Noiryorican Page 7

  Lew had started his routine of commuting up to Scarsdale to catch Kiner on the way down. He started standing near him, getting on the train with him, and then chatting him up. Eventually, the topic of business came up.

  “I had a line on a big deal today,” Lew had told him, “but the investor dropped out. Tens of millions of dollars to be had.”

  “Oh yeah. What was the deal?” Kiner said, his eyes taking on a shine.

  “Well, it’s very hush hush, kind of a backdoor deal to avoid too many, um, civic complications. Can you keep a secret?”

  “Of course.”

  “You know the big clock in the middle of Grand Central?”

  “Sure, I pass it every day.”

  “Well, the world has passed it by. Everything’s going digital, as you well know. So the GCRIC—that’s the Grand Central Radical Improvement Corporation—is replacing the info booth with an app—and leasing that booth to one lucky company.”

  “What are they looking to put in there?”

  “The usual. A Dunkin’ Donuts, Starbucks, Quiznos, something like that.”

  “That would be horrible. Vulgar, even.”

  “Wouldn’t it? It would be a stain on the great character of the terminal.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Now, what I’ve proposed is that the space be used as—get this—a digital tourism kiosk. A set of terminals with maps of the city, restaurant recommendations, the works. But with a classy look, you understand. I was working with a great company, and I was going to make the introduction—for a finder’s fee, of course—but they dropped.”

  “Well, you know, my business is kiosks.”

  “You’re kidding. It is?”

  “Sure. We make info kiosks, news kiosks, you name it, we do it.”

  “Well, that’s interesting.”

  “What kind of your finder’s fee are we talking about?”

  “Ten grand. Cash. Too steep?”

  “Oh, I think I can handle that.”

  And that was how Lew landed the big fish. Now he just had to reel him in.

  Magda would be proud of him. If she only knew what he was up to. He’d just say he got a big bonus at work. She wasn’t the type to ask questions. She hadn’t been that type in a long time.

  He had hooked her ten years ago, yanking her out of the hands of a bad, bad man. She was a thick, blousy gal who could make you feel like a king one minute and throw a rock glass at your head the next. But Lew loved a woman with spirit, and Magda had that in triplicate. Sure, things had gone sour in the last couple of years, but that was because his luck had taken the wrong train and had been delayed. But now it was coming in.

  When he looked again at the Sudoku puzzle, he realized he had got too many sevens in one row. He folded up the paper and slid it off the table.

  At 11 a.m. Lew waited by the golden clock. The storm had turned into a blizzard, and the station was packed more than usual with tourists and yuppies. Milling around, waiting for their trains to budge.

  Pete would be taking the subway, which could also be royally fouled up by any turn of weather. It was already two minutes past. Lew checked his watch and looked up at the big clock and then back out at the crowd—and there Pete was, emerging from the thickly coated penguins.

  Lew saw right away that Pete wore a sleek businessman’s winter coat and underneath a suit. He was a doughy-faced, rangy guy, but the clothes gave him the right look.

  “Your cousin Bernie always has a problem dressing the part,” Lew said. “But you’re smarter. Maybe you should be my partner.”

  “Thanks, Lew. That means a lot coming from you. You’re the best.”

  “I am, aren’t I?”

  “Where do we meet him?”

  “Right here. In about an hour. We’ll go to the Campbell bar, make the deal there. You know the script.”

  Pete stuck out his hand. “Thomas. Thomas Carswell. Grand Central Radical Improvement Corporation. How do you do?”

  “Awe-inspiring. I got you the paper, by the way.”

  Lew handed Pete a folded-up copy of the Daily News he’d found in the trash. Inside was the fat envelope with ten thousand dollars.

  When Kiner showed at noon, Lew met him and told him there had been a small change of plans. “Storm’s playing havoc with the city. But Mr. Carswell is waiting for us in the Campbell at the spot they always reserve for him,” Lew said, hoping that Pete had been able to get a good spot in the last forty-five minutes.

  They walked up the stairs to the bar. When they turned into the main vestibule, the city and decades faded away. Inside it was dark, high ceilinged. To Lew, it smelled rich in there.

  He spotted Pete in a corner spot by the back. Good man. Unless a waitress got nosy, no one would know what they were doing.

  Lew did the introductions and the dance went as scheduled. The two men chatted. Kiner talked about his company, opportunity, potential, synergy, the works. Pete as “Carswell” nodded at the right parts like the proper patrician. It was going great.

  But something was off. Lew felt there was something about Kiner, something in his face. He no longer had the bright, catatonic look of a woman passing a shoe store. His eyes were sharper, focused.

  Sooner than Lew expected, the deal was done. Pete slid the good faith money to Lew across the table. It was just there to show the deal was legit and equal on both sides. All the cash had to be in there, anyway, and real, just in case. Lew had once tried a wad of one-dollar bills sandwiched between two hundreds. He’d had a rib snapped because of it.

  Kiner took out an envelope from his pocket and slid it to Lew. Fish. Hooked.

  “It has been my pleasure to introduce you two gentlemen,” Lew said, pretending that he wasn’t checking the weight and feel of the envelope. Now he wanted Pete to gab for a few minutes while he took a quick look inside. “I hope you two make beautiful business together.”

  “There’s just one more thing,” Kiner said, and to Lew there was something weird about the way he said that. “There’s someone I need you to meet. He’s waiting downstairs.”

  “Why don’t you have him come up here for a drink?” Lew felt flush now. The cash in his pocket made him feel fifty feet tall. But he still smelled something off.

  “You don’t get it,” Kiner said. “We’re all going to go see him.”

  “Down here?” Lew said.

  “Yes,” Kiner said, casual as velour. “He was just getting off the train.”

  There were on a Main Concourse level but in an area without stores—a dark and surprisingly quiet area for the terminal. Kiner lead them way down the darkened end of the boarding entrances.

  “Are there any trains this way?” Lew asked, fearing the answer.

  “Must be,” Pete said.

  Lew saw where they were headed and suddenly knew the train his luck was taking had just been derailed.

  “Track 13,” he said, more to himself than the other men. “Masterful.” Then he looked into Kiner’s face. The shiny sheep eyes were completely gone. There was nothing now but a smug smile. Pete’s face was blank. Lew made a note never to play poker with Pete. If he ever got the chance. And then he saw the gun, a small caliber pistol in Pete’s hand. Which made a game of poker in his future very unlikely.

  “Pete?”

  “Sorry, Lew.”

  “Let’s hurry now,” said Kiner. “Business can’t stand still.”

  They walked down a small flight of steps. There were two tracks off the platform: Track 13, which sat empty, and across, a Track 11, where a train waited, looking like it had been waiting a very long time. Blocking the view from other tracks was a high wall of refuse, metal containers, tarps.

  “Exceptional,” Lew said. “Where’s your friend?”

  There was no one down there. The concourse was just a hundred or so feet up and back, packed with penguins bumping into each other to get around. But that world might as well have been miles away.

&n
bsp; With Kiner in front and Pete behind him, Lew walked halfway down the platform.

  And then from behind a column an old man walked out. He wore a thick wool coat and a dark blue old-fashioned fedora, cocked amiably to the side. But his face was as friendly as a brick.

  Lew recognized him immediately.

  “Hiya, Lew. Long time.”

  “If it isn’t Stew Zultanski.”

  The old man also had a gun, but he kept it in his hand, pointed at the ground. “Long time. You look good.”

  “You look peaches,” Lew said.

  Stew smiled. “First thing I’ll do is I’ll take your stash.”

  Lew handed over the envelope and all of the good faith money.

  Stew took it and gave them to Kiner. “Hold on to this, Juan,” Stew said.

  “You sure you don’t want us to stay,” Pete said.

  “Nah. Lew’s not a man of violence. Get on back to Queens. I’ll meet you guys at that diner tonight. We’ll have lobster. It’s on Lew!”

  Warren—or Juan—took the cash and left with a smile wide enough to cut his head in half.

  Lew forced himself to change the saucer-eyed look he knew he had on his face, just for pride’s sake.

  “Poor Juan had to commute every morning for months,” Stew said. “Waiting for you to make a move. You sure took your time. We thought you’d lost your con legs.”

  Pete and Kiner walked off, their steps getting quiet in the distance.

  “Outrageo—”

  “We were a great team once, Lew.”

  “Lew and Stew.”

  “Stew and Lew.”

  “Fine. If this is about Magda, I—”

  “Magda, Magda, Magda. She’s as slippery as an eel, that one. I don’t blame you for stealing her, not very much. But Chicago—Chicago hurt.”

  “I needed to get out of town, you—”

  “I taught you everything you know. And you took my money. You ruined my rep. And I got ten years.”

  “What are going to do? You can’t do anything—”

  “No one cares, Lew.”

  “I could yell. I could—”

  “They’re all stuck with their heads up their asses up there, taking pictures and sending dirty messages to each other. We’re far away from them. And this thing isn’t loud—it’ll sound like a firecracker. If anybody hears it.”

  Stew was right. Underground, the station thrummed with the constant sound of machinery, trains moving in and out. Still, Stew hadn’t raised up his gun. He was getting old.

  “No, you’re not going to shoot me here, Stew. There are camera every—”

  “Stop interrupting me! You bastard. You’ve always been so inconsi—”

  It was life or death. Lew went for Stew’s gun hand and squeezed and yanked. They both grappled for control of the gun. The older man pounded on Lew’s back, until they both heard something crack. The gun fell from Stew’s broken wrist.

  “Ah, you bastard—”

  Ten years of living with Magda had taught him more than one way to defend himself.

  He punched at Stew’s throat, once, then again. Fedoras flew. Stew fell back, his naked head hitting the concrete with a knock! The fever was in Lew’s veins now, sweat pouring down his face. He kicked Stew again and again till he was sure the man was dead.

  “Lew. And. Stew,” Lew said.

  He looked around. The platform looked as lonely and abandoned as it had before. No one had heard a thing.

  He dragged Stew’s body to the train on Track 11 and slid him into a space between two cars. Stew got stuck halfway. Lew had to stand back and kick and push to shove Stew down.

  “Garbage.”

  The body fell down onto the tracks. Somebody passing by would have to look twice to see it.

  Of all the lousy days he’d ever had. He had to get out of this business. Now he just wanted to get home, get back to Magda. The great and powerful. The Queen. He longed to see cover her knife-sharp face with kisses and cringe at her snarky putdowns.

  He arched his back and cracked it. There was a smear of blood on the floor, and lying there was the gun. Lew picked it up. He’d have to dump it outside of the station. The Homeland Security cops probably checked every bit of trash in the station, and they could find human DNA on an ant’s ass hair.

  There was an exit sign way on the other end of the platform. Lew made for that, walking quickly.

  The exit led up three short staircases and then suddenly Lew was in the back end of a long tunnel lined with boarding entrances.

  Here, the crowd returned. Where had they been the whole time he was almost killed and then had to kill a man?

  The tunnel seemed endless. He weaved through the crowd of pedestrians, clogged with the smell of sweat and feet and urine.

  “How the hell do you get out of here?”

  He took one set of stairs, then walked up an escalator that wasn’t working.

  And then, finally, he was back in the Main Concourse. He decided he needed a drink of water, even an overpriced one. He went to the newsstand and stood in line. It took a moment, but then he realized the fat guy in front of him was Bernie.

  “Bernie?”

  His partner turned and his eyes went to saucers—and then did a dance to look at something behind Lew.

  Lew turned. Magda. A glance down at the luggage at her feet told him the story.

  She spoke first. “I’m leaving you, Lew.”

  “But, Baby.”

  “Lew, I’ve known about you for years. You can’t con everybody Lew. Not a woman who loves you anyway. Or used to.”

  “Madga—”

  “You’re sweet, Lew. But I’m tiring of TV dinners and having to wring twenty bucks out of you for new bloomers.”

  “Fair enough,” Lew said. “So you came here where—”

  “We were going to drive to my mother’s in Danbury, but Bernie couldn’t start his car.”

  Bernie spoke up from behind her. “I shoulda got that antifreeze like you told me last week.”

  “Extraordinary.”

  “I’m sorry Lew I thought you’d be…gone.”

  “Wait, was it you that set me up?” Lew said, but as soon as he did he looked into the dull eyes of his partner and knew that the sap had been used.

  “What set—”

  “You don’t have the flu, do you? What was it, Pete wanted to try a big score?”

  “Yeah, that’s what h—”

  “Never mind,” Lew said. He had no strength to argue. He nodded at Bernie, gave Magda a half smile. “Mazel tov.”

  He forgot the water and waved at them as he left. His partner looked at him like a telethon kid. His wife looked at him like a hawk done with its dinner.

  So. That was over. All that he had worked toward for ten years. Done. Madga did make great pancakes. That one time.

  Well, he was still alive. And something that had been itching in the back of his mind for years had been scratched. He’d have start a new life now. First, he needed a drink. No, first, he had to ditch the gun. He felt the weight of it in his inside pocket. Tons. Then he’d have to use his last few bills to get out of town, go to Port Authority, get to Jersey then parts beyond. He’d had enough of Grand Central. He went up the Lexington Passage and stopped near the exit to button his coat. He watched the snow turn the city into a pretty postcard, knowing it would only be a little while before it turned gray and black with soot and decay.

  He was thinking he should go to the exit closer to the East River when he heard someone yell, “That’s the guy.” Then again, “Yeah, yeah, that guy. Get him.”

  He didn’t want to turn, but he wasn’t sure he should run, and before he could make up his mind he felt a tap on his shoulder and, sure enough, there was a police officer—if Lew wasn’t mistaken, the same one who had glared at him when he’d slammed down the pay phone—and behind him the pimply faced kid from the coffee stand. Classic.

  “That
’s the guy,” the pimples said.

  “I need to talk to you, sir. Please step to the side,” the cop, the glarer, said.

  “Stupendous,” Lew said. “Stupendous.”

  Back to TOC

  PALE YELLOW SUN

  The trophy was gone.

  Señora Olga Lopez couldn’t sleep, had been anxious about the next day’s big meeting with Mr. Koch and his team of investors, a meeting that, if it went well—and of course it would go well, if she had anything to say about it—would save the Tamarindo Beach Golf & Country Club. And in turn the club and its tournament would bring tourism and wealth to help save her homeland: Puerto Rico, beautiful Island of Enchantment, which had been lingering in a devastating recession for years. It was, indeed, a very important meeting.

  Her thoughts turned themselves over and over. Her body refused to relax. So she went downstairs to pour herself an indulgent dose of brandy with a splash of milk and to cut herself a thick, creamy slice of flan.

  With her elbows on the cool marble of the kitchen island, she felt warm air penetrating the usual chill of the house. She leaned back and saw the backyard door was wide open. She could see the lit pool, its sloshing no longer muffled.

  She knew immediately what had happened. And who had done it. She went to her office down the hall and that door was open, too.

  Of course, it was missing.

  She cursed. For a long time. And then asked the Lord’s forgiveness for her cursing. Still, she would not lose heart. Without the crystal trophy, any deal with Mr. Koch was dead.

  “Analiz!” she said to her executive assistant over the phone. “I’m sorry to call you so late but something has happened.”

  Analiz yelped. “I’ll call the police for you. It’s no big deal. I’m totally wide awake now.”

  “No, no. The police will turn this into a circus. What you can do for me is to call Mr. Koch’s people and tell them we’re changing from a brunch meeting at my house to a lunch meeting at the resort. Mr. Koch would prefer that anyway—he can see the renovations and have drinks without having to keep asking if it’s noon yet. Then I want you to let the caterers know and tell the construction crew to clear out of the conference room. And make sure that someone cleans up after them because they are slobs.”