, plus two other males - and that the two males entered a late model vehicle and drove away?" I nodded.

"Well. Terry said that she wasn't certain, and she hadn't mentioned it before, but she thought that all three drove away in the same car. But it was dark and very late."

"That maybe gives legs ta Doc Talbot's comments." I turned ta Windschuttle. "Did she see 'em come back? 'N did she remember anything more 'bout the plates?"

"She said she didn't see anyone come back, and she couldn't remember anything more about the number plate." We was silent 'til we turned inta the Boulevarde. Windschuttle killed the engine. "Ten minutes" she said. "A freshen up, a quick pack, then on the road?"

I sat in the car 'n waited. I didn't know if I was doin' the right thing by takin' her ta New York. Whoever they was, they didn't have no problem knockin' people 'round. I didn't wanta put her in danger, 'n I still had a lot ta do. I hoped three wasn't gonna be a crowd. A lotta things was startin' ta nag at me. I felt like I was peelin' 'n onion, but it wasn't gettin' no smaller. I was ummin' 'n arrin' to myself when Aphrodite come back down her front steps. She was smilin' fit ta kill. I crushed my doubts, crossed my fingers, 'n hoped nothin' went wrong. Didn't matter much though. 'Cause it did.

* * *

The road between Bridgehampton 'n Southampton is mostly flat, with some tight turns just after Bridgehampton. Then it runs almost straight down the coast, past a lotta sand dunes, before ya come through some low hills just north o' Southhampton. The road loops up through the hills then back down ta the coast in time ta run straight up the Southampton main street. It was dark 'n the storm was gettin' close. Every now 'n then we could see a flicker of light deep in the clouds. I had the radio on 'n Windschuttle was hummin' along with it. I think it was Tommy Dorsey or Glenn Miller. Never liked neither one much.

As we drove up inta the hills the trees crowded in, thick 'n close on each side o' the road. Every now 'n then a side road popped up, a dark cleft in the trees, sometimes a mailbox perched on the verge. The curves was tight 'n the railin' on the outside was solid metal, so I left the car in second 'n took it slow. Their mistake was they hit us too early. While we was still climbin'. If they'd waited 'til we was comin' down the other side it mighta been a near run thing. But I guess they thought they had us. I ain't complainin' by the way.

I'd just accelerated along a long flat stretch 'n was comin' up on a corner, the road veerin' right 'n a little upward, when there was a god almighty bang on the side o' the car, glass breakin', squealin' tires. Windschuttle slammed inta me 'n bounced off. Then we was slidin' at the guardrail. In the corner o' my eye I seen a big car slide by. It wallowed heavily on the curve. Then we hit the guardrail. There was another god almighty bang, more screamin' metal 'n breakin' glass, Windschuttle bounced off the door with a yell. I lost sight o' the other car in the darkness but I saw its taillights burn. I spun the wheel 'n dragged the Packard 'round, towards Bridgehampton. I put the pedal ta the metal.

I kept the car in low gear 'n poured on the gas through the bends, my eyes glued ta the mirror. If they caught us now it was gonna be messy. Then I remembered the side roads. Up ahead I saw a mailbox, stickin' outa the trees. I checked the rear view mirror again, but couldn't see 'em. I slammed on the brakes 'n flipped us sideways up a narrow side road. The trees closed 'round us like a shroud. I snapped off the lights 'n drove slowly up the road, the car shudderin' on deep ruts. Too fast – too much dust; too slow – they'd be on us like shit on a blanket. Fifty yards in I pulled off under some low hangin' pines. It was pitch black 'n I scraped the fender on a large rock before I switched off. We sat in the dark, silent 'cept for the tickin' motor. Windschuttle had a handkerchief pressed against her forehead. She was leanin' on my shoulder. I started breathin' again.

I peered out inta the darkness. There was no moon 'n I couldn't tell if we was well hidden or not. I looked back where I thought the road was but I couldn't see no lights. Heck, I didn't even know if I was lookin' in the right direction. I slid my arm 'round Windschuttle's shoulders then cracked the window. We heard it straight away. A low rumble. Through the branches on our left I caught a flicker of light 'n I thought we was gone. Then I realised they was usin' a flashlight. It flickered up 'n down the side roads. I kept my fingers crossed that we didn't leave no skid marks when we turned off.

We watched the flashlight flickerin' through the trees. It was a long way off, but when the car stopped I think our breathin' did too. Finally we heard the engine rumble again 'n the light moved off down the hill towards Bridgehampton. Pretty soon we couldn't hear 'em or see 'em. But I didn't know if it was safe ta stay put or not. They coulda just been sittin' out there in the dark, waitin'.

We sat there for musta been an hour. Had a coupla scares when other cars come by, but finally I figured we'd waited long enough so I backed the car out. I didn't turn on no lights or nothin', just nosed out slowly ta the road 'n turned the car towards New York. If they was waitin' for us I'd be punchin' this baby down that highway fast as I could. I had hold o' that wheel so tight my fingers shoulda left dents.

But the road was empty. The storm had missed us but the rain hadn't, 'n the road was slick with water. It was nerve-rackin' as Ma woulda said, drivin' with one eye in the rear view mirror 'n the other on the road ahead. I hoped they wasn't just parked at the kerb in Southampton, sippin' a hot coffee, waitin' for the suckers ta drive by.

While we was in the trees I'd been wonderin' who tried ta ditch us. I knew for sure now that Marty hadn't imagined things when he said he was bein' follered. Whoever it was had been keepin' a close eye on us too. Prob'ly same guys jumped me, same guys Mrs Randall saw at the Prancey place. But nothin' happened for the remainder o' the trip but I took it easy. The steerin' was wobbly 'n only one headlight worked. Least the brakes was fine. I stopped at a gas station in Freeport ta get some Nebs for Windschuttle. She said she felt like someone popped her with a Louisville Slugger. We arrived in Morningside 'round eleven, the streetlights burnin' dull orange in the misty rain.

Windschuttle didn't say much when I showed her inta the Rat Hole. She looked 'round then said, "Where's the bedroom?" She wasn't impressed with the bathroom arrangements, but she was asleep in five minutes. I wasn't tired. When we was in Germany I couldn't never sleep before a big push, or even straight after. I felt the same now. 'Cause I wasn't in control. I had ta take charge, otherwise those saps was gonna have me lookin' over my shoulder every time I went out.

I brewed some coffee 'n sat in Ma's old easy chair, feet on the windowsill. I knew we had a problem on our hands. We hadn't listened, 'n somewhere along the line we'd tripped a wire, 'n things was gettin' antsy. I peered inta the street below but all I could see was the end o' the alley. Everything else was filled with shadows. I'd be glad when it was daylight. In the distance I could see a movie billboard. 'Audie Murphy – The Red Badge of Courage'. Maybe I should go see it. Might give me a few ideas. I sat up for two hours, lettin' my mind drift. Didn't have no revelations though. Eventually I called it quits. I checked the front door 'n the window over the fire escape. Everything was locked up tight. 'Cept the darned case

# What is it with dames?

I didn't sleep much. Coupla loud bangs durin' the night had me reachin' under the bed for the slugger, but it was only a waste truck in the alley. Result was I slept through 'n woke up late. As I peeled outa bed I checked my watch. It was already after nine. We was meetin' Perlman at ten. Aphrodite had just come outa the shower 'n give me a hug. She was dressed in jeans 'n sweater.

"Morning Mr Mack. There's coffee if you want some."

"Mornin'. Thanks. Maybe pass on the coffee. I'll wash up then we're goin' ta see Perlman."

Windschuttle's eyes flickered. "I'd forgotten. I'll put this away and clean up. Grab a shower sailor." Broads! Now Aphrodite ain't never met Perlman but I can tell already she don't trust her. It never changes. When we was growin' up Doris was friends with Katie Carmichael, a big Irish girl from the next block. Katie was a real looker, red hair 'n long legs, clear white skin, freckles 'n green eyes. She was stayin' with us one time 'n me 'n Kenny saw her with no clothes on. I had a boner for a week, but I always reckoned Katie set us up. She was a bit on the wild side. Then Doris grassed on us 'n we was doin' double chores for three months. Anyhow, ta cut a long story short as Ma always says, Doris 'n Katie was friends for a long time, but I never heard Doris say nothin' nice 'bout Katie, 'n she sure as eggs never trusted her. I ain't never gonna understand dames.

I was back from the bathroom 'n dressed inside ten minutes. Before we left I checked the windows again 'n deadbolted the door. Then I checked the corridor before we walked down ta the street. I looked up 'n down the street before we went outside, then we double timed it ta the car. I checked everything before we hopped in: under the car, under the bonnet, in the boot. Everything seemed kosher 'cept for the busted headlight 'n the stove-in door. Streaks o' grey paint covered the front wing. Looked worse in daylight but it was only panel damage. I figured two days at Herman's up Green Point.

"Do you really think all this is necessary?" We was headin' up West 145th Street, inta Broadway then a straight run ta Perlman's. Her card said she lived on West 64th. Three miles, twenty minutes, maybe less dependin' on the traffic. I glanced at Aphrodite.

"Sure as heck I do. Those suckers tried ta put us over the edge last night. A smaller car 'n we woulda been in the rocks. I ain't takin' no chances."

"Who do you think they were?"

"Muscle? Hired help? What's it matter? They're just takin' orders. Question for us is who's givin' the orders?" We was headin' south through the upper west side. The houses was tired, like they seen their best way back, 'bout when Woodrow Wilson was the Man.

"You know" said Windschuttle. "You've mentioned some large organisations. Public, private, unions. It could be any of these or none." Well maybe, but I figured it for the unions. They had thousands o' members 'n they wasn't above playin' rough. The muscle floatin' 'round was most likely union muscle. I always thought they wasn't nothin' better 'n gangsters anyhow. I really woulda preferred ta stay clear. But that was 'xactly what I wouldn't be doin' if I kept pushin' the case. "There it is, on the right, the one with the red doors." Windschuttle pointed to a three story brownstone. I took a deep breath. I hoped I wasn't gonna be playin' referee. I didn't know the rules anyhow so it'd be a disaster.

* * *

Perlman looked good when she answered the door. Tight black skirt, cashmere pullover, soft leather shoes. She was wearin' dark lipstick 'n smelled like a million bucks. I didn't have ta look at Windschuttle ta know I was fucked. We all shook hands. Windschuttle had a mild snoot on but Perlman was nice enough. Gracious as Ma woulda said. She invited us in 'n took us ta the kitchen, a big, open room with windows that opened on a small garden. It musta been the back o' the house 'cause I could see a high fence at the end o' the yard 'n a small shed on one side with a pile of shovels 'n stuff up against it. As we walked through the house Aphrodite gave me a poke in the ribs. Fifty? Fifty-five? I ignored her.

"It's nice to see you again Mr Mack. And lovely to meet you Officer Windschuttle." Perlman had two fry pans warmin' 'n a jug o' flapjack mixture on one side. A yeller refrigerator stood beside the stove. She popped open the refrigerator 'n pulled out a plate o' bacon strips. "Flapjacks and bacon?" This broke the ice, 'n by the time we sat down ta eat, Perlman 'n Windschuttle was havin' a great chat. When we started on our second cup o' coffee it was time ta get down ta business.

"When we met last week I didn't have time to tell you very much Mr Mack. I hope you find it more helpful today. But first why don't you tell me what you've discovered over the past week." Perlman was curled up on the settee. Windschuttle sat in one o' the easy chairs. I sat in the other. I gave Perlman a short debrief. When I finished she was quiet for a coupla minutes, her skirt stretched tight against her legs. I felt Aphrodite's eyes on the side o' my head. Like Flash Gordon's ray gun.

"There are several things that you need to know. The first is about the Foundation. I was partly accurate when I told you the Foundation was set up under Mayor Jackson back in the 30's. But what I didn't tell you was that it is set up a little like a private company, with appointed trustees and also with shareholders. Or that it was established, not by the Mayor or the City, but by Richard Prancey's father, Oliver Prancey. Oliver was a self made man, mainly in property, like his son. But he was also a socially responsible man. I came to know him due to the work being done through the Board of Indigent Welfare. Because of this I was appointed to the Foundation by Oliver just before he died. Oliver held 60 percent of the shares and when he died, his shares went to Richard. Under the terms of the Trust Richard was effectively in charge, determining what the Foundation did, and where and when it did it."

Windschuttle hopped up at this point 'n went inta the kitchen. She was back a few moments later with fresh coffee. Perlman took a sip 'n settled back on the settee. She pulled her skirt down over her knees. Not that I was lookin' or nothin'. Flash Gordon was still watchin'. I didn't wanta be vaporised.

"Now Richard was a very different man to his father. He had no interest and certainly little sympathy for the less well to do. He felt that what people were worth was based on their contribution and that most, if not all, of the homeless and destitute were little more than a drain on society. He was frightful. It was almost impossible to work with him in the first few years. He was only interested in making money and spending time down in Sheridan Square. He saw the Foundation as a waste of time and resources. The only thing that kept him interested was the property portfolio. I know that he had his lawyers examine the trust deed. I can only assume he was looking for some way to get his hands on the property. He was always talking to other property developers and they were always calling. Again, I can only assume that they had the same ideas that Richard had. I think we achieved a working relationship you could only describe, at best, as strained." Perlman shivered 'n pulled the throw rug up 'round her shoulders. She took another sip o' coffee 'n continued.

"Then, two years ago, he surprised me. Amazed me actually. He came to the Foundation one day and announced he was getting married. He said he had met an Argentinian woman that he had fallen in love. I couldn't believe it, not after everything else, but he did go ahead and marry her and, I have to say, things seemed to go along OK. It just shows that you never know doesn't it?"

"Was Richard Prancey was a homosexual?" I stared over at Windschuttle. Where the fuck did that come from?

"Yes" said Perlman. "He kept it well hidden but really it was a open secret. His family did everything they could to hush it up. It's the reason he married Alessandra. It was a convenience for both of them, for all of them in fact. She came from a poor background in Buenos Aires and was amenable to an arrangement, particularly when it gave her wealth and privilege. And for Richard, it gave him the façade of a normal life which enabled him to fit in without explanation."

Ya coulda bowled me over with a feather, as Ma always says. I looked at Windschuttle. She had her glasses on. She looked at me, owl like. "Sheridan Square was the clue. That area is very popular."

"I think it was deliberate" said Perlman. "To keep the family name intact if you like. You have to understand we're talking about old money here, lots of old money. The Pranceys were Manhattan blue bloods and Mrs Prancey was the bluest of all. There was no chance she could, or would, tolerate any blemish on the family name. I wouldn't be surprised if she was the one who decided Richard had to marry and then arranged it herself.

After Richard died the other directors and I continued with Foundation business. I assumed, and perhaps the others did as well, that Mrs Prancey would speak to us about appointing someone to replace Richard. We were wrong. Under the terms of Richard's will the bulk of his estate went to the family trust with the exception of any cash, some of his shares and two houses, one in the Hamptons and one in New York. A huge amount went into the family trust but everything else went to his widow. Now maybe the cash, the houses and the shares are very valuable. I'm sure Alexandra is a wealthy woman. But the real jewel in Richard's estate, and the one that was overlooked in terms of the will, were his shares in the Foundation. These were also among the shares that passed to Alessandra."

"And there had never been any hint of Alessandra's interest in the business?"

"Never. The first hint I had that Alessandra was interested in taking up where Richard left off was when Alessandra paid me a visit in early December last year. She apologised for taking so long to get in touch but said that she had been grieving deeply for Richard. Needless to say I wasn't impressed, being aware that it was all a façade in any case. She told me she had been thinking long and hard about what to do with Richard's estate and she had decided to keep up the good work he had been doing. I was appalled when she told me she wanted to join the board of the Foundation. I mean, what skills or experience or knowledge did she have that the Foundation needed? Needless to say, the other directors and I were very sceptical."

Perlman took a sip o' coffee. "But I'm getting ahead of myself. It will be clearer if I give you a little more background. About two years ago, around the time Richard married Alessandra, there seemed to be a lot of interest in the Foundation and its property holdings. There were frequent meetings at the Foundation between Richard and various property developers and power brokers. The unions were there very often, along with property companies like Union City. The Chamber of Commerce was always there as well. Richard was a long time governor of the Chamber and I think once he mentioned the size of property portfolio of the Foundation it was like all the kids trying to get into the candy shop at once. It was one of New York's best kept secrets." She paused 'n took a fresh cup.

"Thanks. I noticed that Richard became increasingly tense and difficult during this period and that relations with some of these people seemed quite acrimonious. Finally, after six months of bad behaviour I confronted him and he told me what was happening. It must have been quite a catharsis for him." Catharsis? I looked at Windschuttle for help. She rolled her eyes 'n looked disgusted. I wrote it down anyhow.

"I took Richard out to a local restaurant, somewhere we could relax a little outside work and discuss our problems. I think he needed to get it all off his chest. He told me everything as far as I know. It was from this point that we started to work together more successfully. When I look back on it I think I was able to give him some encouragement, but I also worry that it might have contributed to his death. Richard told me that he had a close group of friends. All part of 'the community' as he called it. He explained that the newspaper coverage over the years was simply the family propaganda machine. He told me about Alessandra and the arranged wedding but he wasn't bitter about it. It was different when he spoke about his mother. 'No bumps in the road for Mummy' he said. I don't think he had a very good relationship with his mother.

He told me he had been under enormous pressure to release some of the Foundation's properties. He said that there were interests that wanted to acquire selected sites in order to carry what I think he called consolidations. I believe this occurs when a number of adjacent sites or buildings, generally owned by different people, are purchased and consolidated into one holding in order to redevelop. When I asked him who was pressuring him he wouldn't say. He said it was dangerous. He told me that they were blackmailing him because of his homosexuality and that they were threatening to make it public if he did not sell the properties. After we talked it through I think he decided to tough it out. He decided to dig his heels in. After all, he hadn't been successful in property development in New York by rolling over every time someone asked for something. Things seemed to quieten down for a while after that then, at the beginning of last year, in February I think, Richard came to see me. He looked terrible. He was a tall man, and usually quite fit, but he had become thin, gaunt almost, and the colour of a ghost. He told me that two of his friends had died in suspicious circumstances. He didn't say it in so many words but I also had the feeling he was concerned for his own safety."

"Who were the friends?"

"Well, they were an interesting group. Richard had four close friends who used to meet for bridge every week at a restaurant in Sheridan Square. One was a real estate agent from White Plains called J. Richard Peters III. Then there was P. R. James, a stockbroker who lived in Soho, and Max Richards, the art dealer whose death you know about. The fourth was...is.... Dick Giorgiano who runs his own engineering consulting business out on Staten Island. Richard told me that Peters and James had both died violently in the past two months and it was just too coincidental. He told me that Peters died when his garage exploded. Apparently it was something to do with solvents and cleaning agents, but Richard wasn't convinced. He said that James was out boating on the Hudson and his boat struck something in the water and disintegrated. He didn't believe this either. He said that he was still under enormous pressure from those same people but, again, he wouldn't tell me who they were."

"What did the police say?"

"I tried to encourage him to go to the police, to get them off his back. I said that if he had suspicions about the deaths of Peter and James he should take these to the police. But Richard wouldn't say any more. He said that he'd told me too much. We didn't really speak much after that. I tried to talk to him several times during the year but he always pushed me away. I thought he seemed to be coping but now I think that perhaps he was just trying to protect me."

Four guys dead. All violent. All friends. No fuckin' way was they accidents. Where was the cops in all this?

"What 'bout Giorgiano?" I asked.

"I haven't followed up. When Richard died I decided to keep a low profile so I sent an apology to the family for the memorial service. I questioned myself about whether I wanted to continue on the Foundation but, because of Richard's death, the Foundation didn't meet for several months. In fact I think the first meeting may have been in December and this was the meeting that Alessandra attended. The break gave me time to think things over. I decided that if anything else happened, or anyone threatened me in any way, I would resign immediately."

Perlman paused. "That's it pretty much," she said. "Now Alessandra is pushing the rest of the Committee to release land for development, but it hasn't come to blows yet. It will though. She's a determined woman. I think she's used to getting her own way and with looks like hers, why wouldn't she?" True indeed. Maybe Babycakes was a lot hotter 'n I first thought.

"Is there any particular land that Alessandra wants released? Or doesn't it matter?" Windschuttle had slipped on her pullover.

"Yes. She's asked the Foundation to release its Tribeca holding, which is quite large. I think there are twelve separate parcels, all quite close together. I don't think there's much doubt she has a major development in mind."

"Would you have time to show us the properties in Tribeca?"

Perlman took a peep at her watch. "Ouch!" she said. "I'd better get moving. I'm due at an exhibition in Soho at mid-day. But yes, I'm more than happy to do that. I'm free later in the afternoon?"

We settled on 3pm 'n Perlman saw us out. As I turned out onta Broadway Windschuttle moved closer 'n leaned on me. "You know what's weird about this case?"

"Four dead Dicks?"

"That's disrespectful. What's weird is that everyone that's died so far has died violently. In an explosion. Yes, they all knew each other. And yes, all were...alternate shall we say? What does that give you? Too much coincidence, that's what." She was dead right. Outa everything we'd heard, this had me worried the most. 'N all it did was raise more questions. It was too obvious. Surely the cops woulda looked at it. Seemed mighty unlikely these 'accidents' wasn't related. We'd have ta find time ta check all of 'em, but first I wanted ta talk with Gunny.

Windschuttle was pretty unhappy but she let it go. "What time are you seeing Alessandra tomorrow?"

"Babycakes said she was comin' in at five. But I need ta see Buf first, see how he's been doin'."

"Babycakes! Interesting." Roger. Duly noted. Dames! Couldn't live with 'em, couldn't live without 'em. Can't remember who said that. Mighta been Harly, but I couldn't be sure. But he woulda just been repeatin' someone else anyhow. He never had an original thought in his life. If he did Doris woulda prob'ly killed him. That reminded me I should pay another visit ta the folks sometime soon. Maybe we could even drop by tonight. Wouldn't hurt 'em ta meet Windschuttle. She'd charm 'em same way she charmed Perlman. Or was it the other way round? Can't never be sure with dames.

* * *

We pulled up at the office 'round mid-day. There wasn't no sign o' Mr Weinstein but then again, why would there be? He was happy, paid up for another month. Windschuttle raised her eyebrows when I said the fifth floor but didn't complain. We headed on up, stairs creakin', our footsteps creepy 'n hollow on the old boards. Eventually we reached the fifth floor. Windschuttle wasn't impressed. "This is your office?" Well yeah. 'N we can't help it if the rent don't cover cleanin'.

While Windschuttle pottered round, mostly runnin' her hand over everything 'n tsk'in' 'n generally carryin' on, I picked up the phone 'n flipped open my black book. Philadelphia. The operator put me through. There was loud click as it was picked up on the second ring. The voice was deep 'n gravelly.

"Lee speakin'." Gunny's voice hadn't changed since I first met him in early '44. His real name was Arnold Lee but even though we was long gone from the army I couldn't think o' callin' him anything but Gunny.

"Gunny. It's Renny Mack. How ya doin'?"

There was silence for maybe a second. "Fido! Good ta hear from ya. Ya still trackin' down lost dogs 'n kids? How's Fester?" I don't know where he got the names from but he started usin' 'em soon before we hit Normandy. All the guys in the platoon had a different moniker. Made it easy in the field. Ya didn't need ta dick around try'na make out who was talkin' ta who. Fido, Fester, Squid - Dicky Gunnerson; Axe – Maxie Aitken; 'n so on. I answered automatically.

"Yep. We're still trackin' down lost dogs as ya so kindly put it. 'N Buford is doin' well. How ya doin' yaself?"

I heard a deep chuckle. "Doin' good. Life's easy after Germany. Ain't everything easy after Germany?" He hesitated for a moment. "Somethin' on ya mind kid?"

"Yep. I need ya help. Is there any chance we can talk?"

Gunny's voice was gruff. "Always" he said. "But we'll need ta keep it short. I'm finishin' a shift an' I got one more round. What's the beef?"

I gave Gunny a quick run-down. When I finished he was silent on the end o' the phone. If it wasn't for the cracklin' over the wires I woulda thought I lost the connection. Then he spoke.

"Ok kid, I got it. Ya want me there?"

"Sure would appreciate it. How much time ya got?"

"Don't matter none. Old Richfield ain't gonna quibble if I take a few days. But I'll need today ta sort things. I can be there tomorrow." That's was Gunny. No nonsense, no dickin 'round, said he'd be here termorrer at eight, meet at the office. We chatted for a coupla minutes then I thanked him 'n rang off. There was still no sign o' Buford, but the note I left on the desk was gone. Just where the heck was he, 'n what was he doin' anyhow? I had a sudden premonition. A troublin' thought, as Ma woulda called it. A shiver ran up my neck.

"A trifle vexed my dear?" I felt her breath on my cheek.

"A little. Let's get back over pick up Perlman. Maybe we'll see Buf later."

* * *

When we turned inta Perlman's street she was standin' at the kerb. As I pulled over I noticed they was eyeballin' each other. Jesus! I could already hear the klaxons. Perlman looked good. She wore a tight, dark blue outfit, long pullover over long skirt, a purple shawl 'cross her shoulders. Her lipstick matched. I kept my eyes firmly on the lights at the end o' the street. She hopped inta the back seat, pushed aside the newspapers 'n food cartons. I heard her rustle some papers, then she said, "Let's pick up Broadway. That's the easiest."

I cut south along Amsterdam then turned on West 64th. It was only a coupla blocks ta Columbus where I turned right 'n we headed down island. The streets was quiet 'n wet from light showers. I follered Broadway for a coupla miles 'til we hit the middle o' Chelsea where I picked up the Avenue o' the Americas. From here it was maybe a three mile run ta Tribeca. I glanced at Perlman in the rear view mirror. She was sittin' in the middle o' the back seat, watchin' me with lips pursed. "So where we goin'?" I asked.

"The Foundation has a number of properties in the area. It depends on what you want to see."

Windschuttle pushed her sunglasses up on her forehead, turned sideways so she could see Perlman. "Have you ever heard of a company called Spanish Glass?"

I happened ta look in the rear mirror again. I saw Perlman blink and frown. She hesitated for a second. "No. I haven't. Is it significant?"

"Possibly. It may have a connection with the case. It imports a special type of sand that's used in glass making. A similar sand, mixed with mud, was found on Richard Prancey's car."

"Spanish Glass" Perlman repeated the name. "Does it have an office or factory anywhere close?"

"In Tribeca, not far from Pier 32. Does the Foundation have any properties in that area?"

Perlman rustled the papers again. "I don't know the streets very well but there are several near Watts and Canal Streets. And there are many others. All over Tribeca. And Soho."

"Look" I said. "How 'bout we do it regular like, a grid search or somethin'. We got the car so it ain't like we gotta walk everywhere. 'N it's pretty quiet so we ain't gonna get stuck in traffic or nothin'." I was just comin' up on the intersection with Canal. I drove along Canal for maybe half a mile then turned left down West Street. We was drivin' along the wharves now, the Hudson grey 'n slimy 'round the piles. Whole place looked down 'n out. Perlman tapped my shoulder. "Turn left here." The sign said Watts Street. "Nice and slow" she said. I dropped back inta second 'n we rolled slowly along the street. The street was filled with four 'n five story warehouses 'n hardware merchants, vacant lots, timber yards. We passed a high chain fence with a two huge dogs on the other side. Looked like a scrap yard. Why guard dogs in a scrap yard? Jesus they was big.

Perlman tapped me on the shoulder again. "Stop. There are some of the properties." She wound down the side window 'n pointed 'cross the road towards two red brick warehouses, maybe five storeys. We was parked on the corner o' Watts 'n Greenwich, 'bout a hundred off Canal. Greenwich continued south for least another mile, maybe two, the tarmac busted 'n cracked, unsealed sidewalks unsealed 'n weeds along the fences. It was nothin' like the upper west side.

"Those two buildings, the ones with the pulleys over the street, are both owned by the Foundation. And further down along Greenwich, can you see the one with the outside fire escape, just past the vacant lot? The Foundation owns that one as well." I took the chance ta get outa the car. So did Windschuttle 'n Perlman. We walked down Greenwich ta the first warehouse. The windows was low enough ta get a look in so I leaned in close 'n shaded my eyes with one hand. But the window was too dirty. I tried again at the next one but same thing. The warehouses was dark inside anyhow.

We spent the next hour drivin' 'round Tribeca 'n Soho. I was still surprised how many properties the Foundation had. I reckon we musta seen thirty. We was drivin' back up Hudson when Windschuttle hit me on the arm. "Hold it!" She turned round 'n looked back down the street. "Let's back up." I'd just pulled through an intersection so I turned the car 'round 'n we drove back. "Take a right" said Windschuttle. I noted the street sign as I turned. Hubert Street. It was a short street, maybe two or three hundred yards long 'til it intersected with West, filled with warehouses. The tarmac was cracked 'n pitted with potholes. The holes was filled with water, leakin' from a fireplug on the sidewalk. The sidewalks was same as on Greenwich, busted 'n cracked. All the doorways was full o' trash. It didn't look pretty. I could see the pale glimmer o' water through the old wharves in the distance.

Suddenly Aphrodite leaned forward 'n peered through the windscreen. "There!" she said. She was pointin' at a two-storey brick buildin', its paint a cross between khaki 'n puke. At street level there was two large wooden doors, with three large windows on each side. Upstairs there was a long row o' windows 'cross the front, six or seven maybe. The whole place was dark but the doors 'n driveway looked like they seen recent use. There was a mess of white stuff layin' in the driveway 'n scattered up 'n down the street. I pulled in close ta read the sign over the double doors. It was red letters on a dark green background. For a second I felt I was back in the Corps doin' the eyesight test. 'The Spanish Glass Company Incorporated. Makers of Fine Glass'.

I turned off the car 'n we climbed out onta the sidewalk. The windows was all dark 'n when I tried the doors they was locked. Didn't look like no one was home. I tried ta peek through the windows but they was too high off the sidewalk. So I grabbed hold o' the windowsill 'n pulled myself up. But the windows was set deep 'n I couldn't get close enough. In the end I dropped back onta the sidewalk. I was lookin' 'round for somethin' ta stand on when I heard my name.

"Mr Mack. Come take a look at this." Windschuttle 'n Perlman was over near the doors, in the middle o' the drive. Windschuttle was crouched on one knee, rubbin' somethin' between her fingers. She stood up as I walked over. "Whatcha got?" She held out her hand. It was covered in a fine white powder, mixed with pieces o' dirt 'n road grime. It sparkled.

"Similar to the mud we took off Prancey's car." she said.

I rubbed some between my fingers 'n examined it. It sure looked the same but it was hard ta tell. Even though it was a sunny afternoon, the light was poor between the dark buildings. I walked back ta the car 'n cracked the glove box, searchin' for the flashlight. We held the flashlight close 'n Windschuttle rubbed the mixture between her fingers. We could see fine white sand. It looked same as the stuff off Ricky's car. Only way we'd know for sure was get it analysed.

I looked up 'n down the street, checked there wasn't no-one 'round, then walked over 'n tried the doors. But they was locked tight. There was a couple o' holes drilled through the edge o' each door. A chain was looped through the holes, ends tied up with a rusty padlock. I got down on my knees 'n tried ta see under the door but no dice. There was too much dirt, mud 'n sand. There was tire tracks everywhere. I knelt there for a while, thinkin'. I had ta get inside somehow. I looked back at the two broads. They was standin' at the kerb talkin'. I cut my eyes at Windschuttle. She was a cop. I couldn't implicate her in a break 'n enter. She was watchin' me outa the corner o' her eye. I'd have ta come back, bring Gunny with me. I brushed off 'n stood up. We walked back ta the car, Windschuttle slappin' her hands tagether, Perlman rustlin' her papers. She seemed miffed.

"Ya got any properties around here by any chance?" I asked as I pressed the starter button. Perlman pushed out her bottom lip 'n shook her head. Then I had a thought. I stopped the car 'n turned ta Windschuttle. "Ya got a pencil 'n paper?" She nodded. "I'm gonna drive around the whole city block. I want ya ta write down as many o' the business names as ya can read. If I'm gonna go check on Spanish Glass 'n Blackmore Leggitt I might as well check the others."

I drove slowly 'round the block, along Hubert inta Washington, right again inta Laight 'n finally, another right inta Hudson. Windschuttle wrote down fifteen names. I figured this was more'n enough so I turned back inta the Avenue o' the Americas. I wondered what Buf was doin'. I still hadn't heard from him 'n time was marchin' on, as Ma woulda said. I decided ta take Perlman home, then up ta the office 'n wait for Buf 'n Babycakes.

Aphrodite chatted all the way back ta the Upper West Side but Perlman was quiet. I was busy thinkin' 'bout Spanish Glass 'n white sand. I needed ta get ta the Companies Office. 'N I needed get inta that warehouse. I had a gut feelin' that the sand might be significant. I was startin' ta wonder why Perlman had told us so little.

* * *

When we got ta the office there was still no sign o' Buford. Christ only knows what's happened ta the sap. While Aphrodite phoned in, I bundled up the trash 'n took it down ta the dumpster in the alley. There was 'n old wino sleepin' behind it, two or three sheets o' ply propped between the dumpster 'n the wall. All I could see was two feet stickin' out from under ratty blankets, looked like army surplus. I didn't know whether he was dead or alive from the smell. I thought maybe I should check. But I didn't. I dumped the trash 'n climbed back up five flights, wonderin' when Weintstein was gonna fix the lift. Prob'ly when hell freezes over. When I got back ta the office Aphrodite was just finishin' up with Ralph. She screwed up her face as she hung up the phone.

"Darn" she said. "I'm on the early shift. Eight o'clock start so I'll have to go back tonight or else it's a early trip tomorrow morning. I'll catch the bus back. I've done it a couple of times. The bus actually stops right on the corner." I was happy ta drive her back, but I had a lot ta do 'n a five hour round trip ta Bridgehampton wouldn't help. A bus was prob'ly best. But I wasn't too happy with her travellin' alone neither.

"It's no trouble. There's a bus every hour on the hour from Grand Central. I've been on it plenty of times. I'll be fine." She checked her watch. "Nearly five. Mrs Prancey will be here soon so let's get that over with. Then we can get me over to Grand Central." While she was talkin' I heard footsteps on the stairs. Too heavy for a dame. It was the lunkhead.

"Get in here ya sap. Where ya been the last few days? Did ya get any o' the messages I left for ya?"

"Hey, hey, hey" he said, slappin' my hand away. "Careful with the rags man."

"Jesus Buford, ya look like a pimp from up the Bowery. Ya smell like one too. Where the hell ya been? Ya can't keep goin' AWOL on me." I took the chair behind the desk while Buf flopped down in Babycakes' chair. Windschuttle dropped the coffee on the desk 'n he took a slug. His neck bulged over his collar, his waistcoat pulled at the buttons. "Yeah. Well I've been auditioning. It takes time. I've told you that too. Albie Bertram's putting together another off-Broadway show. It's loosely based on Coriolanus. I'm reading the role of Cominius. He's a general. 'Ay, if you come not in the blood of others, but mantled...."

He was cut off by the clip o' heels on the stairs. If it was Babycakes I prayed silently that she'd come through the door lookin' like a nun. Needless ta say God wasn't listenin'. Soon as she walked in I knew I was royally fucked. As Gunny woulda said. Babycakes looked like Ava Gardner. Only better. She was wearin' a white dress with no collar, wide red leather belt, cinched tight at the waist. Her hair gleamed like wet coal 'n her skin looked like she'd copped a little sun since we last seen her. Her dress was made outa material ya can't quite see through but ya sorta can. 'N it didn't look like she was wearin' much under it. There was a dusky suggestion o' long legs 'n from what I could see, in 'bout a millisecond mind ya, she wasn't wearin' much up top neither. But who was lookin'? Believe me, I made sure I kept my eyes above the waterline. Didn't matter though. I was a dead man walkin'.

Babycakes glided up ta the desk 'n sat down in Buf's chair. When she crossed her legs the skirt fell open up ta mid thigh. I sat down before I fell down. Buford looked sick. I couldn't look at Windschuttle. I wondered how she was gonna do it. Somethin' with knives 'n gasoline? Did Buf know he was a goner? Babycakes popped her handbag 'n pulled out a silver cigarette case. She clicked it open 'n took out a god tipped stogie, slid her tongue over her lips, then put the cigarette in her mouth. She leaned towards me 'n flashed her eyes. How the fuck do they do that?

"A light Mister Mack?" The perfect fingers 'n red nails was 'bout ten inches away. I didn't have ta do nothin' though 'cause Buf near fell over himself gettin' his lighter out. She took a long draw then slowly blew out the smoke. Her dark eyes flickered between me 'n Buf. I think Buford nearly passed out when she smiled at him. She tipped her head sideways 'n looked at Windschuttle. I swear I seen the air shimmer. No kiddin'. Babycakes took another pull on the cigarette 'n slid her eyes back ta me.

"Who is this woman? Why is she here?" The temperature in the room dropped a hundred degrees. I had to save my arse here. Fuck Buford.

"Mrs Prancey, this is our associate, Miss Windschuttle." I wasn't 'xactly lyin', but no sense tellin' her Windschuttle was the law. "She's assistin' us in our enquiries." Babycakes blew out a long plume o' smoke, her eyes slitted. She sucked her lower lip. Oh God.

"OK" she said. "Please tell me what you 'ave?" She cut her eyes once more at Windschuttle then settled back in the chair. I noticed Windschuttle had her arms folded. She was givin' Babycakes the evil eye. Babycakes let me talk for maybe ten minutes. I was getting' ta the part 'bout Sommerville 'n Perlman when she held up her hand. "That is OK I think. I am very 'appy with what you are doing. I 'ave been speaking with my mother in law and she also is 'appy. She is, what you call it, a little confused, maybe. But you 'ave said nothing about the unions. 'Ave you talked with the unions?"

"Mrs Prancey. We met with the WWU. They wasn't too friendly. I don't think they know anything 'bout the case. We ain't had a chance ta see the UPG."

"And who did you speak to?"

"We spoke with Nordstromm. He's the head honcho."

"So. You 'ave spoken with Mister Nordstromm. And what did Mister Nordstromm say?"

"Just what I was sayin'. They don't know nothin'. 'N Nordstromm made it clear he didn't wanta hear from us again."

Babycakes leaned back in the chair 'n pushed out her chest. I had the feelin' she knew what she was doin'. I could see a bright intelligence in those dark eyes. I glanced at Buford but the poor sap was still try'na cop a peek at the pineapples. Windschuttle looked like a brewin' storm. I looked out the window. Yup! Five stories would do it.

"You 'ave not spoken with the United Guild?" We hadn't.

"We're plannin' ta go see the UPG Monday. Mr Garcia ain't been available."

Babycakes nodded, took another puff on her cigarette, then uncrossed 'n recrossed her legs. There was more skin on show than down the cattle markets, but I was gettin' tired o' the antics. If that's what they was. Maybe South American women is just more hot blooded. Or somethin'. Or maybe she was just tryin' ta stir up Windschuttle. Whatever it was it wasn't doin' my blood pressure no good. Or Buf's. Or Windschuttle's.

"So, I will come back on Tuesday, no?" Babycakes straightened her skirt 'n stood up.

"Is there anything else we should know Mrs Prancey?"

Babycakes shook her head. "No. I do not think so. I try to keep my mother in law 'appy but, like I say, she is a strange woman. I think we 'ave told you everything we know." She snapped her bag shut. When she got ta the door she stopped 'n turned. She looked at Windschuttle.

"Nice to meet you" she said. Then she turned ta me. "Keep the retainer. It is enough I think?" When no-one answered she continued. "I think you are probably good men. You 'ave done a good job. I will see you next week." Her tongue flickered over her lips. Then she was gone.

I walked over 'n pushed the door shut then leaned on the wall. Aphrodite was sittin' in the window with her arms folded, her face pursed up like a flounder. Buf looked like a stunned mullet. "Well ain't that somethin'" he said. This from Shakespeare himself ya know. But Windschuttle was less impressed. "I don't trust her" she said as she pushed herself off the windowsill. She walked over ta the desk. "As soon as I saw her I knew I couldn't trust her. She's used to getting exactly what she wants." She was right. Ain't ever been too many people said no ta Babycakes. Not guys anyhow. But Aphrodite wasn't finished.

"You really expect me to believe any of this? A little over a week ago she comes in with a bagful of cash and some story that she wants you to investigate. You both go brainless with lust and take the money and start running around in circles, literally, looking for the bad guys. Duffy warns you off and when you don't take any notice, Renny is beaten up. Then someone tries to run us off the road. And now she comes in, pays no attention to anything you say, just points you at the union, again. Or should I say onion! For three thousand dollars for heaven's sake. I'm starting to wonder if there's a single brain cell between the both of you."

She was right. We looked like idiots. Nothin' stacked up. Least the way she described it. But what was we gonna do? We both stood there, pole-axed. Windschuttle got even madder. She threw her hands in the air, stamped over ta the coffee pot. She poured a cup but didn't offer none ta Buf or me. She stamped back ta the window 'n sat down. "So" she said. "Now what? What's your plan?" Broads is funny sometimes. They get a snit on 'bout things guys just don't understand. Other broads, animals, hair - that's a big one. I looked over at Aphrodite. If I didn't know no better I woulda said she was sulkin'. But she had a point.

"You know," she said. "I've been worried about this case from the first phone call. It was pressure right from the start, pressure from the Chief, pressure from the NYPD, pressure on the utility company, pressure on Marty. When it was closed out early we all knew something wasn't right. But, as usual, everyone looked the other way. Me included. When you came up to see us I thought that maybe something would come of it, even if it only closed off the case and confirmed it. But from what I've learned over the past week or so there are lots of reasons why it should be re-opened. Just for example, look at Mrs Prancey, the younger Mrs Prancey that is. She came to see you just over a week ago and asked you to investigate the accident. She asked for the investigation and a report to be completed in one week, even though she knew there was a holiday weekend in the middle of that week. Was she serious? Were you guys serious? And she comes in today, doesn't listen, but says she's happy. That's it? Well, I don't think so. I think it's all a façade, an act. That woman has another agenda. I'm sure of it." Aphrodite stopped 'n took a deep breath. "And Prancey's friends? All dead in violent accidents. And all homosexual. There must be a link here. I can't believe it hasn't been investigated. And there's one other key question that you lunkheads haven't asked yourselves. Well, maybe you have but you've ignored it. Why did Alessandra come to you? I'm not being disparaging but there are lots of bigger firms."

O' course she was right. Mostly. Askin' for closure inside a week was Ok if ya lookin' for a lost dog or somethin', but a possible murder? Fuck no. 'N the friends. 'Cause for significant concern gentlemen', as Gunny woulda said. Buf 'n me stared at each other. I know I was embarrassed. We was definitely thinkin' with our dicks. Three gorilla's didn't hurt none neither. But now we was stuck. We all stared at each other. Glum was the word Ma woulda used. Maybe it was time ta go see the folks...

* * *

It was close ta six when we pulled in behind Dad's work truck. It's an old Ford. He's been drivin' it since '46 'n it was old when he bought it. It had a faded Texaco oil sign on the door. There wasn't no sign o' Harly's car. Doris was gonna shit diamonds when she met Aphrodite. 'Cross the road I saw Dave waterin' his roses again. Windschuttle mighta been the first black person Dave ever seen in Red Hook. Maybe the first one he seen his whole life. When Windschuttle hopped outa the car 'n waved he almost dropped the hose. Aphrodite caught me smilin'.

"Renny. We didn't know you were coming over." Ma's head popped out the front door. She spotted Windschuttle, who was takin' her pullover outa the car. "And you've brought a friend. That's wonderful. Come on in, you're just in time for some tea." As we walked up the path Dad's head appeared beside Ma's. He grinned 'n nodded. Windschuttle straight away stuck her arm through mine. I glanced at her. Her smile lit up the street.

"Ma, Dad, this Alfre Windschuttle, friend of mine from up Long Island. Al, this is my Ma, Dainty." This brought the usual cackle from Ma. "'N my Dad, Bill." They all shook hands then Dad took Windschuttle inta the sittin' room while Ma dragged me inta the kitchen ta make some tea.

"Renny. She's gorgeous. How long have you known her?" Now this coulda been a bit embarrasin' given that I only met the dame a week ago. Heck, not even.

"Ma, she's the local cop in Bridgehampton. We're workin' the case tagether."

Ma was pourin' hot water in the coffee pot. "Renny. Renny. I know a look when I see it. That girl's spooning for you." For Chris' sake! That's what ya call bein' put under pressure. Buf woulda said he felt threatened. Yeah! Whatever! Ma stopped with the coffee 'n patted my hand. "She likes you Renny. Anyone can see." Well that's OK I thought, but I gotta get through this without Ma makin' me feel like I pissed the bed.

When we come back inta the sittin' room Dad 'n Aphrodite was discussin' baseball scores. I sat down next ta Aphrodite 'n poured coffee for everyone. Ma sat in the other easy chair 'n sipped, grinnin' at me 'n starin' at Windschuttle. I couldn't remember Dad ever talkin' so much. After a while Ma interrupted 'n Windschuttle 'n her started talkin' gardens. Then Ma asked her if she wanted ta see the roses. One thing that Dad got a kick outa was Ma's roses was bigger 'n Dave's.

Me 'n Dad stood on the porch 'n watched Ma 'n Aphrodite dawdle 'round the front yard. Dave was still hangin' 'round, tryin' for a peep or two. Dad gave him a wave. In the afternoon light Windschuttle's skin looked like oiled copper. Ma looked like she was wearin' a pile o' blue candy floss. Dad shook his head. "That settles it. Never liked that hairdresser."

We watched Ma 'n Windschuttle for a few more minutes then Dad sat down in the swing. "Had a call from Alf a couple of days back. Said you paid him a visit."

"Yeah. I did."

"Alf told me a little of what you told him. It didn't sound good. I won't tell you what to do, but if this thing is dangerous you should drop it now." Dad pushed tobacco inta his pipe as he spoke. "No-one's going to think ill of you."

"We discussed it. But we decided we're gonna finish it. We'll have it wrapped in a week." I didn't have no idea when we'd have it wrapped.

"Renny. Alf told me about the beating. Look at your cast for Pete's sake. And he told me about the car thing on Long Island. Isn't this clear enough?"

"'Course it's clear. They damn near drove us off the road. But we're gonna get some help." I told him I'd spoken ta Gunny. He didn't look convinced. We sat there quiet for a while, watchin' Dave watchin' Windschuttle. She 'n Ma was in the roses now, smellin' Ma's specials, as she calls 'em

"What do you expect to find? And who are you going to tell when you find it?" Good point. 'Xactly what did we expect ta find? 'N what was we gonna do if we found it? In fact, how would we know if we found it?

"If we ain't solved the case by Wednesday we'll call it off. If we find anything I'll pass it off ta the NYPD." This was partly true, 'cause what we did was gonna depend on what we found. Assumin' we found anything. But Dad let it go 'n we sat 'n watched Aphrodite 'n Ma. They was pickin' the specials. This is what it's like in the 'burbs. A simple life. I snorted. As Ma woulda said - it just didn't have no ambience.

# Gunny

I was on the road early next mornin'. The traffic wasn't bad 'n I made good time 'cross town after puttin' Windschuttle on the early bus. So I was standin' in the sunshine ten minutes early, sippin' a brew from the nearby deli, watchin' the office workers stream by. I felt better now Gunny was joinin' us, Truth be told, Buf hadn't been no help over the past few days. Havin' Gunny on board we could rethink our approach.

I was watchin' a City Hall waste truck try'na do a ten-point turn in an alley. One guy stood on the kerb wavin' his arms 'round, the driver half out the window cursin'. I was a hundred yards away 'n even I could see they wasn't gonna get that truck up that alley. Then a shadow loomed over me 'n a huge hand fell on my shoulder. Gunny looked down at me for a second then turned his head down the road 'n watched the garbage guys for a moment. "Whatya reckon Fido?" We watched for a while but eventually the kerbside guy threw his hands in the air 'n climbed back in the truck. We saw some arm wavin' through the windows then the truck backed up 'n lumbered off down the street.

"Guess not" said Gunny. "Reminded me of Gunnerson an' Messner trying ta get that piano outa that house in Maastrich. Remember?" I remembered. The piano didn't make it neither. Gunny glanced at the coffee. "Now Fido, that smells about as good as anything can smell so why don't you point us in the direction from whence it came?"

We shook hands 'n walked ta the deli. The deli had a small area near the back with a bench 'n stools. Gunny was carryin' a small suitcase. He dropped it under the bench 'n hooked a stool with his boot. "Straight up for me Fido" he said. "Three sugars. Bagel an' lox." I ordered coffee 'n bagel for Gunny, a refill for myself. I looked Gunny over while he ate. He was a big man, 'round six three 'n more'n two thirty in skivvies. He made the ice workers look small. He was a little older 'n when I last seen him. But not much. He still wore the army buzz cut but his hair had streaks o' grey. His hands was big as dinner plates. "Gimme the gen Fido."

Gunny listened in silence while I 'gave him the gen', tappin' his finger against the edge o' the coffee cup. He drank half of it before he spoke. "Jesus Fido, what a bowl of spaghetti. Arse backwards. Always arse backwards. And after everything I taught ya." He shook his head. "Just how the fuck ya get by I sure don't know. It must be a higher power."

After he'd bawled me out a little more he pulled out a notebook. "Let's get some order here." he said. "First off, the Prancey broad. Needs her husband's death re-examined, an' a report ta close off the insurance. Pretty vague on the detail Fido. But ya take the case anyway an' start runnin' in circles. What'd I tell the platoon in Mannheim? How many times did I say it? Fail ta plan, plan ta fail. Perfect execution Fido." Gunny snorted.

"Anyhow, let's see what ya got. Ya chased down the cops and the utility people in Bridgehampton. Hopefully ya covered it and there's no need ta go back, unless we pick up a connection. Which brings us back ta New York. There's a few things here that we need ta do." Gunny made notes as he spoke.

"So who we got here? Let's call them persons of interest. Someone's gotta go see Thommerson. Same with the guys at Union City an' City Welfare and – what was the other one? – Knights of Malta. Who are they? What do they know? More importantly – what do they want? Why haven't you been ta see these guys Fido? An' now that I think about, why haven't you been ta see Prancey's mother? Fuck me, ya been runnin' all over Long Island an' up an' down Manhattan an' haven't gone ta see your other client. Tell me why I'm not surprised." Ma woulda said Gunny was exasperated. I woulda said he was pissed. But he wasn't finished. "An' the other three that died. Prancey's friends? Ya telling me that isn't a problem Fido? Straight out there's something goin' on here. Ya think? If I could I'd go back an' start the whole thing over."

"Jesus Gunny. It ain't like we been sittin' on our butts or nothin'. Wasn't nothin' we coulda done over the long weekend anyhow." Ta be honest, we was so wrapped up chasin' the case, drivin' up 'n down Long Island as Gunny put it, that I hadn't even thought o' goin' ta see the old lady. But it wouldna changed nothin'. I woulda still spent time with Aphrodite. I guess that was his point.

"Job's not even half done Fido. Not even. Why didn't ya call me earlier?"

I shrugged. "We didn't know there was gonna be trouble. Not at first anyhow."

"Ya didn't know or ya didn't think?" Gunny sniffed. "Ok. So ya only call me when things get tough. I get it. An' just by the way, where's that other fuckin' idiot? I didn't hear ya mention him much earlier. What's he been doin' this past week? Is he still ya partner or is he just runnin' around with his head up his arse? Not that it'd be unusual." I couldn't answer for Buford. He'd have ta come up with his own excuses.

"He's 'round somewhere. I ain't seen him since yesterday."

Gunny snorted. "Now that definitely isn't a surprise. Just how the fuck the lot of ya came through has gotta be one o' God's own miracles. Well, he's gonna have ta pull weight or ship out. We're gonna be busy so track the sucker down. First thing we do is build a battle plan. Then we get movin'." Gunny spent the next thirty minutes workin' through his 'battle plan'.

"Here it is Fido. First we split the work. This isn't something I like doin', but we haven't got time. Ya goin' down to City Hall an' the companies' office. We need to know who owns the properties. An' we need ta know who owns the companies that own the properties. While ya doin' that I'll see if Thommerson an' Caldwell will talk. Some of these guys have gotta seen service. I'll play on that. If they ain't, then I'm just an old Gyrene lookin' for answers. Tomorrow we'll go see the unions and Prancey's mother." He checked his watch. "Ok. It's near enough ten o'clock so how's about we get movin'? I say we regroup back at the office, five o'clock, reassess?"

"Sounds good. What's your take on it?"

Gunny grimaced. "I don't know Fido. It seems ta put Nordstromm in a bad light. But that's always the way isn't it. Sometimes it isn't obvious. But you've stirred something up. Or someone else has. Either way we've gotta get in front of it. Right now we're playin' catch-up. An' it isn't healthy." We walked out inta the street, Gunny still carryin' his suitcase.

"Ya gonna carry that 'round all day? How 'bout we run it up ta the office?"

"It isn't any trouble kid. Fact is, when I show up carryin' a suitcase I look like someone from down on the farm. Makes 'em think I'm a bit on the simple side. Can work wonders." He started ta turn away then stopped. "Find Fester. It's gonna take more than two of us."

We shook hands 'n headed off in different directions. I glanced back in time ta see him turn the corner on the next street. He stood a head taller than the people 'round him. For a guy pushin' forty he moved quickly. I looked at my watch. I'd have ta move it if I was gonna get everything done. I had no idea what ta do 'bout Buford.

* * *

I was down the Companies Office by ten thirty, watchin' a pimply-faced kid with thick glasses try'na open the door. He had a handful o' keys. He fumbled 'round 'n kept droppin' 'em on the floor, then pickin' his nose before he picked 'em up. Reminded me o' young Ronny, one o' the nephews, always out ta lunch. Pimples pushed the glasses back up his nose 'n finally got the doors open. There was a coupla people waitin' with me so we all trooped in tagether. Pimples flicked a hatch in the bench top, waddled through 'n closed it behind him, then stood there starin' at everyone. I glanced at the two other guys. They nodded. It was me first.

"Mornin'." I said. "I'd like ta get some information on a company by the name of Blackmore Leggitt." The kid pushed some green papers at me. He pointed ta chairs 'n desks along the wall near the windows.

The 'search' forms asked for the name o' the company, my name 'n occupation, 'n why I required the information. I had a slight problem. I didn't know the exact name o' each company, so I kicked off with Blackmore Leggitt Limited. That sounded close enough. Then I wrote my name 'n occupation. I was gonna write Detective, but I thought Private Investigator sounded better. For the why 'n wherefore I wrote 'For the purposes of concluding an ongoing investigation'. I also filled in another form for Spanish Glass. Then I trotted over 'n handed 'em ta Pimples.

He shoved his glasses up his nose 'n grabbed the papers, scrunchin' his eyes up a bit like he couldn't see. "Private Dick eh? Whatta they call ya? Bogie?" I think he laughed but it sounded more like he was try'na cough up a lurgie. He squinted at me again. "Give me a moment." he said.

I leaned against the counter 'n waited. The other two guys was rustlin' 'round in briefcases 'n fillin' out forms. They looked like lawyers, 'n both looked worried. Life must be tough at the big end o' town. "Mr Mack" It was Pimples. He held a two manila folders, each one maybe two inches thick. "Your files."

I took the files 'n went ta the desk at the end 'n spread 'em out. A quick fan through Blackmore Leggitt showed they went back ta '44. The first thirty or forty pages was standard. Companies Office stamps, annual filin's, financials, fees, insurances. The Current Balance on one return showed $1,200,000. But wasn't nothin' on file 'bout what the company did. 'N Spanish Glass wasn't mentioned at all. Two guys, O'Shea 'n Meagher, signed all the papers. Their names didn't ring no bells. After an hour I'd had enough. I was flippin' the last few pages when Garcia's name jumped out at me.

Blackmore Leggitt Corporation Limited, incorporated in the State of New York, this 26th day of March 1944 with a common shareholding of Three Hundred Thousand ordinary shares, issued in equal sums to the Waterside Workers Union, the United Packers Guild and the Prancey Development Corporation.

Garcia's signature was at the bottom o' the page. Along with Nordstromm's 'n Prancey's. So they been in bed tagether since '44? I thought back ta what had Perlman told us. I was sure she said they started the Foundation in '44. Maybe Prancey planned ahead. Was the unions 'n Prancey dealin' before Prancey even joined the Foundation? No wonder him 'n Perlman didn't get along durin' the first few years. She said it wasn't 'til '48 or '49 that Prancey started bein' friendly. 'Bout the time he married Babycakes?

I opened the other file. It had the same paperwork though not so much. The same signatures was all over the documents.

Spanish Glass Inc, incorporated in the State of New York, this 26th day of March 1944 with a common shareholding of One Hundred Thousand ordinary shares, held in full by the Blackmore Leggitt Corporation.

What next I asked myself. Now I knew that Spanish Glass was owned by Blackmore Leggitt, 'n Blackmore Leggitt was owned by the unions 'n the Prancey Development Corporation. But who owned Prancey Development Corporation now that Ricky was dead? Babycakes? Prancey's mother? I'd put the money on Babycakes, but it was only a guess. I still had the list o' names 'n addresses that Windschuttle copied while we was down Tribeca. There was thirteen business names on it. Apart from Spanish Glass none o' the names was familiar. I decided ta go down City Hall first 'n check title. I could come back, see Pimples, then cross check. Either way I was gonna do a lotta runnin' 'round. I wondered if I was arse backwards again.

I re-folded the list 'n slipped it inta my coat pocket along with my notebook. Then I took the files back ta the counter. Pimples was nowhere ta be seen but I could hear voices in the back room. I hit the bell 'n his head popped 'round the edge o' the door. He had a donut in his hand 'n icin' sugar 'n jelly on his chin. I dropped the files on the counter, gave him a wave, 'n walked out. Looked like he was try'na swaller a grapefruit.

When I stepped outside there was umbrellas everywhere, the roads 'n sidewalks slick 'n greasy. This was a light rain, the top o' the Chrysler Buildin' lost in the low clouds. The traffic lights flashed green 'n red, fuzzy halos in the soft drizzle. On the far corner I saw an old guy sellin' hotdogs. His umbrella was a ratty green but it glowed in the dull light. I stood there for a few seconds, watchin' the traffic drift by. What I really felt like doin' was sittin' on Windschuttle's back porch. With Windschuttle. Then I thought 'bout Gunny. 'I am not sympathetic to that scenario Fido'. I headed off ta City Hall wonderin' where Buford was.

* * *

City Hall is down island on the lower east side, near the docks. It's a long walk from the Companies Office but, 'cause parkin' anywhere near City Hall is always a problem, I left the car where it was on Irving Place 'n walked ten blocks 'cross town. I reached City Hall 'bout two. It's a long, three storey, red brick buildin' with white 'pointing' between the bricks, faces south 'cross City Hall Park. It has a white granite porch in front, with columns beside double height white doors, white casement windows on each side. It had 1852 set in the stonework above the porch. The style mighta been called Antebellum 'cept we was too far north. The doors had brass handles 'n squealed as I pushed 'em open.

The layout inside was what ya find in most public buildings. Large foyer, waxed floors, information desk in the middle, silver haired ladies in cardigans behind the counter, chairs 'round the walls, corridors leadin' off left 'n right, signs everywhere, walls painted shitty colours. City Hall always reminded me o' Halloween candy. Looks great on the outside but when ya take a bite it tastes like cabbage. Anyhow, first thing ya have ta go see the old ladies. The controllers! I pulled out my list 'n walked over.

"How can we help you young man?" One looked a little older than the other. When she stood up 'n come ta the counter I saw she was a big woman, as Ma woulda said. She wore a long dark blue dress with a grey cardigan draped over her shoulders. She had a name badge pinned on her dress. 'Rose'.

"Mornin' ma'am. I was hopin' ya could help me. I'd like ta check some business names. I'd also like ta know who holds the land."

Rose nodded. "Yes. I think we can help. Is that a list you have there?" I handed the list over 'n she hmmmed 'n harrred for a bit. "OK" she said. "You have the addresses, which is good. But I need to check the addresses against the block and registered section number. Then I can check our records to see who owns each section." She looked up at me. "This will take me a little while so why don't you take a seat."

Took Rose thirty minutes. She was pleased with herself. "I have the information you asked for." She pointed behind her. "I typed it up on our new Royal." I nodded my thanks 'n parted with a deuce ta cover the charges. I took the papers 'n walked outside. There was park bench close by, still damp from the showers but I lined up my original list alongside Rose's. My list was in address order by street. Rose had used the same layout, street name, business name, address, owner. I ran my finger down the page.

Hubert Street: Numbers 12 'n 14, Maxfield All Supplies, land owned by the United Packers Guild, 22 Wharf Road, Lower East Side. Number 16, Greenberg Fabrics, land owned by Arnold Rosnow, 432 Breaker Street, Staten Island. Numbers 18-24, Spanish Glass Company, land owned by the United Packers Guild. 'N we knew that Spanish Glass was also owned by UPG. I moved my finger over Washington Street. Number 107, Gutenberg 'n Sons, land owned by the UPG. Same for 109. So far Garcia 'n his buddies owned nearly half the block.

Laight Street, number 16, Lissitzky 'n Lissitzky, owned by Abraham 'n Marna Lissitzky, 465 Normanhurst in Yonkers. Then numbers 18-22, New York Training Services, land owned by the Waterside Workers Union. Numbers 24, 26 'n 28, DDG Shipping Incorporated, land owned by the WWU. Numbers 30-32, Union Square Ceramics, land owned by New York Maritime Services Inc. Never heard o' these guys but bottom dollar they're all related. That left Hudson Street 'n one more address. Number 1208. Union Square Ceramics. Perlman was right. The unions owned a lot of properties. I wondered how long they'd owned 'em. 'N where did the Foundation figure? I headed back ta City Hall. Rose 'n her friend was drinkin' tea. Rose put hers on the desk 'n come over.

"Not a problem" she said when I explained. "Won't take a moment." Ten minutes later she was back with dates against all the properties. Most dates was between '46 'n '49. The only exceptions was Rosnow - he bought his in '36, 'n the Lissitzkys - they been there since I was a kid. I thanked Rose, nodded ta the friend, 'n walked back outside. So the unions had been pickin' up properties steady like for years. Between 'em they owned nearly the whole block. The area was run down, the roads was terrible, the sidewalks wasn't no better, but it was close ta the river 'n only a skip 'cross Canal ta the Village. I remembered the other place we saw, up along Canal, the old wool store that was bein' converted. I figured they knew what they was doin'.

It was time ta get back ta the office 'n check in. I wanted ta give Maxie a call, see what he could tell me 'bout Nordstromm 'n Garcia. I was also gonna call Aphrodite but I figured she'd be at work. I slipped the papers inta my coat pocket 'n looked 'round for the subway. It'd be a coupla changes but I couldn't do another ten blocks. The spirit was willin' but the flesh was weak. Or was it the flesh was willin' but the spirit was weak? Whatever.

* * *

When I finally slouched inta the office the phone was ringin' off the hook. I could hear someone screamin' before I got it ta my ear. It was Doris. She was cryin' 'n shriekin'. I couldn't understand a word.

"Doris. Doris. Take it easy. Slow down 'n tell me what's happened." I could hear Dad's voice in the background but Doris wasn't havin' none of it. She kept blubberin'.

"They burnt his truck. They burnt his truck. We only have one truck. And they bashed him. We had to take him to the hospital. We had to get stitches. His truck's ruined." All this with bawlin' 'n howlin' 'n sniffin'.

"Who burned what truck Doris? Who bashed who?" A rattle come over the phone 'n I heard Ma's voice, leadin' Doris away. Dad come on the line.

"Renny, you there?"

"Yeah Dad. What the heck's happened?"

"It's Harly. Someone beat him up last night. Then they burned the truck. The truck's finished but Harly's Ok. He's covered in stitches and he's pretty bruised up but he'll be back on his feet in a day or two." Dad hesitated. "Renny. This is related to the case you're working on."

"Jesus! What's Harly got ta do with my case?"

"Harly said there were two men. They grabbed him at a truck stop down in Philadelphia. He walked out of the washroom and they jumped him. Dragged him behind the washroom and beat the hell out of him. When he came to his truck was burning and the fire brigade was hosing it down. The cops were unimpressed. They seemed to think Harly had something to do with it."

"But what makes ya think it has anything ta do with the case?"

"Of course it's to do with your case. Harly said that one of the thugs told him to warn the gumshoe. Something like 'No more chances. Warn the gumshoe. Next time we come for the dame'. Lord, who writes their dialogue? But Renny I'm worried. They could have been talking about your mother or Doris. Or maybe your friend from Bridgehampton."

Was this 'clear 'n present danger' as Gunny woulda called it? If so, it meant that everyone was in danger, includin' Aphrodite. I decided ta ring her, just in case. "Dad. I have to make some calls. Meantime have ya called Alf?"

"I've already rung Alf. He's coming as soon as he gets off shift. It might be a good idea if you could come over too."

"I'll be there?"

"Alf said he'd be here around seven. Come any time. We have to put this to bed."

"Affirmative. How's Harly?"

"Harly's fine. He's sitting out back on the porch swing. Doris is waiting on him hand and foot. You want my view I think he's playing it for everything it's worth. But that doesn't mean it isn't serious. We'll talk when you get here."

With this I hung up. I stared at the phone for a moment. Gunny was dead right. We was playin' catch-up. Big time. Who the fuck would beat up on Harly? 'Gumshoe, last chance, comin' for the dame'? Yeah, corny but effective. Definitely same guys beat up on me. 'N now they was threatenin' the family? Well fuck that. I checked my watch. It wasn't quite five 'n Gunny wasn't due back 'til six so, with luck, I could catch Maxie at the office, call Windschuttle, 'n still get Gunny 'n me to Ma's by the time Alf arrived. I called Windschuttle 'n left a message for her ta call back. But right now I needed a coffee. I walked over ta the pot wonderin' where in heck the case was goin'. Then I picked up the phone 'n called Maxie.

* * *

Maxie's voice was rough, like he'd been on the cigarettes 'n coffee for a week. He wasn't too happy ta hear from me. There was a story breakin' in City Hall. Garbage contracts 'n the mob. Money changin' hands. Heads was gonna roll. "I can give ya five minutes Ren but then I gotta get back to the desk. This stuff's hot enough to fry eggs."

"Good ta talk ta ya too Maxie. Five minutes ain't gonna kill ya."

"Ok! Ok! Ya got me. What's up?"

"Information on a company by name o' New York Maritime Services. Got its office down Tribeca. I'd like ta know who owns it. I'd also like a run down on Nordstromm 'n Garcia."

"First one's easy. Maritime Services is owned by the WWU. They set it up five, maybe six, years ago. It does a lot of union training. Somethin' like that anyhow. There's a lot to tell about Nordstromm and Garcia but I'll keep it short. You want more you gotta come back. Nordstromm's an east side success story. Came up the hard way. Shipped over from Europe with his folks between the wars. Folks were furniture makers, set up over in Union City, but didn't do too well. Young Nordstromm jumped school early and joined the WWU, got a job on the docks. Never looked back after that. Moved up through the union and wasn't too long before he was under boss to Boathook Vance. Remember Vance?"

"No. Who was he?"

"Milton Vance was the boss of the WWU for over twenty years. Built them into a real force. Did a lot of good work for the dockers, but also a lot of bad things from what I've heard. That's why they called him Boathook."

"Meanin'?"

"Guys that knew him say that he always settled an argument with a boathook, you know the one, sharp as a razor. Vicious. And he wasn't one to let an insult go by either."

"So what's the connection with Nordstromm?"

"For some reason Vance took a liking to young Nordstromm. Might have been his size because he's a big guy. Anyhow he played Godfather to Nordstromm, and Nordstromm delivered. I think he got to be under boss in '43 and took over in '47"

"What happened ta Boathook?"

"Well, as they say, things happen. Boathook was down at the docks on union business and one of the cranes failed, dropped a skip full of bananas on top of him. The irony is that safety was one of Boathook's major beefs with the owners and shippers. Bad way to make a point I'd say."

"That's when Nordstromm stepped up?"

"Nope. Things are never that simple. The union's a large organisation and there's always someone who thinks they can run it better. And mostly they come from the Boathook school of manners if you know what I mean. I think there might have been three contenders for the top job, including Nordstromm. After Vance died, there was a minor bloodbath for a couple of months. There were bashings, fires and so on until eventually the other two backed off. No one was killed or anything but some of the soldiers were hurt. I think it's still what you might call an uneasy truce. Nordstromm probably spends a lot of time lookin' over his shoulder."

Just then the door o' the office opened 'n Gunny stuck his head through. He saw I was on the phone 'n eased the door closed quietly behind him. He dropped his suitcase in the corner, sat down on Babycakes chair 'n crossed his legs. On the phone I heard a voice whinin' in the background 'n Maxie's voice fade as he turned away, 'I said Five Minutes!' Gunny made drinkin' movements with his hand. I jabbed a finger at the coffee pot. Maxie come back on the phone.

"Anyhow. Nordstromm's been working hard to diversify the union's income base since he got to be boss. And I think he's doing a good job. Training, freight forwarding, which really pisses off the shippers believe me, and more lately, property."

"Why's the union in property?"

"Nordstromm's worked hard to get involved in some of the developments in waterfront areas. Some areas are being revived and there's a lot of money to be made. The union's been involved in several big jobs."

"Is Nordstromm doin' it by himself? I mean, he'd have ta be workin' with developers or builders."

"You're right. There's a development company called Union City Developments. I think that's the name. I don't know if the union is a part owner but I'm sure they have an interest."

"And Nordstromm?"

"Like I said, a hard man. But a straight shooter too. The guy's come up through a tough school but it doesn't mean he's dirty. From what I've heard he's a rough diamond but well respected." There was a rattle 'n the sound faded. I heard some muffled words; Maxie musta had his hand over the mouthpiece. He come back on.

"Jesus! I'm workin' with morons. But hey, I have to get goin'. What else was it you wanted? Garcia?"

"Yeah. Garcia?"

"Not as much on Garcia. He's come up out of nowhere in the UPG in the last five years. He's been top dog over there for about the same time as Nordstromm. Nearly as powerful too. The UPG's been making money for years on what they call 'consolidation and deconsolidation'. Basically all it means is that they pack and unpack the stuff that comes in through the port. The industry's starting to use special containers more and more so it's become a large part of UPG business. They started off with the smaller stuff, but now they do heavy equipment, and machinery as well. And they've managed to blow off any competition. Yeah, I'd say Garcia would have to be as ruthless as Nordstromm. Maybe more."

"More ruthless? Why's that?"

"Nothing firm. But word is he's dirty. Came to the top after a series of disappearances and murders in the UPG. And about three years ago there was a big scandal with the Harbour Authority. Money being passed over to make sure all ships went to UPG docks. You get the idea. He's flashy too. Cars, broads, restaurants, theatre. Puts too much money around if you ask me. Word is he's got the Irish in his pocket." There was another muffled exchange. "Ren I have to go. They're going nuts out back."

"One last question Maxi. How do Garcia 'n Nordstromm get along? They work tagether?"

"Prickly would be the best description I think. They're chalk and cheese after all. Nordstromm, for all his tough, is a pretty low profile guy. A family man if you can believe it. Garcia's all glitz. I think they tolerate each other, but I doubt they'd be doing business together if that's what you mean. Now, I have to go. See ya!"

I thanked Maxie 'n rang off. Gunny had found the coffee. He took a sip 'n pulled a face. "Jesus Fido. Whatya got in there? Texas tea?"

"Listen. We got problems. I just got off the phone with Dad. Harly's been beat up 'n his truck burned. We need ta get over ta the folk's place. Sounds like same crowd dropped the dime on me."

"Jesus! I dunno what ya got yaself into Fido but I got here just in time. Let's get goin'. I've had a interestin' day with ya cronies Thommerson an' Caldwell. We can talk on the way."

Ten minutes later we was drivin' north up 6th Avenue. I filled Gunny in on what Dad had told me then brought him up ta date on what I'd learned durin' the day. I thought Maxie was prob'ly wrong 'bout Nordstromm 'n Garcia not workin' tagether. It was too big a coincidence that the unions owned all them properties. Perlman said they was gonna combine 'n redevelop the properties. I figured she was right. I asked Gunny what happened with Thommerson 'n Caldwell.

"Had some trouble with Caldwell" he said. "He sure as eggs didn't wanta talk about the Prancey case. He nearly pissed himself when I told him what I was there about." We left the bridge 'n we looped 'round 'n headed south towards Red Hook. The cross streets 'n alleys was dark, every now 'n then a bright spark o' flame from a wino's fire or the red flare from a cigarette. The streets looked empty but the shadows was full o' movement. Ma always said I had a 'vivid imagination.' I shuddered as Gunny spoke again.

"The Welfare Foundation isn't far from Broadway. It's on 64th Street on the West Side. It isn't the nicest area I ever seen. Reminded me of some of the towns we crawled through in early '45. The office was on the 3rd floor in 'n old brownstone. I passed some of the clientele on the way in. They smelled like piss an' cabbage. In fact the whole place smelled like piss an' cabbage. When I walked in the office the old broad who's Caldwell's secretary took one look at me smelled trouble, so I had ta think quick.

She looks like she's maybe mid fifties. On one side of her desk there's a picture, young kid in Marine uniform, Purple Heart hangin' on the edge of the frame. Ya could tell it was a shrine. Doesn't make me feel proud but I played on it. Told the old girl I was an ex-marine workin' in welfare. Then straight away asked her about the picture. Kid caught it in Guadalcanal in '44. Only 19 years old. What a bitch! I felt like shit but I got the old girl talkin'. Couldn't shut her up actually. I think I musta been there ten minutes listenin' ta how Junior went down when the door ta the back office opens an Caldwell peeps out.

Now Caldwell ain't what ya'd call an attractive man. Poor sap's carryin' twice as much baggage as he needs an' looks as if he's just run the course. Jumped up little twerp too. Tried ta put one over the old broad but she saw him off pretty quick. Had me worried for a moment because the last thing I wanted was him gettin' in a huff, bein' shown up in front of his secretary. I barrelled in real quick, gave him the story about what a great job the Foundation's doin' an' how I could help. Seemed ta work because next thing I'm in his office an' the secretary, found out her name's Vi by this time, is gettin' us some coffee.

Anyhow, I cut ta the chase once I had Caldwell pinned behind his desk. Ya should've seen his face when I asked him about Prancey. His eyes were flyin' in all directions. But he figured out pretty quick that the best way ta get rid of me was ta talk ta me. Sap didn't say much but I guess we can draw as much from what he didn't say as what he did. He spent a few minutes tellin' me about the Foundation an' what it does. It all seems to gel with what we know. He's got a lot of respect for Perlman. Says she's a bright dame, a pleasure ta work with. But when I mentioned Prancey he clammed up. All he said was that Prancey was a tireless worker. When I asked him what happened he started sweatin' up a storm. Then when I asked him whether he knew anything about the unions I swear the sucker turned green. He was scared. I could smell it. I didn't get much after than. But if anyone puts the sqeeze on, he'll fold. A Cherry Danish could beat him up. So I called it quits, thanked Vi, said I was sorry about her son, an' got outa there."

"Ya learned nothin'? " I was disappointed.

"Jesus Fido, ya never listen. It's the unions. That's our next stop."

I was 'bout ta respond when the flashin' lights up ahead caught my eye. Now what?

* * *

I knew we had trouble soon as I turned the corner. There was two black 'n whites at the kerb 'n a crowd on the front porch. I pulled up behind the police cars 'n jumped out. I could see Ma talkin' with two young cops, one blond 'n muscled up, the other short 'n dark. Muscles turned ta look at me as I walked over. His eyes flickered at Gunny.

"This is my son, Renny" said Ma. "He's a private detective."

Muscles couldn't help himself, his lip curled. His partner had a shit-eatin' grin. Ok. I get it. PIs ain't real cops. How many times do we gotta be told? Be calm. Be calm. Meanwhile Doris was sittin' in the porch swing, bawlin'. Ma hovered between her 'n the cops.

"My name's Mack. For the record, I'm a private detective. But that don't matter. What's the problem?"

Muscles had his notebook open. His sunglasses was pushed up on his head 'n his hair was thick with cream. He was wearin' a uniform shirt with steel studs, no tie, tight on the arms, snug 'round the shoulders. The muscles on his forearms flexed as he paged through his notebook. "We're here to speak with Mr Davis in regard to the truck fire he reported yesterday. There are some aspects we need to clarify."

Doris let out a loud bawl. Ma put her arm 'round her. "They...they're...saying that Harly burned the truck himself...that it's suspicious." Doris let out another howl. The dark one looked uncomfortable, but Muscles just stared me in the eye.

"That the problem?" I asked. "Ya think Harly torched his own truck? The guy's been beat up in case ya ain't noticed."

Muscles sniffed 'n licked his lips. He had what Buford woulda called dirty eyes. They kept goin' past me ta Gunny. If I was a bettin' man I woulda said he was nervous. Gunny hadn't said a word.

"There's a number of inconsistencies in Mr Davis's statement. We simply wanted to clarify these." I was gettin' ready ta get exasperated as Ma calls it when I heard some voices from inside. It was Dad. He stepped through the door 'n held it open. I nearly shit bricks when I saw the Black Prick walk out. That explained the two black 'n whites.

"Duffy! What the fuck are ya doin' here? Ain't ya got somethin' better ta do? Like maybe go beat up some kids. Or old folks?" It was crowded on the porch but Duffy pushed his way past Muscles 'n got in my face. Least he tried ta get in my face but he was six inches shorter 'n me 'n it didn't work. His breath smelled o' mint. What an arsehole. "We're here to speak with Harly, not with you Mack. If you can't add anything to the discussion I suggest you stay out of it." Duffy was dressed ta the nines. Dark suit, shiny brogues, white shirt, red tie. He didn't look like a dick. He looked like a used car salesman. Or maybe a snake oil salesman as Ma woulda said. I wondered how the hell he did it, 'cause cops ain't paid that much. He had brass, flashin' it like that.

"Where's Harly?" I asked.

Duffy put his hand on my shoulder, my skin crawled, then he guided me back down the steps towards the street, away from the others. "Mack, I know you're a straight up kinda guy. Always respected that an' always will." This put my teeth on edge but I listened anyway.

"There's been a rash of fires lately, quite a few vehicles burned. The Chief's comin' down hard on everyone. There were a few things about Harly's statement that didn't stack up. So we came to check." Duffy pronounced it vee-hickles. I wanted ta hit him.

"Like with two cars 'n three cops? Ya kiddin' me."

"Well. Local precinct and the 84th. You know how it is. We're workin' together. But I think we got all we need today." He gave the two young cops a wave, nodded at me 'n turned 'n walked towards his car. Muscles 'n his partner follered, the dark one tippin' his hat at Ma 'n Doris. Duffy opened the door ta the car then stopped 'n looked back at me. "Remember what I said Mack. You stay focused, shit don't happen. Got it?" He didn't wait for an answer, just climbed inta the car 'n pulled out. Muscles 'n the dark one follered. I watched 'til they turned the corner, then walked back ta the porch. Doris was still blubberin'. Ma still had an arm 'round her. Dad was standin' hands on hips at the other end, next ta Gunny. A sorry lookin' piece o' shit stuck its head out the door.

"Hi Harly. How ya feelin'?" Harly ain't what ya'd call the sweetest piece o' candy in the store. Even at the best o' times. But just when ya thought he couldna looked no worse, he surprised ya. Heck he was a mess. He had two o' the biggest shiners I ever seen. Black, blue 'n yeller. His right eyebrow was covered in gauze, black with dried blood. He hadn't shaved. He was wearin' a dirty singlet with yeller sweat stains, 'n old Levi's that hung low under his gut 'n showed his arse crack. He had bare feet 'n hadn't cut his toenails in years. Fuck me. I saw Gunny's eye's narrow as he gave Harly the once over.

"Ren. Good Ren. Good." Harly slurred his words. When he grinned I saw he'd lost a top front tooth. He was straight outa Tug Fork. All he needed was a banjo. Dad was standin' with his armed folded, lips in a tight line. He looked pissed. He cocked his head ta one side, called me over.

"Alf on his way?" I asked.

Dad nodded. "Yep. Should be here any minute. I wish he'd arrived while Duffy and his lapdogs were here."

"How long they been here?" Gunny's voice was gravelly.

"Maybe an hour" said Dad. "Duffy did all the talking. He said that Harly's statement didn't stack up. As much as said that Harly burned his own truck and faked his own beating. The man's a lunatic. He had Doris in hysterics. God knows what they're going to do now. Harly had a fortune tied up in the truck. Its not as if he's going to get a job doing anything else either." Dad hesitated. "I just hope he had it insured."

But I knew the Prick's visit had less ta do with Harly's statement than it had ta do with me. But I didn't say nothin'. I had enough trouble with Doris without throwin' more gas on the fire. Ma had taken Doris out back 'n Harly was sittin' in the swing watchin' me 'n Dad. He black circles 'round his eyes, like one o' the Beagle Boys. Just then Alf's car turned the corner. He pulled inta the drive with a screech, hopped out 'n stomped over ta the porch.

"And jist what in t' fockin' hell is happenin' down here fer the love o' Christ?" He stamped up the steps 'n stood there, lookin' everyone up an' down. When Alf heard that he' just missed Duffy I thought he was gonna blow a boiler. "B' Jesus an' t' cross o' St Michael an' St Patrick an' t' good Sister Agatha forgive me fer me bad language but jist what is t' black pig is up t' now?" He looked at Harly who was fidgetin' 'n squirmin' on the swing. "An' you! What's happened t' yeh? Yeh look like one o' t'em clowns from outa t' circus." Harly did a wall eyed look 'n his mouth opened 'n shut like a fish. I answered for him.

"Harly was beat up. Down Philly. Two guys jumped him at a truck stop. Torched the truck. Duffy 'n the other goons come down ta see Harly. They think he done it himself."

Alf snorted 'n shook his head, his eyes on Harly. "T'ink? T'ere ain't a chance in hell o' t' pig doin' any t'inkin'. Oi bin workin' wit' t'at black Irish prick fer what is it – five years – an' oi ain't ever seen him do anyt'ing wit'out bein' told." Alf looked back at me, then at Gunny. "Are yeh goin' te be introducin' yer friend yeh great wallop or do oi have ta introduce meself?"

"Sorry everyone. This is Gunny Lee, a friend from the army." Dad nodded so I guessed he'd realised who Gunny was. Gunny shook hands with Alf 'n Dad. I saw the surprise on their faces. Dad looked at his hand like he was countin' fingers. Alf clenched 'n unclenched his fist a coupla times then turned ta me.

"Renny. Oi'm t'inkin' t'at it's t' case yeh was tellin' me about. If oi remember right it was t' unions yeh was worried about?"

"More'n just the unions Alf. A few things has happened since we took the case. It could be they're linked. I seen Duffy twice in the last coupla days 'n that ain't a coincidence. He keeps makin' cracks. I think he's been asked ta warn us off." Just then Doris let out another bawl. Harly grunted 'n went inside. Dad moved closer.

"Renny. We can't have the family in danger. If there's any chance, any chance at all, that your case is the reason for all this then you have to stop now. I won't have anyone being threatened."

"I know, I know. It ain't like I'm lookin' for trouble or nothin'."

Alf snorted. "Whatever." It sounded like an insult. "Look" he said. "Oi'll take care o' t' Black Irish an' t'ere won't be no more trouble fer Harly. But best everyone be takin' care oi t'ink. T'ere's someone fer sure, pullin' t' Pig's strings. We need t' find out who. An' why." Alf patted Dad on the shoulder. "Oi'll be callin' termorrer William, after oi done some checkin', careful like, down at t' station. In t' meantime, oi'd be makin' sure t'at Dainty an' Doris are stayin' at home." Alf grabbed my arm 'n I walked with him over ta the car. He spoke as he opened the door.

"Stay in touch Renny. Yeh need t' finish it. If yeh don't then yeh might be needin' my help. If t'ings gets any tighter t'en yeh best talk t' me straight away. Do I make meself clear boyo?"

I nodded. "Anything happens I'll be in touch. Thanks for comin' over." Alf bobbed his head then slapped my shoulder. He gave Dad a wave then climbed inta the car. When I walked back ta the house Doris was at the table havin' some tea. Harly hovered nearby. His singlet had ridden up, 'n dependin' on which way he stood, ya got either belly button or arse crack. Charmin', as Ma woulda said. Dad sat at the kitchen table opposite Doris, chair reversed, arms folded along the back. Ma was stirrin' somethin' on the stove. She gave me a weak smile.

"So. You're staying for dinner Renny? We're having fish tonight. Dave's son brought some over. Black perch, very nice."

"Not tonight Ma. I'm gonna head home, get some sack time. 'N I have ta drop Gunny in Queens. I'll call termorrer ta see how everything's goin'." Ma waved her hand. Doris stared at the table. Harly stared at me. Gunny 'n me gave Dad a quick handshake then headed out. I felt I was ta blame for the mess but I had no solution. Least nothin' immediate. I remembered I shoulda said somethin' ta Dad 'bout Harly's insurance 'cause I was cashed up. I made a mental note ta call 'n check on it later.

Gunny's sister's place was a free standin' clapboard on the north edge o' Queens, not far from the East River. It had 'n asphalt roof 'n a low chain link fence. The lawn was dead 'n there was a kid's bike busted on the front path. I could see the lights o' the Bronx in the distance, white 'n fuzzy through the mist. Gunny cracked the door 'n climbed out. He threw the door shut then leaned on the window. "I've got a few ideas Fido. Let's meet at the office in the mornin'. I haven't come all this way to dick around, so be early. An' go find Fester. I'm startin' to get annoyed." I watched Gunny walk up ta the house. He stopped 'n picked up the kid's bike 'n carried it ta the small porch. He dropped it by the steps then knocked. As I pulled away the light come on 'n I saw a woman peer out. Her face was tired. But last thing I saw was it lightin' up at the sight o' her brother.

I took my time drivin' home. I felt things rollin' up on me. Like the Jerries in Stalingrad. Sometimes ya gotta back off a bit ta see a way out. I hoped there was a way out. As I crossed the Triborough Bridge I watched the lights change, from the white glare o' Queens ta the dull, stained orange o' the city. But this time it didn't give me no comfort. I didn't even switch the radio on. I figured with the way things was goin' I'd be just in time ta hear the Dodgers snatch defeat from the jaws o' victory. I reminded myself, one step at a time, that thousand mile thing. Things was gettin' tough, sure, but I figured they couldn't get no worse. I was wrong.

* * *

I arrived back in Morningside 'round nine. I stopped ta picked up some bagels 'n pastrami at Meltzer's. Mr Metzler was closin' up but when I knocked on the glass he gave me the nod. I left the car a block or so from the Rat Hole 'n walked home. It was a nice evenin' but the streets was empty 'n washed out, shadows deep 'n black in the corners, the only live thing in sight that old dog o' Smithers. What a mongrel. Had ta be fifteen years old 'n so full o' arthritis it could hardly walk. I saw it piss on a car then wobble back inta Smithers' front yard. Said it all I guess.

I lumbered up the stairs ta the Rat Hole, gave Mrs Fahey a nod. She had her head stuck out the door in a cloud o' smoke. I heard Maurie whinin' in the background. One o' the chows was chewin' on the door jam. There was drool everywhere. Ugly little fuck. I was careful when I pushed open the door ta my apartment. I reached in, flicked on the hall light, 'n peered 'round. Far as I could see nothin' looked any different. Not that I'd remember. I went in 'n closed the door behind me 'n dropped my bag on the table. But before I could do anything else the phone rang.

"Hi. Renny..." but she cut me off.

"Renny. At last. I've been ringing for hours. I've got bad news. Marty Beil's been beaten up. He's in hospital in Bridgehampton." Now why the fuck am I not surprised I thought?

"What happened?"

"They found him earlier today, out near Montauk. Some linesmen found him hanging from one of the power poles."

"Hangin'! Jesus! Whatya mean hangin'? What happened? Christ! Is he ok?"

"Yes, he's ok. And I don't know what happened. Ralph and one of the other officers are handling it. At least a couple of days ago apparently. Renny, do you think it has anything to do with the Prancey case?"

"Christ! Yes! No! Fuck! I got no idea. Sorry...Jesus...I mean, why the hell would anyone hurt Marty Beil? For Chris' sake the guy's harmless. What the heck did they do ta the poor sap?"

"I haven't seen him, but Ralph said it was pretty rough. He's got a broken arm and a cracked shoulder blade. I think he also has cracked ribs and internal bleeding. Ralph said his face was cut up as well."

"Whatya a mean he was hangin' from a pole?"

"Ralph said that Marty was tied to a power pole with wire. About half way up. He said that whoever did it would have needed a ladder."

"Jesus!" I was getting' repetitive but it was all I could think of. Why in fuck was he stuck halfway up a power pole?

"Where did ya say they found him?"

"Out near Montauk." Windschuttle was quite for a moment. "Renny. When Ralph called me earlier today, he said that he needed talk to me. And you. He heard from someone that we saw Marty a few days ago."

"Why's he need ta talk ta us? What's he think we done? Beat up on the poor sap? What's he gonna do? Come down ta New York ta see me?" This is all we needed I thought. Windschuttle cut in.

"I think he said that the NYPD would probably come and see you. I got the feeling it's already arranged. I was worried that I might not get through to you before they turned up. I wanted to warn you."

"Warn me? Warn me? I been dealin' with the NYPD for years. What's ta worry 'bout?" I prob'ly sounded loud 'n annoyed which was unfair ta Windschuttle. Ma woulda said I sounded shrill, but I was sick o' the NYPD 'n sick o' Duffy. "Sorry." I said. It wasn't her fault. Windschuttle waited a beat then spoke again.

"That's why I wanted to talk with you. Ralph seemed to be suggesting that the NYPD thought you might be involved. I asked him what he meant but he wouldn't say. I told him that you and I were together the whole time, but he kept saying he'd get a statement when he saw me. He wouldn't say any more."

"Jee-Zuss! Well fucked if I'm waitin' 'round for Duffy 'n his flakes try'na fit me up. Fuck that." I reached over 'n grabbed the Haig 'n poured a shot. Then I realised I didn't want it. Talk 'bout goin' ta hell in a hand basket. As Ma woulda said.

"When ya seein' Ralph?" I asked.

"Tomorrow I guess. He didn't make a time, just said he wanted to talk. I had the impression he was trying to give me some time but without compromising himself. He could have easily asked me to come in straight away. In fact, that's what he should have done." She hesitated for a second. "Maybe you should go and see the NYPD before they come looking for you." This was a good suggestion from Windschuttle, 'cause I know how the bulls think. If ya run, ya guilty. If ya don't run, they're fucked. 'Cause they want ya ta be guilty, 'n it confuses 'em.

"Nope. I ain't gonna do that. I just got back from Ma's. Place was crawlin' with cops. Turns out someone beat up Harly down Philly then torched his truck. Doris was hysterical 'n Dad was real unimpressed. That prick Duffy was there too."

Windschuttle's voice sounded resigned. "Maybe you should hand the case over to the DA. It's getting too dangerous." Well o' course it's fuckin' dangerous. Shit! It made me angrier. I'm not gonna fold for these suckers. Too many times I let that happen. 'N I always regretted it. Not this time.

"Renny. Are you still there?"

"Heck. Sorry. I was thinkin'. Listen. Ya locked up nice 'n tight up there?"

"I'm fine. I've even checked all the windows. Don't worry about me. How's the hand feeling?"

I held up Boris. The gauze was dirty, the blood was black, my fingers was bratwurst, my nails was dark blue. It smelled like a chunk o' Limburger. Or maybe Buford's socks. It was itchy as hell. "It's Ok" I said. "But I ain't comfortable with ya up there alone. It'd make me feel a lot better if ya come down here. But no drivin'. Ya gotta use the bus. They ain't gonna run a bus off the road."

Windschuttle was quiet for a moment. "I'd like to come down. I'll have to see Ralph first but I don't think it'll be a problem. I can catch the bus tomorrow afternoon." We chatted for a while and she assured me she'd lock up 'n stay safe. After she rang off I went 'n stood near the window, starin' 'cross at Jersey. There was a light fog on the river 'n the Jersey lights was dim 'n fuzzy. I felt dim 'n fuzzy too. I wondered what had happened ta Buford. I hadn't seen him in days. Maybe he'll show up termorrer. I headed for bed.

# Pink Lemonade

First thing I did next mornin' was call Perlman. I needed Ma Prancey's address. I didn't have no illusions 'bout gettin' in ta see her. Sometimes the seriously rich is hard ta get a date with. They got more ways o' weasellin' out than a sewer rat has boltholes. I wasn't gonna call, make 'n appointment. I was just gonna turn up. I knew from experience it's harder ta say no ta the face than the phone.

Mrs Prancey lived on East 78th, between Park 'n Lexington, not far from the Met. I snagged a park near Second Avenue so it was a three-block walk ta the Prancey place. The houses was mostly brownstones, set back off the street behind high iron fences or stone walls. Many were three 'n four stories with a concierge, mostly old guys with a paunch 'n oil in their hair. One stood at the kerb, watchin' us walk towards him outa the corner o' his eye. As I got closer he turned ta face me, hands tagether behind his back, belly out, chin up. He musta been a Mick 'cause he looked like Duffy. I asked him where the Prancey place was. He didn't answer for a minute. Maybe he was wonderin' if he should call the cops. Finally he lifted his arm 'n pointed further down the street.

"Three back from Park Avenue. You'll see the steps."

The Prancey place was a huge Georgian, fifty wide, five stories high, one side set with bay windows, the other with small balconies at each level. We walked up the steps ta the front doors. They was set behind heavy steel gates. Behind the gates, a large brass knocker was set in the centre o' one door. A cross between a dolphin 'n a lion. It clanged through house when I dropped it. The place sounded empty. Or maybe just big. It was a minute or so before we heard footsteps. Then the door opened 'n a guy in a penguin suit 'n gloves was lookin' at us. I hadn't never seen a live butler.

"Yes sir. Can I help you?"

"Mornin'. We'd like ta see Mrs Prancey." I felt 'round for my wallet. I knew the guy would ask for ID. Gunny did the same.

The butler was a big guy, early thirties maybe, with dark complexion 'n dark slicked down hair. He had clear grey eyes 'n he stared straight at me. "And who might you be sir? I'm sorry but I'll have to ask you for some identification."

"Name's Renny Mack." I said. I flipped the wallet open ta show my licence 'n pushed it through the bars. Gunny handed over his driver's licence. The butler checked both 'n handed 'em back.

"Thank you Mr Mack, Mr Lee. I'm sorry gents but you aren't listed. Are you sure it might not be another day?"

"Maybe ya could check for us, see if Mrs Prancey has some time spare. Twenty minutes at most."

He frowned slightly 'n shook his head. "Mrs Prancey rarely has any spare time."

"Appreciate ya help but I think Mrs Prancey might like ta see us. It relates ta the death o' Richard Prancey. Her son." The butler's face tightened when I mentioned Ricky but he didn't hesitate. He stepped aside 'n motioned us inside. We moved past him inta the foyer, or aircraft hangar, or whatever was called. It was huge, least twenty by twenty square, floor set with black 'n white tiles, walls with dark wood, a forty foot ceilin'. The floor tiles was covered with large rugs, the walls with tapestries 'n large paintin's with gilt frames. There was a suit o' armour against one wall. A huge light hung from the centre o' the ceilin'. Like a chandelier, but not as bitsy. It lit the foyer like Macy's on Christmas Eve. I figured the Rat Hole could fit in the coat closet. It was overwhelmin' as Ma woulda said. I looked at Gunny. He was lookin' at the butler.

"Would you mind waiting here gents? I'll go and check with Mrs Prancey. My name is Bentwood by the way." I took a good look at the guy. There was muscle under the suit. I realised he was more'n just a butler. Gunny glanced at me 'n raised his eyebrows.

Bentwood glided out through a door ta the side o' the staircase. As he opened the door, I saw it was a garden room, palm trees 'n bushes. Ma woulda called 'em shrubs. We heard some mutterin' 'n the tinkle o' plates then Bentwood appeared in the doorway. He held the door open 'n nodded us through.

"She's a little hard of hearing. Please speak clearly" he said.

I follered Gunny through the door.

* * *

We was standin' in a conservatory. It was in the middle o' the house, with a tile floor, small pond, goldfish with bulgin' eyes, palm trees 'n plants scattered 'round. The sun streamed in through a glass roof. A light breeze come through the windows set in the roof. Three easy chairs sat 'round the edge o' the pond, near a small table with glasses 'n a jug o' pink liquid. I thought we was alone at first.

"Gentlemen. Come here please. I can't see around corners." The voice was smoky 'n rough.

Mrs Ricky Senior was sittin', well lyin' really, on a day bed behind some large shrubs. She had a glass o' the pink liquid in one hand 'n a long cigarette in the other. She gestured towards the other chairs. We sat down. Her face looked like her voice.

"Please help yourself to a lemonade. It's a little sweet. Doesn't matter what I say to Bentwood he insists on making it to the one recipe. But I always spice it up a bit." She was slurrin' her words. Tanked 'n the sun ain't even over the yardarm. She was late seventies - I'm bein' serious here, no cute stuff – dressed in a long housecoat with fluffy slippers. The slippers looked like ya coulda put a leash on 'em.

She took a long pull on the cigarette 'n watched us through the smoke, her eyes hooded 'n flat. She wore heavy make up, caked 'round the eyes 'n thick on the cheeks. Her hair was oily 'n silver. Looked like a wig, but I couldn't tell for sure. Her lips was try'na crawl all over the stogie. When she licked her 'em I saw her teeth was stained 'n yeller. She let one hand drop over the side o' the chair, the cigarette driftin' between her fingers. Nicotine stains ran up her fingers like 'n infection. The skin on her arms was white as chalk 'n paper thin, blue veins 'n dark blotches everywhere. Age spots Ma calls 'em. I sipped the lemonade 'n felt my mouth pucker up. Gunny left his untouched.

"So, introduce yourselves gentlemen. Bentwood said you wanted to speak to me about Richard." She took another heavy draw on the cigarette 'n let the smoke drift slowly outa her mouth.

"Name's Renny Mack ma'am. I'm a private detective. This is my colleague Gunny Lee."

"Mornin' ma'am." Gunny's voice was like a steel bin dragged 'cross concrete.

"Just what was it you wanted to talk about?" She didn't introduce herself.

"Well, as ya know, we been doin' the investigation inta Richard's death. We been on it now for over a week. Sorry I ain't been 'round earlier."

The hooded eyes blinked a coupla times. The old broad frowned a little. "Why are you doing an investigation into Richard's death?"

Me 'n Gunny shot a quick look at each other. What the heck is this? Has Babycakes pitched us a curve ball here? Or is the old dame playin' cute? I took a sip o' the lemonade 'n stalled while I got my thoughts tagether. So the old broad don't know nothin' 'bout the investigation. Was it 'cause she's half gone? Or 'cause she really didn't know nothin'? In which case I was gonna risk a re-run o' D Day if I blabbed. But heck! I already blabbed.

"Mrs Prancey come ta seek us a week or so back. She asked us ta investigate Richard's death. She said that ya needed a separate report ta close the insurances." The old girl looked like she just swallered a turd. She hitched herself up in the chair 'n propped a cushion behind her. She reached for the cigarettes 'n pulled out a fresh one. She lit it with a silver lighter shaped like the head off a golf club. She sucked hard on the cigarette then blew smoke out in a long stream towards the glass roof. She watched it rise for a second or two. "Young man. I have no idea what you are talking about. But that doesn't surprise me. Why don't you make yourself comfortable and tell me the whole story."

So I told her. She didn't move the whole time, 'cept ta ask some questions 'bout Windschuttle. She frowned 'n shook her head when I told her 'bout Harly 'n the truck. When I finished she was quiet for a time. Then she sniffed 'n wiped her eyes. "You likely know that I didn't approve of Richard's lifestyle. It hurt me terribly when he told me. But that didn't mean I stopped loving him. He was my son and I simply wanted the best for him." She pulled a small handkerchief from her housecoat 'n wiped her nose. "I blame myself for a lot of what's happened. If only I'd listened to my conscience. As usual I'm not surprised that Alessandra is up to something. Christ! Richard was hardly in his grave and she was taking over the company. But let me start at the beginning. I think it will help put a lot of things in context." She settled back in her chair.

"I'll assume you know a little about the Prancey family as a result of your investigation and, in particular, about Richard. So you'll be well aware that Richard was a member of the...well...the alternate community. This caused a great deal of pain to my late husband and myself. Oliver and I were both shocked when Richard first told us and, I'm now ashamed to say, we did everything we could to hide it. I remember thinking how embarrassing it would be to be exposed in front of some of our society friends. It took me several years to accept Richard for who he was, my son. But those few years did a lot of damage and I played a hand in that.

To be honest, I had suspicions for a long time. Back to his university days actually. It was always boys he came home with on vacations, or for long weekends in the Hamptons. Once in a while there might be a girl in the group but not often. I think Richard himself also tried to deny it. Certainly in the early 40's he was a man about town, squiring some of New York's prettiest debutantes and, in some cases, earning quite a reputation. I think this helped me convince myself that everything was going the way I wanted it to go." Mrs Ricky pushed herself higher in the chair 'n reached for the cigarette packet. She held out the empty glass. "Could you pour me another lemonade please?"

"But by the mid 40's there seemed little likelihood of Richard getting married and I was starting to worry about grandchildren and so on. It seems so silly now but I wanted to see Richard married. So much so that I think I might have become a little obsessive about it. But no matter what pretty thing we put in front of Richard she wasn't good enough. It was then that I realised the charade and, indeed, Richard confessed this to me after a particularly hurtful argument. Hurtful to Richard that is. I told him that I didn't care a fig, that he was a Prancey, and that he was going to get married and have children. And, God forgive me, that I was not going to be shamed in front of my friends." She stopped 'n sniffed 'n wiped her eyes again. "Some friends. God! Some of those people are so shallow!"

"I guess we all change over time." Gunny had been quiet throughout. She looked at him 'n bowed her head slightly.

"You seem like a good man, though, if I may say so, a little rough at the edges." For Gunny that was a compliment. She continued. "Richard refused to select anyone as a suitable partner so I told him he would either do it or be cut off. He responded by saying if that was the case then I should go right ahead and select someone. Then he stormed out. As it turned out one of my older friends from Vassar was living in Argentina and had sent one of her maids to stay with us for the summer, to help out. The maid was, as you know, Alessandra, who was to become Richard's wife. She is exceedingly beautiful. And because she was a maid, I thought, quite wrongly that she would be malleable and agreeable to some for of arrangement." She snorted. "What a mistake that was." She drew slowly on the cigarette.

"Oliver and I worked hard for our money. Worked hard for a long time. And we didn't succeed by not paying attention to whom we dealt with or who our friends were. But I didn't pay attention this time. And that was my mistake. I underestimated someone because I thought she was beneath me. I thought, because she was just a maid....just a maid! What an understatement. The ambition that burns in that girl." Mrs Prancey stopped 'n stared off inta space for a few seconds then collected herself.

"Alessandra came to live with us in 1947, at about this time of the year. I think it was April because planning was just starting for the debutante balls. It was a glorious season that year. So many beautiful young women. And everyone breaking free after the war. At last it was possible to buy good fabrics and decent shoes. To be honest I didn't pay much attention to her during the first six months. She seemed to settle in quite well and, from what Bentwood told me, worked hard and mixed well with the other staff. There was a mild contretemps with Yates, who took quite a liking to Alessandra when she first arrived, but Bentwood sorted that out." Mrs Prancey stopped 'n looked straight out me. "I rely greatly on Bentwood. He is a very reliable man."

"In early 1948, after Alessandra had been with us for perhaps nine months, I noticed she was spending a lot of time with Richard. She seemed very interested in the business and his job in the city. I think the poor fool was taken in. I was. The girl was sweet and agreeable, beautiful and sedate. I didn't see this for the act it was. I thought instead that she was showing a lot of the qualities I would expect in Richard's choice of wife. Needless to say one thing led to another and before long I was talking to Richard about Alessandra. We spoke quite openly about his preferences but I was very harsh. As I said earlier, I'm quite ashamed now that I even thought it mattered. But at the time I was driven. Richard had formed quite a friendship with Alessandra by this time and she was spending a lot of time with him, on both business and social events. She began to attend functions as his partner. To say she looked stunning would be an understatement." Mrs Prancey's voice faded away. She looked sad. Or maybe disappointed. But Ma always says there's no use worryin' 'bout what mighta been. Ya gotta go with what is.

"We struck a deal. I won't go into the details but both Richard and Alessandra seemed happy with it. I believe Richard thought that he could have a relationship, a friendship at least, with Alessandra. I was happy too. Apart from the fact it diverted attention away from Richard's other personal activities it promised us some grandchildren. They were married in June 1948. It was quite a bash. On the front of Harper's and other society magazines. They made out that the most eligible bachelor in Manhattan had been hooked. Overnight Alessandra and Richard became a must have at all the social functions. It must have been like an Aladdin's cave to Alessandra. But I know it took a big toll on Richard. He was working terrible hours yet when he arrived home Alessandra was waiting. To be squired to the latest opening or party or premiere. I could see he was getting exhausted but I didn't know the truth of it all until later." There was knock at the door. It was Bentwood. He asked if anyone would like some sandwiches but Mrs Prancey waved him away with a "Later thank you Bentwood." He dropped me a look as he closed the door. Mrs Prancey lit another cigarette 'n continued.

"Towards Christmas in 1948 I noticed that Richard was spending a lot more time at the office, if that was possible. But Alessandra also began to spend time at the office, with Richard. There are always many social functions before Christmas and Alessandra began to attend these on her own. This was quite unheard of, and I was very concerned. I spoke with Richard but all he would say was that he was busy. I wished a thousand times that Oliver was still alive. Christmas was a disaster that year. Then in about January or February I had lunch with a friend. After a while I realised she was trying to be diplomatic. I said 'Marge, we've known each other for almost thirty years. Don't be so sensitive'. Well I soon found out why she was being so sensitive. Alessandra had been seen at several functions on the arm of another man. She was also seen in the Hamptons with that same man. On weekends when she was apparently taking a break by herself. Basically, Marge was telling me that Alessandra was having an affair. And that everyone knew about it except myself."

"What did Richard think?" I asked.

"Well of course the first thing I did after I calmed down was try to speak with Richard. But he avoided it. He wouldn't speak with anyone and certainly not me. I even asked some of his friends like Max to speak with him. They did. But it seemed to do no good. Everything was unravelling right before my eyes and there was nothing I could do. And even then I was still blinkered. All I could think about was our reputation and what a time the tabloids would have. And, of course, no grandchildren. I gave Richard's wellbeing very little thought."

"But was it true?" asked Gunny. "Was she really havin' an affair? Sometimes people look for trouble when there isn't any."

Mrs Prancey gave us both a rueful smile. "You really are nice young men, but naïve I think. Yes. Alessandra was certainly having an affair. I confronted her with it and she denied it. She was quite cruel to me, however, and said she would do as she liked. I'm sorry to say we had a screaming match. It was very unpleasant. But we both calmed down after a while and agreed it was in everyone's interests to be discreet. Alessandra said she had done nothing wrong but that she would make sure she did not embarrass the family or Richard though she would still do as she pleased. I knew a situation like this couldn't go on but I didn't know what else to do. So I agreed. I was at a loss."

"Did ya find out who she was seen with?"

Mrs Prancey looked at me, again with hooded eyes. "Yes I did. Alessandra refused to confirm it but Marge and another friend told me enough to convince me. It was sad but not unusual. It was one of Richard's acquaintances in the development business. A rough and uncouth fellow by the name of Peter Garcia." It seemed logical. Garcia wanted the Foundation's properties. Babycakes had access.

"To be fair," Mrs Prancey said, "she stuck to her word and was reasonably discreet. But Richard was under increasing pressure in his business dealings, though he wouldn't confide in me, and Alessandra was forever pushing him for more money and more involvement. Surprisingly, for me at least, she turned out to be a very bright businesswoman. She saw enormous opportunity in the property work that Richard was doing. Richard retired more and more into himself under the pressure and began to spend more and more time with Max and his other friends."

"Mrs Prancey" I said. "Ya mentioned a guy name o' Max. That wouldn't happen ta be Max Richards would it?"

"Why yes, it was Max Richards. Unfortunately Max died not long after in a terrible accident. This seemed to send Richard even deeper into himself and he took to staying at the office at night instead of coming home." She stopped 'n sniffed. "Not that it mattered. The hussy wasn't here as often as not. And I know that Richard sometimes had to meet with that Garcia man. I don't know how he did it."

"Can ya tell us a little about the weekend Richard died Mrs Prancey?" asked Gunny. "Whatever ya can remember, anything will be helpful."

"Yes, of course I can but one moment. I'm famished." She picked up a small bell 'n gave it a shake. Bentwood glided in. Mrs Prancey ordered sandwiches 'n more lemonade. She rearranged the cushions 'n got herself comfortable.

"Our week away had been planned for a long time. In fact, every year we spend a good part of August and September in the Hamptons. As I mentioned, Richard was feeling the pressure of work, and he and Alessandra were behaving badly toward each other, so he decided to go up early. I think he left on the Thursday evening for a few days peace and quiet. I was going to join him the following Wednesday. Alessandra was still deciding whether she would go.

I remember quite clearly being at home on the Monday morning, very early, when the police came to the door. When they told me what had happened I thought I was going to die, but Bentwood took charge and organised things. He even arranged some anti depressants for me through my MD. He was a tower of strength. The policemen explained that we would need to go to Bridgehampton for identification. Needless to say that role normally falls to the wife. But of course Alessandra wasn't at home. I'm not sure how Bentwood contacted her but I'm sure he was discreet about it. She arrived at mid-day and before I knew it we were on our way. Bentwood drove and Alessandra and I sat in the back. We didn't speak. I was too numb to talk. She looked out the window all the way to Bridgehampton and, when we arrived, said she couldn't do it, couldn't identify Richard. That was left to me." Mrs Prancey paused again 'n wiped her eyes. She looked over at me. "Young man, there are some basic rules that should never be broken. And one of them is that a child must always outlive its parents. It's a crime against nature when the child dies first."

By this time the sandwiches had appeared on the side table. She took a bite before she sighed 'n continued. "So Bentwood escorted me to the hospital and I identified my boy." She shook her head a little. "He was so badly injured. It was something I would not wish on my worst enemies."

"Did ya talk ta the local police?"

Mrs Prancey shook her head. "Not really. There was a lovely policewoman who tried to help but the New York police were there. They really managed everything. We were back in New York the next day and the rest is a blur. Richard was buried, a beautiful burial, about ten days later."

Gunny leaned forward. "Pardon me, Mrs Prancey, I don't mean ta be insensitive, but ten days seems a long time. Is it a tradition?"

"No. It isn't a tradition. I simply couldn't bring myself to do it any more quickly. And Alessandra seemed to be in a trance. It all seemed so sudden. And so permanent. I think I needed the time to come to grips with what had happened, to be ready to say goodbye. Anything less would have been obscene." I understood what she meant. We lost a lotta great guys on Omaha. In the mornin', there we was, eatin' breakfast on board ship, jokin' 'n kiddin' each other. Eight hours later I'm layin' 'em out just below the first line o' dunes. Some didn't even make the beach. We all deal with it in our own way.

"After that I saw less and less of Alessandra. It suited both of us to see as little of each other as possible. I was both surprised and not surprised to find she was now the owner of most of Richard's assets. What disappointed me greatly was that she replaced him almost immediately in the property side of the business. It was like he never existed. As far as I know everything is now final from a legal point of view. I understood that the investigation by the insurance company and the police was concluded long ago. I'm even sure that all the insurance has been paid. I think Alessandra made sure of that. I haven't seen her now for several months. She moved out almost immediately after the funeral into Richard's apartment in the Village. And that, young man, is all I can tell you. Why Alessandra has asked you to investigate Richard's death is beyond me."

I remembered what Babycakes said when we met her Monday. Already seemed like a long time ago. "So Alessandra didn't say nothin' 'bout us, or what we was doin'? Nothin' at all?"

Mrs Prancey gave me a mean look. "Young man, I think I've been quite clear about what occurred. I might look old but I haven't lost my mind."

"Fido, I think it's pretty clear that Alessandra hasn't told Mrs Prancey anything."

"Sorry Mrs Prancey" I said. "It's just that it sure looks like Alessandra's been tellin' us one thing 'n doin' another. Makes it hard if ya client ain't bein' straight."

Mrs Prancey shifted herself forward in the chair 'n reached for the cigarettes. "As I said earlier, I'm not the slightest bit surprised at anything that Alessandra does. Or says. And, to be honest, I'm not that interested. Unless of course there was something untoward about Richard's death. Then I am interested."

It was time ta go. Gunny pushed himself off the wall 'n we said again how sorry we was. We thanked her for her hospitality then Bentwood escorted us ta the door. We stepped outside. Bentwood follered, closing the door behind him. He flexed his arms as if the suit was too tight. Gunny pulled out his tobacco 'n started ta roll one. He poured the tobacco onta the paper then rolled it quickly between his fingers 'n thumbs. He ran the edge o' the paper along his tongue then licked the end o' the rollie 'n put it in his mouth. As he flicked the lighter he looked at Bentwood. "Army?"

Bentwood had his arms folded. "Navy. N.U.D."

Gunny dribbled some smoke 'n nodded. "Where'd ya do ya trainin'?"

"Norfolk. '42 and '43. Then twelve months clearing harbours on the French coast. Got back in late '46."

"How'd ya end up workin' for the Pranceys?" Gunny took another drag on the cigarette 'n moved down the steps on ta the drive. Me 'n Bentwood follered. Bentwood shrugged as he replied.

"You know what it was like after the war. Plenty of jobs but not always where you wanted them to be. I wanted to stay in New York but there didn't seem to be much demand for underwater demolition. I did a couple of jobs for the Harbour Authority then a friend put me into some security work and one thing led to another."

"So ya work for the old girl?"

"Actually, I work for Richard. I met him at a function arranged by the Welfare Foundation. I was there on security. Doorman and bouncer combined." Bentwood shrugged. "You have to take what you can get" he said.

Gunny nodded. "Isn't that the truth? But it was Richard that gave ya the job. Were ya workin' for him or Mrs Prancey?"

"Richard employed me but it was to look after his mother. You might have noticed that she's partial to a drink. Richard felt there needed to be a little bit more order around the house so he put me on as butler. It's been a good job and, I have to say, one I'm glad to have. The Prancey's have been good to me."

Gunny glanced at his watch. "What's ya take on it?" he asked.

"It stinks. I've been here long enough to know the lay of the land. I can hear and see as well as anyone and I can tell you there's more to what happened than has ever come out." He glanced back to the house again then looked at his watch. "But I have to get back" he said. "When can we meet?"

"How about this evening? Early? Seven?" Gunny looked at me. "Any suggestions Fido?"

"Papa Lugosi's. Tribeca. Off Canal."

Bentwood nodded. "I know it" he said. Then he turned 'n walked back up the steps. As he opened the door he turned back. "Tonight then." He pointed his finger at me like a gun, dropped his thumb 'n closed the door.

I turned ta Gunny. "How'd ya know he was military?"

"Eyes open Fido. Tattoo, right arm, just above the wrist. Thought I recognised it." Gunny spat tobacco onta the ground. "Sucker looks it anyhow. I got a feelin' he'll be good to have around. He glanced at his watch. "Let's move it. It's after four an' we gotta see the unions. Or should I say, we gotta go see if the unions will see us."

# 'Onions'

The WWU had its headquarters on a new wharf on the lower east side, not far from the Staten Island Ferry. The wharf jutted inta the harbour maybe two hundred metres. Even though it was only two years old it looked decrepit. If ya know what I mean. The main deck was made o' ten by ten blocks o' hardwood, each one twenty feet long, bolted tagether with inch thick steel bolts. 'N the piers was hardwood too, two foot in diameter 'n covered in slime 'n clams up ta the high water mark. The deck was 'bout thirty yards wide 'n had a three story warehouse built down the whole length. The warehouse had a dirty red tin roof. The front, near the street, looked like it had offices on the top story. There was a ten foot chain link fence 'cross the street front 'n two large gates, painted green, same height as the fence. Both gates was open. I could see a coupla guys 'bout halfway down the wharf.

We parked opposite the gates. Gunny opened the car door 'n put one foot on the road, then stopped. He looked back at me. "Remember," he said, "I'm the one doin' the talkin'." He walked 'cross the road 'n stopped near the gate. I follered him over 'n we both looked down along the wharf. The two guys had disappeared, leavin' two large trolleys propped against the wall. I could smell creosote 'n wet timber. Gunny gave the offices the once over then flicked a finger at me. "Let's go doughboy. Stay close." He slid through the gate 'n over ta where a steep metal staircase zigzagged up the side o' the buildin'. The staircase was painted a bright shiny black, the treads covered in a dull grey, coarse material. It went up maybe ten steps then turned back on itself, another ten steps, then a landin'. The landin' was made of heavy mesh. At the left hand end, furthest from the steps, there was a dark green door with two windows on each side. The staircase looked solid, but when we stepped on it ya coulda heard us comin' in Brooklyn. Which is what happened.

We'd only gone a few steps up the staircase when there was a bang. The door flew open 'n a face appeared maybe fifteen feet above us. Whoever he was, he was plug ugly. I could only see his face 'n two sets o' thick fingers on each side as he gripped the railin'. He was lookin' down his nose at us. Least down what was left of it. Even from down here I could see his nose was broken three ways ta hell 'n back. He had huge hairy nostrils. After a quick look he pushed back from the railin' then re-appeared a second later at the top o' the stairs. He was built like a fireplug 'n uglier 'n I first thought. He stopped with one foot on the top step, his other foot one down, hands grippin' the railin' on each side. His voice was a cross between a bullfrog 'n a busted accordion.

"You gents lookin' fer somethin'?"

Gunny climbed the stairs ta the turn back then propped himself against the railin', one foot on the next step. He pulled out his rollies 'n started puttin' one tagether. He didn't say nothin' for a minute or so. By which time Fireplug was startin' ta go same colour as the real thing. Gunny lit the rollie 'n blew out a cloud o' blue smoke. "We'd like ta see Mr Nordstromm. We're doin' some work for people uptown. We believe he might be able ta help us."

"You dose guys dat rang before? I told ya's den Mr Nordstromm ain't seein' no-one. An' he ain't seein' you." With that Fireplug backed up the stairs 'n turned away. But Gunny wasn't finished. He follered Fireplug up the stairs 'n on ta the landin'. When he heard Gunny come up the stairs behind him Fireplug stopped at the door 'n turned back, hands on hips. He had forearms the size o' Christmas Hams. There was a tattoo above the wrist on his right arm. It looked like an anchor.

"I told ya's. Mr Nordstromm ain't seein' no-one. Ya gotta make an appointment."

Just then there was a knock on the glass in the top o' the door. Fireplug stopped 'n turned as the door opened. It was Fireplug's brother, Big Fireplug. Only difference was he was even uglier. His sleeves was rolled up too 'n he was wipin' his hands. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "Boss said Ok. Bring 'em in."

Little Fireplug snorted 'n cracked his knuckles. He had fingers same size as the salamis in Lugosi's window. Then he stood back from the door 'n waved us through. "Foller Ollie" he grunted. We follered Ollie through the door 'n along a short corridor that opened out onta a wide platform with a wooden railin'. It had a steep set o' steps at one end, leadin' down ta a concrete stand. Two shiny black Caddies stood side by side. The concrete was wet 'n the Caddies gleamed. Ollie went down the stairs 'n picked a cloth off the fender o' the nearest Caddie, spat on the floor 'n started wipin' the windscreen. Gunny 'n me put our hands on the railin' 'n cased the joint. I watched Ollie outa the corner o' my eye but he didn't look up.

The warehouse stretched the length o' the wharf. That made it maybe two hundred yards long. The first fifty yards had a concrete floor. But then it stopped 'n it was all tightly fitted timber sleepers, darkened by grease 'n whatever else passed through the warehouse. There was a set o' steel sliders every fifty yards or so on each side. The doors was thirty feet high. Three sliders was open, lettin' light inta what otherwise woulda been a dark cave. There was two lines o' huge lights hung the length of the warehouse. None was on.

At first I thought the warehouse was empty, but the size deceived me. As my eyes adjusted ta the gloom I saw there was hundreds o' bales, maybe thousands, piled at the far end. They was piled floor ta ceilin' – or near as matters. Then 'bout half way down, near one o' the open doors, looked like an area set aside for packin'. I could see two guys workin' on large crates, moving stuff 'round. Just nearby the crates there was an office built against one side o' the warehouse. Little Fireplug clumped past us 'n down the steps. He took 'bout ten steps then stopped 'n looked back. "Ya comin'? Ya heard what Ollie said."

He turned without a word 'n walked toward the office, maybe a hundred yards. We follered in silence. As we passed Ollie I slid an eye at him. He was still wipin' the car's windows but his eyes was on us. I turned my head away 'n shivered. This could be trouble. I felt Gunny's hand land on my shoulder. The office was a one-story plywood structure, forty feet long, fifteen deep, with a flat roof. It had one door 'n a dozen large windows along the side. All the windows was shaded. The outside walls was painted a shitty shade o' brown. The window frames was black. Looked 'n smelled like creosote. Overall it was dead ugly. I expected better on the inside. I was wrong. Little Fireplug banged once, then opened the door 'n stuck his head through. We heard some mumbled words 'n grunts then Little Fireplug leaned back 'n waved us in. He stepped back 'n closed the door behind us. He didn't come in.

Luxury wasn't a word I woulda used ta describe the office. It was bleak as the outside. Concrete floor, two scratched desks, half a dozen chairs that looked like they come in a mixed lot from a Quaker wreckin' yard, a calendar with a picture o' Veronica Lake, a row o' wooden filin' cabinets on the side wall. The walls wasn't painted. There was three bare bulbs strung from 'n unfinished ceilin'. Only one light was on. It threw a dim yeller light on Nordstromm's desk.

I'd heard Nordstromm was a big sucker, but I was still surprised. He made his desk look like it come from nursery school. Little chairs, little desks, little johns, little people. But Nordstromm wasn't little people. He sat there like an iceberg, wearing a dark brown suit coat 'n a white shirt with loosely knotted grey tie. The coat was 'bout ta burst 'cross his shoulders. I don't know how he fitted inta the chair. He didn't look up for a moment. He was bent over some papers, scratchin' away with a pencil. Gunny grabbed a nearby chair 'n sat down. I hesitated for a second or two then did the same. The Duke kept workin' for a minute or so, then leaned back. "Gents." His voice was a deep rumble. "Name's Nordstromm. Who am I talking to?"

While Gunny introduced us I looked Nordstromm over. After everything I'd read 'bout him I guess I expected a mean ugly sucker. But he wasn't. He was big sure, but he wasn't a bad lookin' sort o' guy. He had a thick head o' white hair, dark eyes, thick black eyebrows. A bit like a judge up close. I woulda put him 'bout same age as Gunny. Maybe a little older. Late forties? He looked Gunny in the eye when he spoke 'n kept his hands flat on the desk. He listened without interruptin' while Gunny explained why we was there. The lines 'round his eyes 'n mouth suggested he laughed a lot. He reminded me o' Gregory Peck. Just bigger.

"So" he said. "Couple of private dicks doing a bit of legwork on behalf of the young Mrs Prancey. I guess I'm not surprised."

"You were expectin' us?" Gunny asked.

Nordstromm shook his head. "No. I wasn't expecting you, or anyone else. But I'm not surprised to see you.

"Why would that be?" asked Gunny.

Nordrstromm shrugged. "If you've been doing your work you'll have some idea that the WWU and the late Mr Prancey had some business dealings. If you don't know that then you're wasting my time. And your client's." The chair creaked as Nordstromm leaned back. He stared at us for a long moment, then twirled the pencil as he spoke. "Are you aware of UCD's activities?"

Gunny shook his head. "No. That's part of what we wanted ta talk about."

Nordstromm glanced at his watch then shifted in the chair. It creaked louder this time. "I've got twenty minutes so I'll give you fifteen. I don't know that it's going to help you very much, but that's for you to decide. It might be useful if I provide a little bit of history. But before I start I want you to know I'm doing this for Prancey, not his wife. If I didn't think Prancey had the juice you wouldn't have come through the door."

Gunny leaned back 'n spread his hands. "Ok" was all he said. I pulled out my notebook 'n held it up. Nordstromm nodded 'n cleared his throat.

"First of all you have to understand that the WWU and the UPG don't really get along. Sure, I've known Garcia for quite a while. But I don't agree with his methods. The guy's too ambitious. When you're running a union the first consideration, the only consideration, is the members. Always. Not the social calendar."

"Then why the UCD?" asked Gunny.

Nordstromm reached 'cross his desk 'n popped the top off a humidor. He took out a cigar then hesitated 'n pushed the humidor towards Gunny 'n me. We both shook our heads. Nordstromm lit up. "Main reason is we compete for pretty much the same membership. The UPG hasn't been around for more than, say, 15 years. The WWU's much older. More than 60 years. But port business has been booming since the beginning of the war, and Garcia and a few other 'Young Turks' could see the opportunities. We - the WWU that is – almost doubled our membership from '42 through '48. And believe me, there's a lot of money in union membership. Garcia and his cronies spotted the cash and decided to go after it. Don't get me wrong. They don't do too bad a job – as a union. It's when they get involved in other stuff that it gets interesting." He paused for a second. "They aren't above some rough-house either when it's needed."

I looked at Nordstromm's clothes. They was ok, but nothin' special. This didn't stack up with Maxie's story 'bout Nordstromm. In fact, Nordstromm sounded like a stand up kinda guy. 'N he didn't seem like no head-kicker. Then I remembered the Union annual report 'n the salary. So did Gunny.

"Mr Nordstromm" he said. "No disrespect but we've done our homework. Some anyhow. We know it was a tough time after Mr Vance died."

"Well, you're right" he said. "It was tough. And I had to be tough as well. Sure, I pulled a few things I'm not proud of. But if I hadn't, we wouldn't be where we are today. The other guys who wanted in had the same ideas as Garcia. The money."

"But as ya said yourself, there's lot's of money in union fees. Fat salaries."

Nordstromm snorted. "What? You think I'm taking a 'fat salary' as you call it? I got more than 4000 members. That takes a heck of a lot my time and if it's time away from my wife and kids then I expect to be well paid. You got a problem with that?"

"No. We aren't interested in your salary." said Gunny. "But we are interested in ya relationship with Richard Prancey and the UPG."

Nordstromm puffed heavily on the cigar. The smoke formed a haze 'round the dim globe, turnin' the pale yeller light dirty. Made Nordstromm look like he had jaundice. I glanced at Gunny. He looked the same. I guessed I did too. "You're right of course" he said. "I'll go back a few years to when it all started. And I stress again, the only reason I'm even talking to you guys is I liked Prancey. If he was still alive we'd have some big things planned. But he isn't. And that's life. Or death for that matter." He clasped both hands tagether on the desk, the cigar caught between his index 'n second fingers. The smoke went straight up inta the haze. The ash on the cigar defied gravity.

"Maybe three-four years ago Garcia called me. Wanted to meet to talk about some – 'common interests' was what he said. Turned out what he wanted was to talk about property development. Nothing untoward about this of course. I mean, we might not have seen eye to eye but it was pretty obvious way back that there were going to be some big changes around the waterfront after the war. The City was throwing money around like rice, trying to spark a bit of investment in the area, clean it up and so on. We at the WWU decided we'd better make sure we didn't lose out so we started using part of our income to buy property. This way we could have at least some control over our own fortunes. It was good that the City was pushing for more investment, but unless it was the right sort it was no good for us. What good is an office block to us, or a high rise filled with apartments? We need freight forwarders, shippers, chandlers, welders, warehouses. So we got into the property game and it's paid off."

"An' the UPG had the same idea?" asked Gunny.

Nordstromm nodded. "Yep. And like I said, nothing unusual about it. There were a number of properties close to the water where we could control long-term development, if we worked together. That's about it."

"So just the UPG and the WWU?" asked Gunny. "You had enough capital?"

Nordstromm snorted. "Well that brings up the third leg of the tripod, so to speak. If you guys have done your homework you'll know that the other big property player in town is the Welfare Foundation and that Prancey was the Chair of the Foundation for years. When Garcia came to see me it was about getting the UPG and the WWU to work together but it was also about the Welfare Foundation. Garcia's been a social climber from way back, knew Prancey through his contacts. You have to give it to him. He's sharp. He realised that the Foundation owned so much property there was no way we could proceed without them. Better to have them inside the tent pissing out than otherwise." Nordstromm paused 'n sucked on the cigar.

"You'll also know that Mrs Prancey took over from her husband after he died." He was silent for a moment then spoke grudgingly. "She's another sharp one. Maybe even a better business brain than her husband. As soon as she took over she realised that we needed them a lot more than they needed us."

"What about her an' Garcia?"

Nordstromm looked at us in disgust, then shrugged. "What about her and Garcia? What's it matter? I have my own standards but I'm no judge of another man. As long as we stay above board and the WWU's interests are protected I'm not interested in how Garcia goes about screwing up his personal life. That's up to him." He glanced at his watch. "That's pretty close to your fifteen gents. If there's nothing else I need to get on with these accounts." He stood up 'n held out his hand.

Gunny stood and shook his hand. "Just one last question if ya don't mind Mr Nordstromm. During our investigations we came across a company called Spanish Glass. Does the name mean anything?"

Nordstromm frowned 'n rubbed his chin, cigar in the corner of his mouth. "It rings a bell" but he shook his head. "Nothing more."

As we shook hands Gunny gestured at the door. "The guys outside. They the clerical staff?"

Nordstromm grunted. Mighta been a laugh. "They look like clerks to you? Little one's Baby Nicky, came to work for me after 15 years on the wharves. The big one's Ollie the Peg. Lost it in Normandy. Been here since about '46, '47."

Nordstromm didn't show us out. As we trooped back ta the stairs we saw Ollie was still polishin' the car. Nicky was sittin' at a desk close by the steps. Neither one paid us no attention. We was gettin' back in the car before Gunny said anything. "Well that was all very interesting Fido. Now I ain't so sure what ta make of the union. Nordstromm sounds like he's on the up an' up."

"Ya don't think there's anything fishy 'bout the property deals?"

Gunny shook his head slowly. "Maybe not. There wasn't anything screwy about what Nordstromm said. Mind you, where there's smoke there's often fire. I'd say Garcia bears watchin'. But no, there wasn't anything in what Nordstromm said that smelled. Maybe it's all above board." We sat scratchin' our chins 'n jawin' 'bout it for a few minutes. I was reachin' for the starter when Nordstromm's black Caddie slid out the gate, Ollie drivin', Baby Nicky in the passenger seat. I could see Nordstromm's head outlined through the rear windows. Ollie waved a languid hand as they passed. Nicky cut his eyes at us. I looked at Gunny.

"Home" he said. "Let's clean up. We see Bentwood at eight. An' we can talk about goin' back ta Bridgehampton. I'm even more convinced we need ta go see ya friend Windschuttle sooner rather than later. An' ya got any whisky? The sun's way past the yardarm. Might help the thought processes."

* * *

As I pulled over near Lugosi's I saw Bentwood sittin' at a table by the window. Nicco saw us comin' 'n disappeared inta the kitchen. Only other customers was a half dozen ice workers at the back 'n a bunch o' meat workers at a table near the kitchen. We made small talk 'til the food arrived. Bentwood shrugged when I explained Nicco's MO. After a coupla minutes Gunny dropped his fork 'n wiped his mouth.

"So. What's the story?"

Bentwood put his elbows on the table. "I've been with the Pranceys four years" he said. He pushed some grains o' parmesan 'round with a finger. I noticed his hands was hard 'n square. Like Gunny's. "It's been a good job. But something stinks. I was standing outside the door today. I could hear everything Mrs Prancey said. Some of it was accurate, but there's more to it."

"Ok. Tell us what ya know" said Gunny.

"Mrs Prancey didn't get on with Richard's wife. They had a couple of nasty altercations. Not saying I think either one is in the right, but one thing I can say is that Alessandra had a lot of respect for her husband. Sure, he was in the closet and all that, and no question that they had a marriage in name only, but I saw them together a lot. They treated each other well. I think maybe Alessandra knew how to push Mrs Prancey's buttons. Didn't take much. An afternoon of pink gin and you could wind her up in five seconds." Bentwood drank some coffee.

"My take on it? I think that Richard and Alessandra were more like business partners. I could tell he respected her intellect. There's no doubt she's a smart one. I'm hired help so I don't get taken into any confidences but, you know how it is, sometimes they forget you're in the room. There are two things I remember that don't sit well. And it's only now, with Richard dead, and you guys coming around, that I can give it a bit more context."

"Did Prancey love his wife?" asked Gunny.

Bentwood nodded. "I believe so. But it wasn't a traditional marriage. I think they had some sort of arrangement. Richard wanted her for her brains not her looks. I guess she needed something more than that." He shrugged.

"That's how she hooked up with Garcia?" I asked.

"Yes. I guess so. But she was pretty good about it. Trouble is you can't be a Prancey and do too much without someone noticing. Didn't take too long before tongues were wagging."

"What about Garcia?" asked Gunny. "What's the deal? What did Prancey think about it?"

"I think the old bird was right when she called him a social climber. I never had a good feeling about Garcia, but he seemed to get on well with Richard. I think they had a reasonable business understanding. Alessandra and Garcia didn't seem to get in the way." Bentwood gave a twisted grin. "I wouldn't call him 'rough and uncouth', but he is a spiv."

'Would ya trust him?"

Bentwood shook his head, his lips pursed. "Not a chance."

"So Prancey 'n Babycakes didn't hate each other? Why would Mrs Prancey think that?"

"Like I said. She's three sheets to the wind most days. I think it's partly what she'd like to think more than reality. She just doesn't like Babycakes." He grunted. "As you call her."

"So what are the two things ya remember?"

Bentwood held up two fingers on his left hand. He gripped the first finger with his right hand. "First thing. Must have been around June – say middle of June - I came in around mid-day after cleaning the car. I thought I'd take care of a bit of kitchen paperwork before I cleaned up but when I went into my office I found Mr Prancey there. He was using my phone."

"Ya got an office?" I said.

Bentwood looked amused. "Of course. Only a small one, next to the kitchen. I do all the ordering – food, wine and so on. Someone has to take care of it."

Gunny waved his hand. "Yeah, yeah. He's got an office Fido. Live with it." He gestured to Bentwood. "So what happened next?" Ma woulda said I'd been impugned.

"When he saw me he immediately put the phone down and said he would take it in his office. I told him to stay and that I would come back later. Then I headed off to the washroom. I cleaned up then came back, maybe after ten minutes. I sat down at the desk and noticed that the phone hadn't been put back in the cradle. I picked the phone up to put it back in the cradle when I heard a loud noise from the phone. It sounded like an argument. I'm a bit ashamed to admit this but I listened in. Richard was talking with another man. He must have decided to go through and take the call in his office but neglected to come back and hang up. I caught only the last few seconds of the conversation but it was pretty tense. Richard was saying something like 'It has to stop'. I remember the other guy's reply quite clearly. He said 'Get with the program Prancey. We've talked about it often enough. The sand's important. We're having trouble understanding your interest. You're from New York. What would you know? Stay out of it. People are starting to lose patience. Next time it won't be a phone call.'

Then the guy hung up."

"Anything else?" asked Gunny.

"Nope. That was it. The reason it stayed in my mind was I heard Richard hang up then his footsteps in the hall. He was coming back. He must have remembered the phone. I put the phone down, made sure I didn't make a noise, then ducked into the kitchen. I hid in the pantry. Luckily there was no one there. I heard Richard come into my office, then his footsteps came into the kitchen and stopped. I had the impression he was looking around. Then he left."

I held up two fingers at Bentwood. "What was the second thing?"

"Second thing - August last year - I came back early from my day off. It was one of those really shitty days we get in August. Couldn't walk across Fifth Avenue without getting blacktop all over your shoes. I came in early, there's a car in the drive, one I've never seen before." He pointed 'cross the road. "A Packard. Like yours, but new. It had a Long Island registration. When I came into the house I could hear voices coming from the conservatory. Not loud and the words weren't clear. But the tone was. It wasn't a friendly conversation. Normally I would have gone straight upstairs but for some reason this time I didn't. I went through into the study. I could hear more clearly in there."

"What was ya gonna say if they heard ya?" I asked

"No problem" said Bentwood. "We keep all the newspapers and magazines in the study. I was going to take a couple of minutes selecting some. That was my excuse if they came in. But they didn't. I could hear three voices, one of them Mr Prancey's. But another seemed to be doing all the talking. I didn't get it all because they were at the far end of the conservatory but it was about money and something about glass, I think."

"Glass?" I said. "Maybe it was a name? Like Spanish Glass?"

Bentwood shook his head. "I didn't hear a name. And I'm not even sure it was glass, just sounded like it."

"What else?" asked Gunny.

"The one doing the talking sounded like the boss. He was really leaning on Richard. I heard Richard try to speak a couple of times, but the other guy wouldn't listen. Then he threatened Richard. He said 'You'll get on board Prancey. Like everyone else.' Then they walked out."

"Did ya get a look at them?" asked Gunny.

"Not really. They had their backs to me. One was tall, dark hair with a lot of grey, nice suit, quite polished. The other was shorter with dark hair, also well dressed. I didn't see their faces."

"What about a name?"

"No. Just some mumbles as they left. After Richard closed the door he stood there for quite a while, thinking I guess, then went upstairs. I waited about ten minutes then went up to my room. I didn't see Richard alive again. He was dead a few days later."

"Did ya get anything else? Anything at all?"

"That's pretty much it. Does it mean anything to you?

Gunny shook his head 'n grimaced. "Not much." He hesitated for a second while Nicco rattled off with the dessert dishes. "Nothin' rings any bells." He turned ta me. "What about it Fido? Anything?"

"Well," I replied, "Nothin' concrete. But Bentwood mentioned two things that might be related. In the phone call the other guy, whoever he was, mentioned sand. That right Bentwood?" Bentwood nodded. "Then in the second conversation, they was talkin' 'bout glass. Maybe there's a connection Gunny."

Gunny rubbed his chin. "Maybe. But damned what it might be." He asked Bentwood again. "There was nothing' else? And ya didn't get a name?" Bentwood shook his head.

"Ya think maybe the guy on the phone and the guy visiting were one and the same?"

"Not certain, but probable."

"Ya think this guy's responsible for Prancey's death?"

Bentwood hesitated, cradling his coffee in two hands. "Again, not certain, but probable. We know that Richard was threatened. Most likely on both occasions. It doesn't add up to much but my gut tells me I'm right."

Gunny nodded. "Sometimes it's like that. But can I call ya if we need help? An' I'm pretty sure I'll be makin' that call."

Bentwood nodded. "Count me in."

Gunny turned ta me. "Fido. We're goin' up ta Bridgehampton first thing. I wanta see Beil an' McTiernan. Your friend Windschuttle sounds like brains. Call her an' tell her we're comin' up."

That seemed ta be it so we paid up 'n headed out. Bentwood said he'd wait on our call. As he drove off we walked back ta the Packard. The street was quiet 'cept for the swoosh o' the City Hall street cleaner at the intersection with Canal. When we climbed inta the car Gunny lit a cigarette. When Gunny smoked it was a sign o' worry. 'We have a matter of some concern here gentlemen.' I saw it a lot in Germany. I didn't like it when Gunny got worried. 'Cause when Gunny got worried it was time ta get outa Dodge.

* * *

It was pourin' rain when I collected Gunny next morning. The traffic was total chaos as Ma woulda said, took us two hours ta clear Levittown. As we drove north the rain pounded the pavement, our tires sendin' spray high 'n wide. Southampton was flooded, slowed us down some, result bein' we didn't pull inta Windschuttle's drive 'til mid-day. 'N if the rain 'n traffic wasn't enough, Gunny didn't draw breath the whole trip. 'We gotta see McTiernan. I wanta speak with Beil too. An' Jesus Fido, ya still ain't gone ta see the UPG or the Foundation or those others. A week! An' where the fuck is Fester?' I hear ya Gunny, I hear ya.

After introductions we helped ourselves ta coffee 'n bellied up ta the kitchen table. Gunny sipped his coffee 'n spoke. "First, a quick recap ta see what we got. Or at least what we think we got. Then we plan - who we need ta talk to, when an' who's gonna do it." Gunny spent thirty minutes bringin' Windschuttle up ta speed. He ran through his visit with Caldwell, my chat with Maxie 'bout the unions, our meetin' with Nordstromm, our visit ta Mrs Prancey, 'n 'bout Harly. He left the companies 'n the Tribeca properties ta me.

"Run us through the company set up Fido. Show us who owns who and so on. After we've had a look at that we can review the battle plan."

"Battle plan - military shit." I said. I dragged some papers towards me. One sheet had a messy diagram, the other a list o' names 'n boxes. I'd spent half the night, at Gunny's suggestion, drawin' up the links between the companies 'n firms located in Tribeca. I turned the two sheets 'round so they faced Gunny 'n Windschuttle. I placed my finger on the top box. Gunny already knew what it was so I directed my attention at Windschuttle.

"What we got here is the company structure. I took the list o' company names we saw down Tribeca, went over ta the Companies Office, found out who owned 'em. Mostly. Some of 'em I didn't get names. But a lot of 'em I did. No surprise maybe but the WWU 'n the UPG own most o' the block. There's only a few properties they don't own." I ran my finger along one side o' the diagram. "Hubert Street. Seven properties. All owned by UPG 'cept for number 16. That's owned by a guy called Arnold Rosnow from Staten Island. Washington Street. Same thing. Two properties. Both owned by UPG."

Gunny interrupted. "What about the businesses using those properties. Ya check them out?"

I shook my head. "Not all. Spanish Glass has four of the buildings on Hubert. But I know nothin' 'bout Spanish Glass. Washington Street – both properties owned by a crowd called Gutenberg & Sons. I don't know nothin' 'bout them neither."

Windschuttle gestured at the papers. "Ok. But first go through all the properties then we'll backtrack."

I ran my finger down Laight Street. "Nine properties. Six of 'em owned by the WWU, one owned by a couple named Lissitzky from up Yonkers, two owned by a crowd called New York Maritime Services."

"Anything on Lissitzky or New York Maritime?" asked Gunny.

"Nothin' on Lissitzky, but New York Maritime Services is owned by the WWU. There's a long chain o' ownership. Last property is 1208 Hudson, also owned by New York Maritime Services. So what do we got? Basically, nineteen properties, eight owned by the UPG, nine by the WWU, two by other parties – the Lissitzky's 'n the Gutenbergs."

Aphrodite leaned forward 'n tapped the page. "But where's the Prancey Development Corporation in all this? You checked on them?"

"I did. This is where the ownership gets interestin'. Back in '46 the WWU, UPG 'n Ricky set up Blackmore Leggitt. Headquartered in Boston for whatever reason. Aimed at property development." I held up a finger. "And...Blackmore Leggitt owns another company called... Union City Developments, set up in '48. Again focused on property development...mostly Manhattan I think."

Gunny held up a hand. "Slow down Fido. Ya sayin' the WWU owns Blackmore Leggitt, which owns Union City?"

"Yep. But that ain't all. I also found out from Maxie that Union City has a slice o' New York Maritime Services."

"I see what you mean about a long chain of ownership" said Windschuttle.

"Yeah, but what's it mean?" asked Gunny.

"Well, the unions own most of the properties. Maybe they're plannin' on buyin' out the other guys. Nordstromm says they wanta 'control their own destinies'."

Windschuttle was sittin' back in her chair, holdin' her coffee mug in two hands. She had her bottom lip pushed out as she rocked back 'n forth. "You mentioned Spanish Glass and the Gutenbergs. What businesses are using the other buildings? Did you check on any of those?"

I turned the paper back toward me 'n ran through the names again. "Like I said I didn't find out nothin' 'bout Spanish Glass or the Gutenbergs. Goin' down Laight Street we got the nine properties. There's four companies usin' those properties. Thirty ta thirty-two is bein' used by Union Square Ceramics. They also got 1208 Hudson. I don't know nothin' 'bout Union Square Ceramics. Twenty-four ta twenty-six is bein' used by DDG Shipping. Don't know nothin' 'bout them neither. Eighteen ta twenty-two is bein' used by New York Training Services. Sorry, but I haven't checked these guys neither. Last one, number sixteen, that's held by Lissitzky 'n is bein' used by Lissitzky. That's all I got."

"A great start. But that's all it is. A start. We need to dig deeper." He pulled a pencil from his shirt pocket. "Let's see. We need info on DDG Shipping, Spanish Glass, the Gutenbergs and Union Square Ceramics, the Knights, the Welfare Foundation. Ya gonna have to go back to the Companies Office and City Hall when we get back to New York." He glanced at his watch. "Nearly three - reckon we head off to see Marty Beil?"

I nodded. "Ya want Windschuttle along? Beil likes her."

Gunny frowned. "I think just me an' Windschuttle. No offence Fido but three's too many. Might frighten the horses. When we get through with Beil we'll go see McTiernan."

I shrugged. "I got plenty here anyhow."

"We should be able to catch Marty at work today' said Windschuttle. "I know he'll be in because it's the City Hall monthly meeting tomorrow. The engineers always have a lot of spending so for certain he'll be putting something up to the councillors. He'll be there today finishing it off."

* * *

I kept myself busy revisitin' my notes, drinkin' coffee, watchin' the rain. I tried ta contact Buford three times, rang the office twice 'n his home once, but no dice. I had a bad feelin' 'bout this. Buf was a serial offender when it come ta goin' AWOL. It was always the ponies or his 'thespian pursuits' – his words o' course. This time he'd been missin' in action longer than usual, but I figured it for more o' the same when he finally surfaced. I hoped he was wearin' iron underpants when he turned up. He was gonna need 'em.

Gunny and Windschuttle arrived back 'round five thirty. We bellied up ta the table again 'n Gunny filled me in. "Found Beil in his office, lookin' a lot the worse for wear. Whoever it was beat him up didn't hurt him much physically, but they scared him. But Miss Windschuttle here sweet-talked him for a while an' he came round. He's runnin' scared. Scared of whoever beat him, an' scared of his boss McTiernan. I can't tell whether it's one an' the same thing."

"Did he add anything?"

"Pretty much confirmed everything he told you. But I asked him about the report. Like why didn't he push McTiernan a bit more? He knew it wasn't kosher. And why didn't he write the report up properly, call it like he saw it? Poor guy couldn't really excuse himself. He's terrified of McTiernan, most likely because he wants ta keep his job. We asked him about what happened up at Montauk but he didn't give us anything new. When I asked why they chased him up the light pole he clammed right up."

"What'd he say 'bout Duffy?"

Windschuttle shook her head. "Nothing. I asked him if he recognised the people who beat him up but he said he didn't."

"Who investigated it when he got beat up? That musta been done by ya station."

"It was." said Windschuttle. "It was handled by Martin Potts. You remember him...the blond one?"

"Then what?"

"Then nothing. Martin spent some time with Marty and took a look around at Montauk but nothing came from it. Marty couldn't, or wouldn't, add anything. The result was that Martin came back with nothing so the case was closed."

"Did ya think that was maybe a bit odd? Like the guy's been beat up but no-one knows nothin'?"

Windschuttle give me the evil eye. "Yes, of course it was odd. Martin thought it was odd, in fact knew it was odd. We all did. But that's the way it is. We're not exactly sitting on our hands over there you know." She looked a 'trifle vexed' as Ma woulda said.

"What 'bout the gas bottles 'n the explosion?" I asked Gunny.

"He stuck with the story he gave ya. He was uncomfortable about it but felt the Chief knew best. But he was lyin'. I could feel it." Gunny looked at Windschuttle for confirmation.

"No doubt about it." she said. "I know Marty. He's as transparent as a pane of glass. I don't think there's any doubt in his mind that something untoward happened to Prancey. At least as far as the explosion goes. Remember the comments of the Doc who did the autopsy. But you'll also remember that the Doc wasn't conclusive. He cited it as death by misadventure."

Gunny frowned 'n rubbed his chin. "Death by misadventure? That's still got me worried. Three of his friends are dead as well. All violently? I'm missin' somethin' here. When we get back ta New York we gotta check what happened."

"What'd Beil say 'bout the pipes bein' cut? Ya know, after he went back for a second look?"

"He didn't want to talk about it." replied Windschuttle. "He said we'd best talk with McTiernan."

"Fuck! Sorry. What a waste o' time."

Gunny held up a hand. "Steady Fido. It wasn't a waste of time. I think we got as much from Marty as he's able ta give right now. Gotta give the guy a break."

"OK. Maybe ya right. What'd McTiernan have ta say?"

Gunny gestured ta Windschuttle who answered. "We were a bit late getting to City Hall so McTiernan wasn't too keen to see us. He was getting ready to meet his wife for a dinner at the Country Club."

"He a big cheese in Bridgehampton?"

Windschuttle nodded. "Yes. You could call him a big cheese. He's very well off. He plays a big role in the local chamber of commerce."

"Ain't he a civil servant? Ya tellin' me City Hall pays top dollar?"

"No. It wouldn't be from a City Hall salary. McTiernan's wife runs a local realtor. I think Marna is quite successful."

"Ya know his wife?"

"Not really. But it's a small community. I know who she is."

Gunny stepped in. "Let's move it along Gyrenes. The guy's pretty polished for a small town engineer. As far as he's concerned Marty's report was fine. And final. We asked about the pipes and fittings but he seemed surprised. Said that Marty never reported any of it ta him and, if he had, he mighta done something about it. He said he had no reason ta doubt the report, or Marty's competence. Guy's got sauce. I mean, I'm asking him questions an' the guy sort of puts the finger on Marty. Nice touch! But who does he thinks he's dealing with here? Some local yokels?" Gunny hesitated 'n looked over at Windschuttle. "Sorry ma'am" he said. "Didn't mean no offense." Windschuttle waved it away.

"When we asked why the New York police got involved I could see it got him goin'. Gave us a cock an' bull story about precincts, about Prancey bein' from New York, society stuff, that kind of thing. What a crock? Guy must think we're idiots."

"Did he know Marty got beat up?"

Gunny sneered. "Ya know, he really crawled up my nose. We've all met Beil, right? We know he's not gonna hurt a fly. But McTiernan, when I ask him about Marty gettin' beat up, ya know what he says? He's a weasel that one. He says that he'd prefer not ta talk about it, that the sexual proclivities of other people are their own business. Fuck me...sorry again ma'am...there he is trying ta say Marty got beat up because he's queer." He looked at Aphrodite. "Now tell me that isn't the case."

Windschuttle held up her hands. "I have no idea. But there is a big community up here so who knows?"

Gunny ummed 'n arred for a second or two. "It doesn't seem likely. You've spoken ta Beil a couple of times Fido. Was there anything he said that mighta linked him with Prancey? Anything that indicated he knew him?"

I shook my head. "Zero boss. He was pretty impersonal. Didn't say nothin' even suggested they knew each other. But seems ta me there's two common denominators we need ta consider. First one is Duffy. He's turnin' up all over the place. Pays me a visit after I'm beat up. Comes round the folk's place after Harly's truck gets burned. 'N if I'm guessin' right, he's the one paid Marty Beil a visit out on Montauk." They both nodded.

"Second thing. The sand. What's the story with the sand? It pops up near as much as Duffy. We seen the sand on Prancey's car at Sag Harbour. We seen the same stuff, or near enough, up Montauk. Prancey dies at East Hampton...not far from Montauk. 'N we see more sand outside the warehouse in Tribeca. These things gotta be linked. There's somethin' goin' on links Bridgehampton, Duffy, Prancey 'n the sand."

"But the sand we saw in Tribeca was imported. You checked that with your friend from Dulux. The Montauk sand is quite different." Windschuttle was right.

"Yeah...well...we did check on the sand off Prancey's car. Buford's buddy confirmed it included imported sand. But we got it off Prancey's car in Sag Harbour. Prancey's been drivin' round how long? Maybe a day or two...all the way from New York 'n he's still got this stuff under the wings? Don't seem likely. What was he doin' up here anyhow?" I turned ta Windschuttle. "I remember ya said way back that no one tracked his movements on the day he died."

"That's right" said Windschuttle. "He was in East Hampton early on the Saturday and definitely drove up to Montauk. Or did he? I can't recall how that fact was established. Could have been a guess by someone based on the mud and dirt. Maybe he stayed in his house the whole time." She frowned at me. "Are you saying the sand came from New York and not from Montauk...or the other way around? That perhaps he wasn't even in East Hampton."

"I ain't sayin' neither. I don't know where the sand come from. I'm just pointin' out the connections. Or what I think might be connections. I think we gotta go back down Tribeca. Take a look at Spanish Glass. If they got sand, let's get some. Get Dave ta check it against the first sample."

"There's one other issue that ya didn't mention Fido. An' for me, it's the most important. What with all the hoo-hah goin' on an' people runnin' in all directions it took me a while ta figure it out. But I did. After what we heard today I got a strong feelin' we might be bait. Just bait. Nothin' more. Our client has put us out there as a stalkin' horse. Why she's done it is the big question. Any way ya look at it she's flushed out the foxes. That's why we gotta get in front of this pronto." I know what Ma woulda said, but Gunny was right.

"But right now our only real lead is Spanish Glass. So here's what we do. First up. A good night's sleep. Then back ta New York. I call Bentwood an' we pay Spanish Glass a visit tomorrow night. I don't know what we're gonna find there. Maybe nothin'. But nothin' is what we got right now so what's ta lose?" He looked at Windschuttle. "Guess ya shouldn't be hearin' this ma'am."

"Doesn't matter" said Windschuttle. "I'm coming with you."

"Maybe that's not a good idea ma'am. Not with you being the law an' all."

"That's right" I said. "Three of us is plenty. It's too risky anyhow. Ya don't wanna be there."

But there was no stoppin' Windschuttle. "Forget it boys. I do want to be there. I'm coming. I know the risks. I also have an axe to grind. Some of my friends have been hurt. I'm not due back at work 'til Tuesday. Today's Friday, so I have three days. No more complaints."

# Rocco 'n Chase

Next mornin' we got a late start 'n caught heavy traffic on the way in. We cleared Queens 'round mid-day 'n drove straight ta the Rat Hole. As we tramped up the stairs one o' the chows was slobberin' on the doorjamb at the Fahey's. But no sign o' Maurie or the Mrs. The chow stopped when it saw Gunny then disappeared back inta the apartment howlin'. Gunny sniggered. Windschuttle looked shocked.

Gunny wasted no time. "Best thing we can do is give Bentwood a call, make sure we got everything straight, then get some rest." said Gunny. "I'll make the call Fido. Maybe ya can make some coffee." Windschuttle indicated she'd do it 'n moved towards the kitchen. I cracked the window ta let in some air then propped my feet on the windowsill while Gunny dialled.

"Bentwood. Gunny here. How're ya doin'?" Gunny scratched his buzz cut while he talked. "Yeah. Spoke with Beil an' McTiernan. He was silent for a moment. "There's a connection alright. Maybe the sand. The other thing is one of New York's finest seems ta stick his nose in everywhere, even up in Montauk." Gunny was silent again. "That's why I'm callin'. We're gonna take a look at the place in Tribeca. Tonight." Some more silence. Windschuttle come back in with the coffee. She sat on the arm o' my chair, hand on my shoulder.

"Appreciate it" said Gunny. "Can ya be here by seven?" Gunny was silent again for a moment. "No guns. But bring the rest. That'll save us time. What's the address here Fido?" I told him 'n he repeated it ta Bentwood. "305 West 121st, Morningside. Got it?" Gunny listened then looked at me. "Yeah. Suits him. See ya at seven." He paused 'n raised his arm. "It's nearly four." he said, then rang off.

"Bentwood's on his way" said Gunny. "He'll bring paint an' overalls for all of us. He's bringin' tools an' flashlights too. We'll check it all when he gets here then head out."

I sipped Aphrodite's coffee. "Why the tools? Ain't we just casin' the joint?"

"That's right Fido. We case the joint. But if it's clear, we go. No use waitin' around. Ya been moonin' around more than a week." Gunny shook his head as he spoke. "I still can't believe ya haven't been ta see the UPG. Makes me feel exposed. Like takin' a dump in the forest after dark."

Jus then there was a clatter on the stairs 'n the door opened. It was the thespian. Finally. 'N he looked like shit. As Ma wouldna said.

* * *

But what Ma woulda said was Buford looked the worse for wear. He was sittin' funny an' he had a blue 'n yeller egg over his right eye. He wasn't wearin' sunglasses 'n the black pouches under his eyes was like someone pasted grapes on his cheeks. Yep. He looked like shit. But Gunny didn't look sympathetic.

"So Fester. Thanks for makin' yaself fuckin' available. About fuckin' time. Where the fuck have ya been? Sorry ma'am. An' maybe tell us how ya collected those fuckin' shiners. Sorry ma'am."

Buford's mouth opened an' closed a few times, like a stranded cod. So help me, I thought, I'm gonna belt him if he doesn't wise up. Right after Gunny belted him.

"..Um...um." Buf couldn't get it out.

"Chis' sake Fester, fill us in. An' it better be good."

Buford finally found his voice. "I got a problem."

"No fuckin' kidding? What sort o' problem?" I fuckin' knew it.

"Um...money problem...yeah...money." The fuckin' weasel.

"OK. A money problem. It's gamblin' ain't it?"

Buford managed ta look shit faced 'n shame faced at the same time. What a little prick. He'd gone 'n dropped himself in it this time. I just hoped we didn't need ta bail him out.

"I borrowed some money..." Buford hesitated. "It happened about two months back. You remember the time I went down to Philly. My uncle gave me a certainty in the 5th at St Margaret's." He shook his head. "It ran last." He stared at me.

"How much Buford? How much did ya lose?"

Buford stared at the floor. Gunny stood with his arms folded 'n death on his face. Windschuttle hovered near the window. Finally Buf coughed out something.

"What?" I asked. "What was that?"

"Two thousand" mumbled Buford. I reckon the blood drained outa my face. I know my hair stood on end. "Two fuckin' gorillas?" I squealed. "Fuck me Buford. Two fuckin' thousand? Jesus Christ A'mighty. Just how the fuck did ya think ya was ever gonna pay it back?" O' course he'd never given that a thought. 'Cause he was gonna win wasn't he? "'N just where the fuck did ya get two gorillas?" Did I really wanta hear the answer?

Buford licked his lips. "I got it off Mo Green."

"Who the fuck is Mo Green?"

"He's a businessman. Property and stuff. In Philly. He's a friend when you need some cash." Like hell I thought.

"He ain't no friend Buf. An' don't talk shit ta me. If they're friends they don't send round guys ta beat the shit outa ya. How did ya think ya was gonna pay back two thousand dollars?" I shook my head in disgust.

Buf took a sip o' coffee an' licked his lips. He avoided my eyes. "They want more than two thousand." he mumbled. Now why wasn't I surprised? Fuck. Is there anything else gonna blow up in my face today?

"How much Buford? Tell me how much."

Buford didn't say anything for about a minute so I knew somethin' bad was comin'. Jesus I thought. They want another five Cs. Or maybe another thou. We was in deep shit. But it was deeper than I realised.

"Four thousand" Buford had the grace ta keep starin' at the carpet. It took a second or so for it to sink in. Jesus wept! Four thousand. Four fuckin' thousand. I tried ta yell at him but I couldn't, I was hyperventilatin'. I couldn't believe it. Four fuckin' thousand. I was shakin' so bad I had ta hold the coffee cup with two hands ta stop it sloshin' everywhere. I felt like throwin' it at Buford. I took a deep breath an' a drink.

"How come it's four thousand?" I grated it out. "Ya said ya borrowed two thousand." Ya little bastard.

"It goes up by a grand a month. It'll be another grand if I don't pay them back before the end of April."

That was it. I had ta sit down before I fell down. Gunny was still standin' near the desk with his arms folded. Windschuttle hovered near the window. Finally Gunny spoke.

"Ya really are a clusterfuck Fester. This is a new low for ya. Put ya together with Fido an' what have we got? Fuckin' misery. That's what. Sometimes I think someone's put a curse on me. But we're not gonna deal with this right now. We've got other priorities. When we've settled those we'll come back ta Mo Green an' his pit bulls. An' Fido. Take a deep breath an' relax."

* * *

Everyone calmed down a little after that. Gunny sat at the table 'n briefed Buford on our plans. Windschuttle snoozed on my bed while I dozed in the easy chair. Even though Buf had dropped us in it I was glad he was there. Just after seven there was a knock on the door. It was Bentwood. He dropped a heavy bag on the table with a loud metallic clank. "Got everything" he said. "Tools. Overalls. Paint. Flashlights."

Bentwood poured himself some coffee while Gunny spent a half hour rerunnin' the plan. He wanted we take two cars, mine 'n Buford's. Gunny 'n Bentwood would ride in Buford's car; Windschuttle 'n Buf would ride with me. "When we get inside me an' Bentwood will look for the paperwork. That's probably gonna be on the first floor. You three will check the layout of the production area downstairs. There'll be storage, mixin' rooms, furnaces. We need ta confirm that it's only glass they're makin'."

First thing we did was drag on the overalls 'n check our gear. Flashlights, greasepaint, lock-picks, balaclavas, crowbars, glasscutters, tape. Jesus! If we was stopped by the law this stuff was five ta ten in Rikers. We checked the gear, taped the flashlights, packed the bags. Bentwood had done his best with the overalls but we weren't all big as him 'n Gunny. Windschuttle filled hers out in all the right places but mine was too long. I had ta roll 'em up a few turns 'n tuck 'em in my socks. The crutch was down near my knees. Bentwood also had five pairs o' rubber soled ankle boots. They all fitted except for Windschuttle. I tossed her an extra pair o' socks. We was nearly ready but Gunny had a last word. "Wrap ya gear. I don't want anything clankin' around once we're on the job."

Gunny wanted us parked outside Spanish Glass no later 'n ten. If the place emptied out before ten, 'n no one come back by one, we was goin' in. But no earlier. Gunny pointed at the bathroom. "An' take a leak before we leave. 'Scuse the French ma'am...I don't want anyone needin' the washroom in the middle of the operation. Take a dump too if it helps." He tapped the map. "Fido. When we get there ya park on Greenwich, on the corner near number 1208. Fester, we'll park on Hubert, just past Washington. Ya need ta be able ta see us Fido, so make sure there's clear line of sight. We're not gonna do anything, just sit an' watch. If I think it's clear I'll flash twice. Got it?"

We carried the bags down ta the cars at nine thirty. I had my balaclava tucked in the top pocket with the greasepaint pencil. I slipped inta the Packard 'n propped the bag on the seat between Bentwood 'n me, gave the others a thumbs up, then pulled out. Gunny's lights come on 'n I watched as he angled out onta the road. He took us south through the Upper West Side. We caught a good run down Columbus but Broadway was comin' up so we turned right 'n moved closer ta the river. We got through the back o' Hells Kitchen without any trouble 'n turned off Canal onta Greenwich a little after ten.

We drove slowly down Greenwich 'til we hit Laight then I pulled inta the kerb. Gunny turned inta Hubert 'n kept drivin' for maybe two hundred yards. I seen his taillights flare as he pulled over. After a second or two the lights went out. There was only one streetlight at the far end o' Hubert, just bright enough that I could make out the shape o' the car. I checked my watch then looked at Buf 'n Windschuttle. No one said nothin'. We waited.

* * *

There wasn't no traffic on the streets. No people neither. From where we was parked I could see the Jersey lights flickerin' on the Hudson, but mostly it was pitch dark, the only lights those on the street corners or hangin' in warehouse doorways. The windows in a coupla buildings was still bright with lights, just enough ta make the shadows that much darker. I could see down along the sidewalk towards Spanish Glass. There was a dim bulb over the doorway, a dark coloured car parked nearby. It coulda belonged ta anybody.

Time crawled by. It was 'bout twelve when I noticed movement. A coupla people moved under the light down along Hubert. They was big men, but I couldn't see clearly. They fumbled at the door o' Spanish Glass then the light went out. A few seconds later the lights come on in the parked car 'n I heard the motor kick over. There was a flicker o' red lights then it moved off 'n turned up Washington. I cracked the window 'n listened to the sound o' the motor. The night was so quiet I could hear it for maybe three blocks.

One by one the lights in the other buildings went out, but we didn't see no more cars. It was almost one when I saw the next movement. It looked like someone comin' up along Greenwich towards my car, the figure movin' in 'n out o' small pools o' light. It looked furtive. I saw Buf's hand move towards the door handle. But it was just a drunk. Stumblin' home. Or lookin' for a place ta bunk down. We hunkered down 'n watched him wobble past the car towards Canal. I lost him in the dark for a few minutes then I saw him grab hold o' the light pole on the corner of Vestry. He'd stopped ta take a piss. I wondered where he was goin'. I wondered if he knew where he was goin'.

Then I felt Buford's hand on my arm. He nodded towards the other car. I saw the dim glow o' the flashlight from the passenger window. It flashed twice. I picked up my flashlight 'n flashed back. Buf tapped me on the arm again 'n pointed at his face. He was wipin' the grease stick 'cross his forehead 'n cheeks in broad stripes. His face all but disappeared in the dim light. Then he wiped the stick 'cross his hands. I did the same then passed the grease stick ta Windschuttle. Then I reached up 'n switched off the car's interior light so it didn't come on when I opened the door. I popped the lock 'n slid out onta the sidewalk. Buf follered with the gear, Windschuttle close behind. Our rubber-soled boots was silent on the concrete. We crouched by the car.

The entire street was dark, but I could see the shadows o' Gunny 'n Bentwood movin' 'cross the road toward the front o' Spanish Glass. They faded inta the gloom near the double doors. We waited. Several minutes passed before there was a brief flare from the flashlight. Windschuttle 'n Buf was on their feet 'n movin' in a second. But when I moved my knees cracked, the sound like a gunshot in the quiet air. Buf 'n Windschuttle froze 'n looked back at me. I couldn't see Buf's face but from his stance I could see he was pissed. He cut his hand sharply 'cross his mid-section 'n stood there, his head turnin' from side ta side, like he was sniffin' the air. He did this for a minute or so then gave me another look before turnin' 'n movin' along the footpath. I heard a faint 'Fuck me'. Windschuttle said nothin'.

As we reached the doors I felt the crunch o' sand under my boots then the door gaped 'n a black balaclava peered out. "Where the fuck ya two been?" Gunny's voice was quiet but rough. He didn't wait for 'n answer. We slipped through the gap in the doors 'n Gunny pushed 'em shut behind us. We crouched against the doors. It was black as Hades inside the warehouse 'n smelled funny. Wheat maybe? Or some other grain. It had a rich, doughy pong, damp 'n yeasty 'n cut with dust. When Gunny hit the flashlight the floor sparkled back at us. It was covered in a thick layer o' sand. I looked at the others, their heads covered in dark balaclavas, their hands blackened, the dark overalls, the rubber-soled boots. They looked like they meant business. I hoped we could deliver.

* * *

We crouched on the polished concrete close by the door. I could feel the grit under my knees 'n there was a faint smell, maybe ammonia, mixed with a waft o' apples from Windschuttle's hair. Gunny's torch painted a slim finger o' light 'cross the floor. The windows was covered in grime but the faint spill from the skylights 'n the torch was enough. We was in a wide shaller room. There was roller doors at the end so most likely the loadin' bay. There was a large grate in the floor with long mounds of white sand along the rails. Along the right wall there was three other doors. They was all closed. At the rear, near the roller doors, there was two or three large bins. On the left I could see another door, a dark mouth in the gloom. This one was open.

"We're gonna split up like we agreed." said Gunny. "But be careful because we aren't sure of the layout." He pointed at me, Buf 'n Windschuttle. "Fido, Fester, ma'am, ya take the west end. Me an' Bentwood take the east."

We moved off in opposite directions, the grit on the smooth concrete makin' our rubber soles squeal like mice in a gas can. So much for that idea. Buf glided up ta the door 'n slid 'round the jamb. I was two feet behind, Aphrodite two foot behind me. We was lookin' down a service corridor, maybe forty foot long, a single bulb burnin' a weak yeller on the wall at the end. I fingered my torch 'n moved the beam over the floors 'n walls. It was clear except for the glint o' grease or oil on the floor. No sand. I glanced back 'n saw the shadows o' the others slip through a similar door on the far side o' the room.

We moved slowly down the corridor, Buf in the lead. As we neared the end we could see there was another door set in the wall under the light. Buf tried the handle gently then nodded at me. I killed the light. He slowly turned the handle 'n inched the door open until a faint sliver o' light appeared along the edge. Buford pressed his eye against the crack for a long moment then eased the door open slowly 'n moved forward. As I follered him through the door I that it was the business end o' the place. A single fluorescent tube guttered white on the wall above the door. It wasn't bright enough ta take a piss by but the skylights two storeys up let in the soft glow from the streetlights outside. Overall it wasn't much better 'n faint moonlight, but I could see the whole room.

On each side o' the room there was a large hopper. In the dim light it looked like each hopper was fed by a conveyor belt that ran through the wall. Under each hopper was a large skip. There was several other skips scattered in the area between the hoppers. They was all full. I caught a flicker o' light as Gunny 'n Bentwood appeared on the other side o' the room. I saw Gunny's flashlight beam rovin' 'cross the floor as they moved towards us.

Then the shit hit the fan.

* * *

There was a sudden screech o' metal on metal. I knew straight away it was the roller doors. 'N I knew straight away that we was in trouble. We all froze for a second then Gunny gestured urgently. We crossed quickly ta the other corridor. The grit squealed under our soles. The clap o' heels on concrete echoed from somewhere in the buildin'. As we dived inta the darkened corridor there was another squeal as the second set o' roller doors opened. I heard a mutter then several thuds 'n clangs as the lights come on. Suddenly the whole room was bathed in bright light. It spilled inta the corridor like a beacon 'n we shrank back, crouched against the wall 'bout half way along, try'na stay outa sight. This was a clusterfuck.

We heard several voices, all talkin' at the same time. Sounded like they'd was on the far side o' the room. There was couple more clangs as if they was movin' equipment 'round, 'n some loud exclamations, like someone cursin'. The talk died off ta some mutterin' then I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was Gunny. He held two fingers against his lips then pointed down the corridor. He wanted out. We was too exposed. Windschuttle, Buf 'n Bentwood was already movin' down the corridor when I stood up. I shoulda seen it comin', but o' course I didn't. As I straightened up my knees popped. In reality it wasn't more'n a coupla cracks, but it sounded like a cannon.

But it didn't really matter how loud it was or wasn't, 'cause a second later a head popped through the door follered by a loud "What the fuck?" I know that sometimes I'm a bit slow ta the party, but for Christ knows what reason I recognised him straight away. It's funny how ya mind works but it was a revelation I coulda done without. It was Rocco, one o' Garcia's goons. He squinted for a moment then fingered the light switch beside the door. A slow smile crawled 'cross his face as he looked at us. He had a .45 in his hand. The hole in the end was a railroad tunnel.

"Well, well, well. Ain't it just dandy ta have guests." As he sneered at a us a second goon stepped inta the corridor. Chase! He was carryin' a .38. His eyebrows crawled up inta his hairline then he started chucklin' like his buddy. He wore brown 'n white wingtips. What else? He backed out the door 'n Rocco stepped ta one side.

"This way folks. There's some people gonna be real interested in hearin' what your doin' here." I noticed he kept the gun trained squarely on Gunny. Maybe he wasn't as stupid as he looked. I was the closest ta the door so I shuffled forward, Rocco watchin' me with one eye 'n Gunny with the other. The lights was so bright I grimaced 'n squinted as I stepped through the door inta the mixing room. Then my eyes nearly popped outa my head. When I saw who was there it was like I was slapped sideways or somethin'. Nothin' made sense. But at the same time everything did. I knew in a second why they was always two steps ahead. Rocco barked an order.

"Move it. Over near da machines. You too. Da black bitch."

Behind Rocco I could see Garcia 'n Sommerville talkin'. Duffy stood beside 'em lookin' like a gold plated turd. They was all grinnin' like somehow they won the lottery. Maybe they did I thought. Maybe we been a bigger problem than we knew. 'N just maybe we was in more danger 'n we realised. We shuffled inta the space near the machine, where Rocco wanted us. I could feel my heart bumpin' in my chest, hard 'n fast. I reminded myself that 'bout six people was dead 'cause o' these goons. I felt a cold chill run down my back as I raised my eyes 'n peered over Windschuttle's shoulder. This was real trouble. The sort ya might not walk away from.

Then I saw Perlman. That's when my heart sank. Right through the floor. I realised we'd been conned. Big time. She was standin' next ta Sommerville, still wearin' the same purple outfit I last seen her in. She had one arm through Sommerville's, a faint smirk crawlin' 'round her lips. Suddenly she didn't look cute. She looked like a crone, cheekbones sharp under her skin, nose like an axe blade, mouth mean 'n pinched. Even her hands looked like claws. Her eyes flickered towards me. They looked like boiled marbles. I felt the gorge rise in my throat. Jesus! I told her everything. Talk 'bout spill ya guts. I was havin' a reaction as Ma woulda said but what the fuck. The bitch sold us out. For a long moment no one said nothin'. We all just stared at each other. The fat, overfed fuckers in pin stripes 'n wingtips, Garcia's red jowls hangin' over his collar, Sommerville's penny loafers addin' insult ta injury, the Black Prick, slick 'n slimy, 'n that fuckin' snake in the grass, Perlman. I felt like I was gonna have a heart attack.

* * *

The muscle herded us inta the narrow space between the hoppers 'n the wall. The space was four feet deep but no more'n three wide. It was a tight squeeze. I found myself at the back, jammed up against the wet concrete wall, the sharp edge o' the hopper pokin' me in the left hip. Aphrodite was squeezed up against me, her butt firm against my thighs. My eyes was two inches from her ear. I could smell the apples 'n sunshine in her hair, see the band o' perspiration on her neck. Buf was crushed in beside Aphrodite 'n Bentwood. Gunny was somehow jammed in up front. Christ knows how we all fitted.

I craned my neck, try'na see what Garcia 'n the other goons was doin'. I could hear some mutterin' 'n laughin' but couldn't make nothin' out. All I could see was Rocco 'n Chase, both with a cannon in their hand, both with shit-eatin' grins. It was time ta start shittin' bricks. I couldn't believe how stupid we'd been. Fuck me, I was pissin' in their pocket from day one. No wonder they was laughin'. Well, we was in deep shit now 'n it didn't take a lot o' smarts ta know that if we didn't get ourselves outa this fix pretty quick then we was royally fucked. These guys was most likely the ones popped Ricky 'n his friends. 'N they was big time. Small time schmucks like us, these hoods ain't even gonna burp. Just then Rocco's voice cut through my thoughts.

"You. Da black bitch. Out here." Rocco's accent was thick as I felt a cold river run down my spine. I felt Aphrodite stiffen but no one moved.

"I ain't askin' again. Get da bitch out here or I put a bullet in Pineapple Head."

"Then talk ta me. Forget the lady." Gunny's voice was hoarse but firm as he took a step towards Rocco.

CRACK!

Rocco was good as his word 'n Gunny went down with a thud 'n a loud 'Holy Jesus!' Aphrodite screamed. I tried ta push past Bentwood, but he jumped forward at the same time 'n we jammed up tagether. Rocco waved us back with the gun. "Someone else lookin' for an education?" he smirked.

Gunny was lyin' on his side near the belt feeder, one hand clamped on his thigh, blood streamin' between his fingers, his face clenched in a mixture o' pain 'n hatred. He was ready ta tear Rocco's throat out. Rocco stood a few feet away, slowly movin' the gun back 'n forth between Gunny 'n us, a queer lopsided grin plastered on his dial. It was right then that Buford decided ta freak out. The big lunk suddenly fell forward on his knees 'n started howlin'. Then he started shufflin' forward, weepin' 'n wringin' his hands. Rocco looked surprised. Chase stared at him like he was a lunatic. He waved him back.

"Get back in the pack puss-ball or you're first in the blender." Buford just howled louder. Chase sneered 'n shot him in the knee. Buford promptly fell on his face 'n didn't move. I thought he was dead but after a second or so he groaned 'n tried ta roll over. Jesus I thought. Two down. Who's next?

It seemed there was blood everywhere. Chase was dancin' from foot ta foot with excitement, he was gonna piss himself, but Rocco looked spooked. Perlman also looked delighted but Duffy had moved over near the doors. He'd lost the leer. Even Garcia 'n Sommerville was eyeballin' the goons. I don't think anyone thought it was gonna get so messy. I gave Windschuttle a push 'n made sure she was standin as far back in the gap as possible. I was gettin' desperate. If we was gonna get outa this it'd have ta be soon.

Next ta me I could feel the tension flowin' off Bentwood. His shoulders was corded 'n bulgin' with muscle. He was ready ta explode. I could see he was measurin' the distance ta Rocco, but Chase was watchin' him with a leer on his face, almost darin' him ta try somethin'. I had a horrible feelin' we was goin' down. It was either a do or die or let 'em do whatever. I glanced at Bentwood 'n a silent compact passed between us. But even as the adrenaline surged through me I knew it wouldn't work. Rocco 'n Chase was gonna put us down in a second. Maybe if we'd hit 'em straight up, while there was four of us standin', we mighta stood a chance. I was 'bout ta throw myself at Chase when there was a loud crash as one o' the roller doors shot up. Rocco 'n Chase spun 'round. I heard Garcia yell.

CRACK! CRACK!

There was a wet slap as Rocco gave a cry 'n went down hard, the air bright with pink mist, his gun spillin' ta the floor. Suddenly the room was filled with yellin' 'n poundin' feet. Chase jumped over Rocco 'n lifted his gun.

CRACK!...CRACK!...CRACK!

Chase fell in a roar o' gunfire, his legs foldin' like a marionette gone bad. The air was thick with blue smoke, the tang o' cordite sharp in my nostrils. I dropped to my knees 'n pulled Windschuttle down with me. Then I turned ta go for the gun, the blood roarin' in my head. But I was too late. As I turned I saw Sommerville run past Rocco 'n scoop the weapon off the floor. He had a look like hell on his face as he stepped over 'n pointed the gun at Gunny's chest. Windschuttle screamed. I heard my knees pop as I lunged towards him.

That's the last thing I remember. Lungin' towards him that is. Time slowed down as my vision sharpened. The air was curdled with blue smoke 'n sharp with the tang o' cordite. As I threw my fist at his face I saw Sommerville's mouth, wide open, his teeth like yeller tombstones, clear as crystal as he screamed at Gunny, the coarse black whiskers in his nose, the spittle on his chin. Then the world stopped. A bolt o' lightnin' went straight through the middle o' my brain 'n I dived down a bottomless black hole.

# Apples 'n Sunshine

When I come round I was starin' straight up at a big white nothin'. I thought I was blind. Then a dark head with bright eyes slid in ta view 'n I felt someone take my hand. "Howdy do Mr Mack. Glad to see you back. How're you feeling?" Aphrodite's voice was soft with concern. She sure was a sight for sore eyes.

My mouth was dryer 'n a camel's footprint as Ma always says but I managed ta croak out a request for water. After a sip or two I felt a lot better 'n signalled for Aphrodite ta help me sit up a little. My shoulder was screamin', 'n when I lifted my hand I could see it had been rebandaged. It was twice the size it shoulda been. McTiernan's head musta been damned hard. At least I could remember that much. But I had a splittin' headache. This time it was Cab Calloway 'n Lena Horne bouncin' their way 'cross the tiles. 'N I felt like I'd been kicked by a whole pack o' mules.

I looked 'round the room. There was a single tube makin' a faint buzzin' sound on the ceiling. The rest o' the room wasn't no better, only a small bedside cabinet 'n one chair. There wasn't room for nothin' else. The curtains was drawn but I could see light creepin' 'round the edges. I leaned over 'n tried ta pull at the cabinet drawer with my good hand. But it was on the wrong side for me. Aphrodite leaned in 'n opened the drawer. She took out a small cup with some tablets in it. "This what you're after old feller?'

I gulped down the tablets with some water then lay back against the pillows. Aphrodite pulled the chair closer ta the bed. It made a soft squealin' sound on the lino floor. She sat down 'n leaned her elbows on the bed then propped her face in her hands, her eyes level with mine.

"So" I croaked. "What happened? Everyone alright?"

Windschuttle nodded. "Sure as old guy. All the good guys are fine."

"'N the bad guys?"

"Having a serious discussion with Alf and his colleagues right about now I'd say."

"All of 'em?" I tried ta grin but it split my lip.

"All of 'em." Windschuttle grinned for me. "You want to hear about it?"

I nodded. "Yeah I do, but what time is it? How long I been here?"

"It's just after two. You've been here since about four this morning. The doctor fixed up your shoulder and reset the hand then gave you a sedative. Said it would be best if you slept a bit. I'm surprised you're awake so soon."

"My shoulder?"

"You were shot in the shoulder. The bullet passed through the muscle of your upper arm. It'll be sore for a while." She had that right.

"Ya been here alla time?"

"Yep. Couldn't have my number one man doin' time without me." She lifted one hand 'n ran it through my hair. "Glad you're Ok. I was worried."

"I can't remember anything 'cept I was try'na hit Sommerville. Did I get him?"

"You did. I think you saved Gunny's life...."

"How's Gunny?" I interrupted. "He was down....."

"He's fine...fine." she said. "He's down the hall. Didn't hit any bones either. You were both lucky."

"'n Buf?"

"He's fine too. He's next door." She paused then frowned at me. "Did he really lose it?"

I shook my head. "Not a chance. Remember – we was in Europe two years – I never seen him lose it once."

"That was brave of him."

"I reckon. Buf loves the limelight but this was over 'n above. He delayed things just long enough for whoever it was saved our bacon."

"It was Nordstromm." she said. I was surprised. But pretty darn grateful.

"Where did Nordstromm come from? 'N what the heck was goin' on? I couldn't believe it when I seen that crowd come in. When I seen Perlman with Sommerville I felt sick."

Aphrodite perched herself on the side o' the bed. "We were lucky. Nordstromm and his henchmen arrived in the nick of time. I'd hate to think what might have happened if they'd been even five minutes later. The small one...Baby Nicky...saw what was happening and fired at Rocco. After that all hell broke loose. Everyone started yelling and diving for cover. Sommerville grabbed the gun that Rocco dropped and pointed it at Gunny. That was your cue."

"I don't remember nothin' after that."

"Well it was a good punch. Except as you hit him you passed out. And that was when Chase shot you."

"Chase? I saw him go down."

She nodded. "Yep. But not out. He was shot in the buttock. He still managed to get one off at you just before Ollie dived on him."

"Jesus! They was comin' outa the woodwork."

"And thanks heavens for that too."

"Bentwood?"

"He was here for an hour or so, waiting to see how everyone was. He's down at the precinct with Alf."

"So what happened after I went down?"

"It seemed to be all over in a second. One minute there's a lot of yelling and banging. The next Nordstromm and his men have Garcia and the others in the corner, hands in the air. Sommerville was out cold with a broken jaw, and both Rocco and Chase were out of action, Rocco with a shoulder wound like yours and Chase with a bullet in his butt. And a sore head I'd say. You know that he and Rocco were the men who visited the Prancey place up in East Hampton. The one's Sherry Randall spoke with."

I shook my head. "Figures. What 'bout Duffy?"

"He ran as soon as the first shot was fired." She shook her head. "He was quick off the mark but it didn't do him any good. The police were at the door within fifteen minutes of Nordstromm arriving. They picked Duffy up not long afterward, running along Canal Street."

"So what the heck was goin' on? I mean what was these guys all doin' tagether." Ma woulda called it an unholy alliance.

"While you were getting restitched and reset I went home and freshened up then spent a couple of hours with Alf. His precinct caught the call so he could tell me pretty much everything. There's still quite a lot I don't understand, but it's amazing. We were completely off beam with our thinking. It wasn't about property. It was about the government, and sand, and money, and a very clever scam." She shook her head again. "I don't know that we would have ever figured it out, except by blind luck. But...we were on the right track.

Of course there was a big focus in property, but the real scam was something else. If we'd spent more time digging into the company ownership we might have worked it out. It all came back to Montauk after all. But I need to start at the beginning. You recall that the unions and the Prancey Development Corporation set up Blackmore Leggitt? Then Blackmore Leggitt set up Union City Developments, which in turn set up Union Square Ceramics and New York Maritime Services. These were all legitimate businesses with legitimate purposes. But the interesting thing is what Union Square Ceramics was involved in. Computers. Computers are the next big thing and Union Square Ceramics was making components for them. And because computers were classified by the government as a national security matter, anyone building them, or components for them, could obtain quite large government subsidies. That's what Union Square was doing. They were bringing in the Sardinian sand and using it to make ceramic circuit boards and transistors for computers. Apparently valves and stuff are on the way out and everything is going to be miniaturised." She paused for breath.

"Ya got this off Alf?"

She nodded. "Alf and a couple of hot shots from the FBI. They said that Union Square was getting more than two million dollars a year in subsidies. This is what captured the attention of Garcia and McTiernan. They set up Blue Water Options, owned by Lissitzky, Cobb and Thompson. Well now we know who they are. Lissitzky is Marna Lissitzky, the daughter of the Lissitzkys from No.16 and...McTiernan's wife."

"Holy Shit"

"Holy Shit indeed. And not only that. Do you remember we were discussing how successful she was in real estate up in Greenport? Guess what her realtor agency was called? Blue Water Realty." Aphrodite sighed in exasperation. "If only I'd given it a moment's thought. Heavens, I must have driven past the place a hundred times. It never occurred to me."

"But who are Cobb 'n Thompson? One o' them Montesori's wife?

"You got it. Dianne Montesori, nee Cobb. And guess who Thompson is."

"Sommerville's wife?"

"Nope. His first cousin. Name of Valerie. Ring a bell?"

The bulldog. "Jesus. The rat's stick tagether don't they?"

"They sure do. But let me finish. Garcia and McTiernan were the ringleaders. But they needed Sommerville for extra cash and access to information. Sommerville was on the Board of Blackmore Leggitt and knew all about the subsidies and how to get them. So they set up Blue Water Options and Blue Water Options set up Spanish Glass."

"Which is where we come in. So what was goin' on at Spanish Glass?"

"Spanish Glass was making glass. But it was also selling sand to Union Square Ceramics."

"Yeah. We know that. That's what was comin' from Sardinia."

"Not all of it. In fact nearly ninety percent of the sand that was coming from Spanish Glass, didn't come from Sardinia."

"Now I get it. It come from Montauk."

"Correct."

"So how did it work. Was they still gettin' the full subsidy?"

"Not only were they getting the full subsidy, but Union Square was also getting the subsidy. And they knew it was based on false information. They knew they weren't getting genuine Sardinian sand, but beach sand from up on Long Island. They were making huge quantities of circuit boards and transistors and billing the government."

"So where did it spring a leak? What made 'em take a shot at Ricky?"

"Seems that Prancey started to smell a rat at the beginning of last year. He was financially savvy and took a look at the Union Square finances. He saw that Union Square was receiving large subsidies from the government but that the profits of the company were quite low. So he investigated. He found that Union Square was buying large quantities of sand but was also making large quantities of components that it hadn't yet sold. It was building up a huge stockpile of unsold parts."

"But why would Union Square buy the sand if they didn't need it?"

"Because Sommerville also had control of Union Square. He sat on its board and pushed as much through as possible. No one paid any attention other than to the subsidy dollars. I'm sure everyone thought it was wonderful until Richard took a look."

"So Prancey spotted it 'n started askin' questions?"

"Apparently he noticed mention in the board papers of a product dispute. The government had complained about the quality of several batches of components. This ignited Prancey's interest. It's about then that his friends started having accidents. Alf and the FBI are going to be investigating those accidents more closely I think."

"But how did Sommerville get his payoff? From Blue Water?"

She nodded. "As long as he kept Union Square buying sand, Spanish Glass kept receiving a huge subsidy. And this went straight to the bad guys."

"So Ricky starts sniffin' 'round, goes up ta Montauk, starts ta get suspicious, so they go 'n blow him up?"

"But the explosion left too many unanswered questions. Remember what the doctor said, that Prancey had unexplained injuries. This is something else for Alf and the FBI. We still don't know how Prancey died or where."

"They got any idea on what caused the explosion? Marty said he was never happy 'bout the gas."

'Alf says the Feebs think it was nitro. The NYPD is following it up. And also checking it against the evidence in the other deaths."

"So that's it? The greedy little pigs was stiffin' the government for money. That's a national pastime, ain't it?"

"Maybe it is, but it's also five to ten on Rikers. The four amigos might be rooming together for quite a while."

"But what 'bout the government? If they was already complainin' 'bout the product it was gonna be long before it all fell apart anyhow. Right?"

"Probably not. The government has a million contracts out at any time. A little prevarication and the UCD deal would take years to resolve. The government would never see its money again."

"Jesus!" It was a witch's brew, as Ma woulda said.

I leaned back inta the pillows. I was tired 'n the shoulder was startin' ta ache like the blazes. I felt like I needed a few weeks in the sun. Somewhere quiet. Like Bridgehampton. I popped an eye 'n peered at Windschuttle. She was grinnin' at me.

* * *

It was a crowd o' walkin' wounded got outa hospital a week later. Gunny headed back ta Philly with a crutch 'n a limp; Buford sloped off home with his leg in a plaster 'n two crutches. He never stopped whinin' 'bout how hard it was ta take a leak. The Mummy's Curse was re-plastered 'n re-wrapped. I'd broken two more fingers as well as the original break, which was partly healed. Hoped Sommerville was feelin' it as much as I was. Doc said I'd be carryin' it 'round for 'bout a month, but least my shoulder was good. The bullet passed straight through, didn't hit nothin' serious. It'd be sore for a few weeks but that was all.

Alf also paid us a visit. Two visits actually. First one he reamed us out worse 'n Gunny. Second one he told us he'd taken care o' Buford's gambling debt. Apparently a short visit ta Mo 'n some 'firm talkin' t' be sure' 'n we was free 'n clear. Buf still had ta pay back the two g's he'd borrowed but the vig was cancelled. Took most o' the loot we got from Babycakes but what the heck. Anyhow, the whole shemozzle – Gunny's words when he bawled us out – was finally sorted. Alf told us that Babycakes got the ball rollin' after Ricky went down. She was suspicious o' Garcia 'n Sommerville 'n started diggin'. Garcia mighta been her main squeeze 'n all but she didn't trust him. The rats tried ta head her off at the pass. This is where Duffy come in. He had a low opinion o' me 'n Buf 'n so he teamed up with Perlman 'n pointed Babycakes in our direction, no doubt expectin' that we'd fuck it up. He was right. We did. But didn't save none of 'em.

I asked Alf how come Duffy was even involved. I mean, a slick Irish mick from Woodhaven schmoozin' with Garcia 'n Perlman 'n their cronies? Turned out it was history. McTiernan 'n Duffy had worked tagether 'bout ten years earlier, alongside Duffy's current Chief in the NYPD, Lester Matthews, 'n Windschuttle's Chief in Bridgehampton, Irwin Porter. They was always a little shady – I always knew Duffy was a punk by the way – so it wasn't a stretch when McTiernan needed ta put a lid on things. Fuckin' weasels. Buf also asked 'bout Montesori 'n Allicante 'n MacMillan. But Alf said they was blameless. "Munchkins!" he said. "T'ey didn't know nuttin'. T'ey was bein' used. Munchkins!" He didn't say any more but his message was clear.

Alf also told us that Prancey's death was still being investigated by the NYPD, but they still hadn't determined where he died or how. No one was talkin'. He said 'I don't t'ink t'eres much chance o' convictin' any of 'em fer murder. T'ey ain't stupid. A conviction 'n t'ey're lookin' at t'e chair. I don't t'ink anyone's goin' t' be talkin'."

So, pretty much a total clusterfuck. 'N more than enough ta make us 're-evaluate our strategy'. We come ta the conclusion that maybe we wasn't really the best private dicks in town. We had a lotta encouragement. Our plannin' was terrible accordin' ta Gunny, we was lucky we didn't meet a sticky end accordin' ta Alf; we was gormless accordin' ta Ma – she said this 'least ten times 'n then added brainless. Dad just said he was disappointed. Somehow that hurt the most. Aphrodite wasn't too amused neither. I think the whole thing gave her a big fright 'n Ralph come down hard on her as well. She started layin' the law down ta me 'n Buf. She said there had ta be 'some continuity here'.

Anyhow, soon as we got outa the hospital she started in on the GI Bill. I didn't know much 'bout it but after some study 'n a chat with some Gyrene buddies I figured it had legs. Buf did too. We danced 'round it for a month or two but eventually Buf decided he was gonna go trade school and study a diploma in equine dentistry. I ask ya. But he always liked the nags so I shouldna been surprised. Not really.

Me? After a lot o' ditherin' I thought maybe a welder. High rises was goin' up all over downtown so it figured for a steady job 'n a regular pay check. That woulda been a change. 'N maybe even join the union. But Windschuttle said I should 'lift my game' 'n 'take a longer view'. She wanted me ta try for somethin' in the 'professions'. I hadn't never thoughta that, but when I browsed the GI courses I come 'cross one for accountants. More I thought 'bout it the more it suited me. Windschuttle was very approvin' as Ma woulda said. So was Kenny. My first client. So that's the plan. Buf's already wearin' desert boots 'n Levis "n goin' ta school in Hackensack, I start at Brooklyn Community College in September. Mack & Messner is officially closed. What are the odds on Weinstein finally fixin' that lift?

* * *

Six months later...

The beach stretched out in front o' me, white far as I could see. I stretched 'n took a deep breath 'n dug my toes inta the sand. There was a cool breeze comin' from the north 'n the sea was a dark blue, covered in white caps. Coupla miles out I could see a ferry, goin' north ta London. Away ta the left was a whole pile o' sailboats, headin' south, towards Sag Harbour. Further out I could just make out the hazy shapes o' Block Island 'n Gardiners Island. I looked ta the north east, 'n though I couldn't see it, I knew it was there. Martha's Vineyard.

Down by the water I could see Dad & Ma walkin' with June 'n the kids. Kenny couldn't come 'cause he's workin' double shifts now he owns the business. Like Ma always says, there ain't nothin' like gettin' a bit o' skin in the deal. Right behind 'em Bentwood's walkin' with Ahrodite's cousin Temelda. I can tell she's more'n he'll ever be able ta handle. I oughta know. I'm almost family.

A few yards in front o' me Doris was sittin' on a towel talkin' ta Harly who, by the look of it, wasn't payin' no attention. He was asleep, his stomach six inches higher 'n his nose. He was same colour as the lobsters down the fish markets. The cooked ones that is.

It was mid afternoon. I let my eyes wander. The late August sun bounced off the sea, turnin' it a liquid bronze. My eyes found her as she walked outa the water, her skin glistenin', gold 'n obsidian. She'd tanned up a little durin' the summer 'n shone like a black diamond. The white swim suit was high on her hips, her legs long 'n tapered. When she swept her hair back 'n did that thing with her elbows I thought my heart was gonna burst. Her eyes was dark 'n bright as she walked up near Harly 'n picked up a towel. She kept them on me as she knelt ta speak with Doris. I could see the muscles bunch 'cross her shoulders 'n along her thighs. Jesus! How much good fortune can one man have?

One thing for sure I learned over the past six months is how damned lucky ya can be. When I thought on it I realised I been walkin' around with my eyes shut for ten years. The true meanin' o' life was spread out all over the sand in front o' me. My family. Aphrodite, Temelda, Ma, Dad, Doris, 'n God love him', the beached whale, Kenny 'n the kids. Even June. And o' course, my friends Gunny 'n Bentwood 'n Buford. 'N Mrs Prancey too. She's been spendin' time with Ma over the past coupla months. They been playin' bridge regular at the Womens' Club. Eileen's given up smokin' 'n lemonade 'n dropped thirty pounds. The make-up's gone 'n I reckon she's ten years younger. Well, close enough anyhow. I ain't fudgin' this time neither.

We'd been lucky with the case. It coulda gone the other way entirely. Christ knows we fucked it up enough. I mean, how many times ya have ta be told before ya get the message? Well Garcia 'n his pals sure tried ta get the message through. We just didn't hear it. We was dead lucky the dice fell the way they did. As it is Buf's got a permanent limp 'n Gunny's still having rehab. My shoulder's good but my hand's gonna give me trouble for ever. But we was alive. I shuddered when I thought o' the alternative.

The rats all went down with the ship as it turned out. Garcia, McTiernan 'n Sommerville are all doin' time in Warwick. The DA come down hard. They all pulled fifteen no parole, except Caldwell, who copped for a dime. He's up in Ithaca. For some reason the judge went easy on him. Hope they enjoy their holiday. Maybe not quite max security but enough ta make 'em keep their cheeks puckered for a long time. The DA went hard on Matthews 'n Porter too, on account o' they was 'officers of the law'. They both pulled a dime in upstate New York. Max security. I actually did feel a little sorry for 'em.

Perlman went down screamin'. Not only did she lose her man 'n her money, she lost her freedom 'n her job. From A list ta Z list in a day. I didn't feel sorry for her. She led us down the garden path. She knew what those creeps was up ta, 'n she knew we mighta been killed. Didn't matter that Perlman was a woman neither. Alf said the DA was so pissed with the case she wanted twenty five ta life for the whole crowd. But she settled on fifteen for Perlman. I shook my head. Rita was gonna be nearly seventy 'n flat broke when she got out. That's hard. But ya make ya own bed as Ma always says. Maxie was a little more blunt – 'eat shit an' die'.

Alf also told us what happened ta the goons. The judge sent 'em both up the river. Chase ended up in Sing Sing 'n spent three months in the prison hospital. Alf said he was down for fifteen 'n that he couldn't walk properly no more. Didn't make me feel any better. But the judge went easy on Rocco, put him away for a dime in Wallkill. Wallkill ain't high security like Sing Sing so I figured Rocco for the lucky one. I mean, they was both shootin' at us. How the fuck ya decide one goes down for a long stretch but the other don't?

Duffy ended up doin' five ta ten on a prison farm. Place called Camp Gabriels in the Adirondacks. The weasel grassed on the others 'n pulled a light sentence. Someplace they even got a coffee machine mind ya. No doubt 'bout the Irish pig, he always falls on his feet. Sort of. His excuse was he needed the money for his sick wife. Turned out he was tellin' the truth. 'Bout the wife that is. At first I thought he'd been let off easy, but when I thought on it again, maybe not. Sounded like his wife might not make it, 'n I couldn't see any good in her dyin' alone while the Black Prick shovelled cow shit.

Babycakes never come near us again. Not even after the case was solved. Never apologised neither. I saw her in court once, ta give evidence. But only once. I guess there's only so many times ya wanta hear how ya husband was killed 'n that it was ya main squeeze who done it. I seen her picture in the paper a coupla times. Seems she's workin' close with Nordstromm 'n pretty active on the Foundation. I figured I misjudged her. I think Eileen felt the same. Maybe that's why she didn't come ta court.

What a mess! Lot o' lives ruined for no good reason. Unless ya think money alone is reason enough. Well it ain't. There's only a coupla things that really matter in life, 'n I don't have ta tell ya what they are. Just remember ta enjoy yaself. What'd that guy say way back? Carpe Diem? Whatya reckon Mrs Thompson? Not bad eh?

Then I feel a hand push through my hair 'n I glance up. She's so close all I can see is sparklin' brown eyes 'n dark eyelashes. I see freckles 'cross her forehead as she puts her nose against mine. My eyes trace her neck, a soft curve, the ruby lips, the bright smile. I smell apples 'n sunshine.

Beautiful.

* * *

