He squinted. "What was it? The question?"
"What're you doing here?" she asked uneasily.
He pointed to his chest. "I read meters."
"You can't just come in here," the young man said. Sandra tried to shush him--not concerned so much about the words themselves as the attitude. But the boy waved her off. "You can't enter without permission. It's trespassing. That's actionable."
"Oh. Actionable. What's that mean?"
"That she can sue your ass."
"Oh. Actionable. Well, we had reports of a leak."
"Yeah, what leak?" Sandra asked. "Who reported it?"
The Meter Man grinned at her, looked at her chest again. Nice tits. And she wasn't ugly. Just needed some color and to get rid of that punky makeup. And why a white bra like old ladies wear? He shrugged. "I dunno. Somebody downstairs complained."
"Well, I don't see a leak," she said. "So why don't you leave?"
"You haven't had any water damage lately?"
"Why's a meter reader interested in repairs and leaks?" From Sandra's horny companion.
The Meter Man glanced out the window. It really was one fucking incredible view. He looked back. "When there's a leak you can tell by looking at the meter. That makes sense, don'tcha think?"
"Were you looking through Rune's stuff?"
"Naw, I was looking for the meter."
Sandra said, "Well, it's not up here. So why don't you leave?"
"Why don't you say please?"
The blond jock did it just like Redford or Steve McQueen or Stallone would've. He stepped in front of Sandra. Crossed his arms in his Polo shirt and said, "The lady wants you to leave."
Professional or not? The meter man debated. That side gave in, the way it usually did. He said, "If she's a lady why's she fucking an asshole like you?"
The blond smiled, shaking his head, stepping forward. Tensing the muscles that came from the magic of Nautilus machines. "You're outa here."
It turned out not to be that much fun and the Meter Man decided it hadn't been worth the unprofessional part. Oh, mixing it up with a guy who knew what he was doing ... that would've been one thing. Going a few rounds. Really getting a chance to trade knuckles. But this fucking yuppie ... Christ.
They did a little scuffling, a little push-pull. Saying that stuff you said in street fights "Why, you motherfucker ..." That sort of thing.
Then the Meter Man got bored and decided he couldn't risk being there any longer, and who knew who this pair had called. He broke free and got Blondie once in the solar plexus, then once in the jaw.
Zap, that was it. Two silent punches. The guy went to his knees. More nauseated than hurt, which is what gut punches do. Probably the first fight the guy had been in ever.
Shit, he's going to--
The guy puked all over the floor.
"Jesus, Andy," Sandra said. "That's gross."
Meter Man helped Andy to his feet. Eased him down on the bed.
Okay, enough fun, he thought. Time to get professional again. He said to Sandra, "Here's the deal--I'm from a collection agency. Your friend owes a couple thousand on her credit card and she's been dodging us for a year. We're tired of it."
"That sounds like Rune, sure. Look, I don't know where she is. I haven't heard--"
He held up his hand. "You fucking tell anybody you saw me here, I'll do the same thing to you." He nodded at the young man, who lay on his back, moaning, his arm over his eyes.
Sandra shook her head. "I won't say anything."
As he walked out, Sandra said, "You fight good." She let the dress slip, revealing her breasts again. The Meter Man tugged the dress back up, smiled, said, "Tell your boyfriend he should always keep his left up. He's a defense kinda guy."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
"Ms. Rune?"
She turned, paused, as she was walking through the door of Washington Square Video.
Rune, however, wasn't looking at the man who'd stopped her. It was the badge and the ID card in the battered wallet that got her attention. He was a U.S. marshal.
Neat, she thought before she decided she ought to be nervous.
"My name's Dixon."
He looked just like what a casting director would pick for a federal agent. Tall and craggy. He had a faint Queens accent. She thought about Detective Virgil Manelli and how he'd worn a suit. This guy was wearing jeans and sneakers, a black baseball jacket: bridge-and-tunnel clothes--meaning: from the outer boroughs. He wouldn't get into Area, her favorite after-hours club, wearing this kind of outfit. Trimmed brown hair. He looked like a contractor.
"It's just Rune. Not Ms."
He put the badge away and she caught a glimpse of a huge gun on his hip.
Awesome ... That's a Schwarzenegger gun, she thought. Man, that would shoot through trucks.
Then remembered she should be nervous again.
He squinted, then gave a faint smile. "You don't remember me."
She shook her head. Let the door swing shut.
"I saw you the other day--in the apartment on Tenth Street. I was part of the homicide team."
"In Mr. Kelly's apartment?"
"Right."
She nodded. Thinking back to that terrible morning. But she didn't remember anything except Manelli's close-together eyes.
The shot-out TV.
Mr. Kelly's face.
The blood on his chest.
Dixon looked at a notebook, put it back in his pocket. He asked, "Have you been in touch with a Susan Edelman recently?"
"Susan ... Oh, the other witness." The yuppie with the designer jogging outfit. "I called her yesterday, the day before. She was still in the hospital."
"I see. Can I ask why you called her?"
Because somebody's got to find the killer, and the cops couldn't care less. But she told Dixon, "Just to see how she's doing. Why?"
Dixon paused for a moment. She didn't like the way he was looking at her face. Assessing her. He said, "Ms. Edelman was killed an hour ago."
"What?" she gasped. "No!"
"I'm afraid so."
"What happened?"
Dixon continued. "She was walking past a construction site. A scaffolding collapsed. It might have been an accident but, of course, we don't think so."
"Oh, no ..."
"Has anyone threatened you? Or have you noticed anything suspicious since the killing on Tenth Street?"
"No." She looked down for a moment, uneasy, then back to the marshal.
Dixon examined her face closely. His expression gave away nothing. He said, "For your sake, for a lot of people's sake, I need you to tell me what your involvement with this whole thing is."
"There's no--"
"This's real serious, miss. It might've seemed like a game at first. But it isn't. Now, I can have you put into protective custody and we'll sort it out later.... I really don't think you'd like to spend a week in Women's Detention? Now, what's the story?"
There was something about his voice that sounded as if he was really concerned. Sure, he was threatening her in a way but that just seemed to be his style. It probably went with the job. And she felt that he was really worried that she might end up like Kelly or Susan Edelman.
So she told him a few things. About the movie, the stolen bank loot, about the connection between Mr. Kelly and the robbery. Nothing about Symington. Nothing about churches or suitcases. Nothing about Amanda LeClerc.
Dixon nodded slowly and she couldn't tell what he was thinking. The only thing that seemed to interest him was the old robbery.
Why'd he lift his eyebrow at that? she wondered.
Dixon asked, "Where do you live?"
She gave him the address.
"Phone number?"
"No phone. You can call here, the video store, leave a message."
Dixon thought for a moment. "I don't think you're in danger."
"I didn't see anything, I really didn't. Just this green car. That's all I remember. No faces, no license plates. There's no reason to kill me."
br />
This seemed to amuse him. "Well, that's not really the issue, miss. The reason you're not dead is that somebody doesn't want you dead. Not yet. If they did, you'd be gone. If I were you, though, I'd forget about this bank robbery money. Maybe that's what was behind Mr. Kelly's shooting. You're probably safe for now but if you keep poking around ... who knows what could happen?"
"I was just--"
Suddenly his face softened and he smiled. "You're a pretty woman. You're smart. You're tough, I can see that. I just wouldn't want anything to happen to you."
Rune said, "Thanks. I'll keep that in mind." Though she was really only thinking two things: That Dixon wasn't wearing a wedding ring. And that he was a hell of a lot cuter than she'd thought at first.
"What was that all about? Did that guy have a badge?" Stephanie sounded breathless.
Rune walked behind the counter at Washington Square Video, joining Stephanie at the register. She answered, "He was a U.S. marshal...." Then she shook her head. "The other witness--to Mr. Kelly's murder?-- she was killed."
"No!"
"It might've been an accident. Maybe not." Rune stared at the monitor. There was no movie in the VCR and she was looking at silent snow. "Probably not," she whispered.
"Are you, uhm, safe?" Stephanie asked.
"He thinks so."
"Thinks?"
"But there's one thing funny."
"What?"
"He was a U.S. marshal?"
"You said that."
"Why would he be involved in a murder of somebody in the East Village?"
"What do you mean?"
Rune was thinking. "I saw this movie on Dillinger. You know John Dillinger?"
"Not personally."
"Ha. He robbed banks. Which is, like, a federal offense--so it wasn't the city cops who were after him. It was the G-men."
"G-men?"
"Federal agents. You know, government men. Like the FBI. Like U.S. Marshals."
"Oh, wait, you're not thinking he's investigating that bank robbery you were telling me about. The one fifty years ago?"
Rune shrugged. "He didn't say anything but it's kind of a coincidence, don't you think? He seemed real interested when I said something to him about it."
Stephanie turned back to Variety. "Little far-fetched."
But what's far-fetched in the whole scheme of things--as Richard might have asked.
Rune found the Brooklyn Yellow Pages. She opened it to Churches. Seemed funny you could find escort services, Roto-Rooter companies, and churches in the same directory.
She flipped through the pages. Man, there were a lot of pages.
She started to make calls.
A half hour later Stephanie asked Rune, "You think I'll get the part?"
"What part?" Rune asked absently, phone tucked between her ear and her shoulder. She was on hold. (It also seemed weird to call a church and be put on hold.) "Didn't I tell you? I'm auditioning next week. It's only a commercial. But still ... They pay great. I've got to get it. It's totally important."
Rune stiffened suddenly as the minister came on the line.
"Hello?"
"Reverend, Father, sir ... I'm trying to find some information about my grandfather? Robert Kelly? About seventy. Do you know if he spent any time at your parish?"
"Robert Kelly? No, miss, I sure don't."
"Okay, Father. Thank you. Oh, and have a nice day." She set the receiver in the cradle, pushed aside the Yellow Pages, and asked Stephanie, "Do you say that to priests?"
"What?"
"'Have a nice day?' I mean, shouldn't you say something more meaningful? More spiritual?"
"Say whatever you want." Stephanie put Variety away, began reshelving cassettes in the stacks. She said, "If I don't get the job I'll just die. It's a whole commercial. Thirty seconds. I'd play a young wife with PMS and I can't enjoy my anniversary dinner until I take some pills."
"What pills?"
"I don't know. 'Cramp-Away.' "
"What?"
"Well, something like that. Then I take them and my husband and I waltz off happily. I get to wear a long white dress. That's so disgusting when they do that, wear white in menstrual commercials. I'm also worried 'cause I can't waltz. Dancing isn't exactly my strong suit. And I can't--just between you and me--I can't sing too good either. It's a real pain in the ass getting jobs when you can't sing and dance."
"You've got a great body and great hair."
And you're tall, Goddammit.
Flipping through more pages, ignoring the synagogues and mosques. "Amanda's calling too.... I feel sorry for her. Poor woman. Imagine--her friend's killed and they're kicking her out of the country."
"By the way, I don't think they're all parishes," Stephanie said.
"You think I was pissing them off by calling them parishes?" Rune was frowning.
"I think they get pissed when you worship Satan and cast spells. I don't think they care what you call their churches. I'm just telling you for your own, you know, edification."
Rune picked up the phone and then put it down again. She glanced at the door as a thin young woman, dark-complected, entered. The woman had a proper pageboy cut and was wearing a navy-blue suit, carrying a heavy, law-or accounting-firm briefcase in one hand. Rune swiftly sized her up, whispered to Stephanie, "A dollar says it's Richard Gere."
Stephanie waited until the woman moved to the comedy section and pulled The Sting off the shelf before reaching into her pocket and slipping four quarters onto the countertop. Rune put a dollar bill next to them. Stephanie murmured, "Think you're getting to be hot shit, huh? You can spot 'em?"
"I can spot 'em," Rune said.
The woman wandered around the aisles, not sensing Rune and Stephanie watching her while they pretended to work. She came up to the counter and set the Newman-Redford movie on the rubber change mat beside the cash register. "I'll take that." She handed Rune her membership card. Stephanie, smiling, reached for the money. The woman hesitated and then said, "Oh, maybe I'll get another one too." Stepping away to the drama section.
She set Power next to The Sting. Richard Gere's bedroom eyes gazed out from the cover. Stephanie pushed the two dollars toward Rune and rang up the rental. The woman snagged the cassettes and left the store.
"How'd you know?" Stephanie asked Rune.
"Look." She typed in the woman's membership number into the computer and called up a history of all the movies she'd rented.
"That's cheating."
"Don't bet if you don't know the odds."
"I don't know, Rune," Stephanie said. "You think Mr. Kelly was into hidden treasure or something, but look, here's this woman rents Richard Gere films ten times in six months. That's just as weird as Kelly."
Rune shook her head. "Naw, you know why she does that? She's having an affair with him. You know the way it is now, sex is dangerous. You have to take matters into your own hands. So to speak. Makes sense to me."
"Funny, you seem like more of a risk-taker--tracking down hidden treasure and murderers. But you won't go to bed with a guy."
"I'll sleep with somebody. I just want to make sure it's the right somebody."
"'Right'?" Stephanie snorted. "You do like your impossible quests, don't you."
Rune slipped the bootleg Manhattan Is My Beat into the VCR. A few minutes later she mused, "Wasn't she beautiful?" On the screen Ruby Dahl, with the bobbed blond hair, was walking hand in hand with Dana Mitchell, playing her fiance, Roy, the cop. The Brooklyn Bridge loomed in the background. It was before the robbery. Roy had been called in by his captain and told what a good job he was doing. But the young patrolman was worrying because he was broke. He had to support his sick mother. He didn't know when he and Ruby'd be able to get married. Maybe he'd leave the force--go to work for a steel company.
"But you're so good at what you do, Roy, darling. I would think they'd want you to be commissioner. Why, if I were in charge that's what I'd make you."
Handsome Dana Mitchell walked beside he
r solemnly. He told her she was a swell gal. He told her what a lucky stiff he was. The camera backed away from them and the two people became insignificant dots in a shadowy black-and-white city.
Rune glanced down at the countertop. "Ohmygod!"
"What?" Stephanie asked, alarmed.
"It's a phone message."
"So?"
"Where's Frankie? Dammit. I'm going to kick his butt...."
"What?"
"He took the message but he just left it here under these receipts." She held it up. "Look, look! It's from Richard. I haven't heard from him since yesterday. He dropped me off on the West Side." Rune grimaced. "Kissed me on the cheek good-bye."
"Ouch. A cheek-kiss only?"
"Yeah. And after he'd seen me topless."
Stephanie shook her head. "That's not good."
"Tell me about it."
The message read:
Rune--Richard asked you over for dinner tomorrow, at seven, hes cooking. He has a surprise for you and he also said why the hell don't you get a phone. Ha ha but he was kidding
"Yes! I thought he'd given up on me after we went to the nursing home on Sunday."
"Nursing home? Rune, you gotta pick more romantic places for dates."
"Oh, I'm going to! I've got this totally excellent junkyard I go to--"
"No, no, no."
"It's really neat." She fluffed her hair out again. "What should I wear? I have this polka-dot tank top I just got at Second-Hand Rose. And this tiger-skin skirt that's about eight inches wide ... What?"
"Tiger skin?"
"Oh, like, it's not real.... If you're into rain forests and stuff like that. I mean, it was made in New Jersey--"
"Rune, the problem isn't endangered species."
"Well, what is the problem?"
Stephanie was examining her closely. "Are those glow-in-the-dark earrings?"
"I got them last Halloween," she said defensively, touching the skulls. "Why are you looking at me that way?"
"You like fairy stories, right?"
"Sure."
"You remember Cinderella?"
"Oh, it's the best. Did you know in the real story, the Brothers Grimm story, the mother cut the ugly sisters' heels off with a knife so their feet would fit into the--"
"Rune." Stephanie said it patiently.
"What?"
"Let's think about the Disney version for a minute."
Rune looked at her cautiously. "Okay."
"You remember it?"
"Yeah."
Stephanie walked around Rune slowly, examining her. "You understand what I'm getting at?"