Brooklyn Wars Page 16

  “You cops? Your guys were already here.”

  “Ah, no. I’m a reporter and my friend here has a personal interest.”

  He crossed his arms and stared at us. “I didn’t like talking to cops but they made it pretty damn clear I would have to, one way or another. Why should I talk about a customer to you?”

  “’Cause I could mention this place and you would get lots of new customers?”

  “More yuppies asking for fancy drinks? Big deal. But, what the hell? It’s a slow night. Ask away. Not promising I’ll answer.”

  She’d come prepared with a photo of Jennifer.

  “Sure, she was here. Same woman the cops asked about. Hard to miss that fur coat in this place. Last time I saw one here was…never.”

  “So what did she do?”

  “Asked what white wine we have.” He snorted. “When I told her vodka’s the only white drink, she settled for that. Sat right over there.” He pointed to a dark corner table. “Sat for a long time. Kept checking her watch and looked out the window a few times. Like she was nervous. Then she got up and left.” He shook his head. “There was some commotion out there. Ambulances. So that’s it.”

  Lisa smiled sweetly and ordered two more again.“Great, but I wonder if there’s more. Like, was she alone? Anyone talk to her? Ever been here before?”

  “Her? Here in this dump? Naa. She was alone, she looked nervous as far as I could tell, but I’m not one of those pour-your-heart-out bartenders. Know what I mean? And anyway she didn’t say a thing after she ordered except to ask for more. She was putting it away pretty good. Left a big tip, too. Not like that other lady.’

  “What?” I squeaked it. “What other lady?”

  “There was another lady here that night. Pretty unusual, that’s why I remember it.”

  “And? And?” We both said it.

  “Yeah, well she was older. Short and chunky. Saw my second fur coat for the night. Alone, like that other one. Drank one light Coors the whole time she was there, taking up a table. I’d have thrown her out if we were busy.”

  I had an idea. “Did she limp? Do you remember? Or walk with a cane?”

  “Hey, are you a mind reader? She had a cane. I forgot about that.”

  “Who else have you told about her?”

  Lisa was all smiles when he answered, “No one.”

  I was the one who added, “Not even the cops?”

  He shrugged. “They never asked me.”

  Lisa stood up all smiles and shook his hand. “You’ve been great. This is a big help.”

  “Put the bar name in the story. Forget what I said, okay? We can use the business.”

  Outside, the avenue at this hour was lonely and dark. All my street smarts were on alert as I was kept an eye out for anyone else who was out and about.

  Lisa grabbed my arm. “It was Mary Pat, wasn’t it? It must have been.”

  “Oh, yeah. Waiting for Conti? They were always a secret so she couldn’t meet him at the meeting. But, think about this. Probably Jennifer didn’t know her, but seems like she would have recognized Jennifer. Don’t you think? From pictures in the papers at least.”

  I imagined the two women, sitting separately, with so many connections yet completely unconnected. A picture of total bleakness.

  “Damn! And here we are, knowing something no one else does and I don’t know exactly what to do with it. Yet. But there must be something. Talk tomorrow?”

  It was too late and dark for the long walk to a subway or a long wait for a bus. We called Uber cars to get us home. All the way, I couldn’t stop thinking about Mary Pat, hiding in a crummy bar because she couldn’t be in public with her lover. Was he worth it, Michael Conti?

  And how disturbing that we had talked to her just recently and now she was dead. Had someone hated both Conti and her? Or was she a threat to someone? I sighed. Was my imagination spinning out of control?

  ***

  When Chris appeared at my bedroom door too early the next morning, I thought she wanted a ride to school. Instead, she handed me the open diary. “There’s a love story, I think. How cool is that? And it sounds so real. Like, I get this completely. (Read it!”)

  “Our first date. My secret crush. (Philomena drew a little heart.) We went to a movie, Crash Dive with Tyrone Power, my forever favorite, and Dana Andrews, who’s awfully good too. They were so brave. Strange to see Power in uniform when he is already in the Marines for real.

  “After, we talked about it, how it could be any of us with loved ones fighting. I got a little weepy and he was sweet. He didn’t laugh when I told him about how I used to have photos of Tyrone on my wall, but now I am too grown-up for silly things like that. Life is not silly now.

  “It was not like a date with those other boys. We shared popcorn. We took the trolley home and he held me when it took a corner too fast, but otherwise he was a perfect gentleman. But it all felt different. I wanted him to kiss me good night. More than one good-night kiss. Next time if he doesn’t, I will! Really, I will make the first move.”

  “You see? Doesn’t that sound like something special? The beginning of it?”

  Her eyes were shining. “It’s like reading a wonderful book, only it’s true.”

  I handed the diary back. “It sure is that, a real-life story. Keep me posted. No. On second thought, read very, very fast so I can read it too.”

  She left, but then came back.

  “I want to go see the Navy Yard in person. I need to see the places she was writing about. Take pictures for my project. And she met him there, standing in line to pick up their pay envelopes.” She smiled. “That is so quaint, pay envelopes.”

  “Absolutely not. I hate the idea. Hate the very thought of ever going back there.” And I could not forget or ignore that mysterious phone message. I had not told her, but it was in the back of my mind all the time.

  “You don’t have to come. I can go myself. Why not?”

  “Chris! Have you forgotten my last visit?”

  “Not at all.” She had that mule-like expression. “But I’d go in the daytime. Of course!”

  “Chris, I…”

  “I’m an experienced bike-rider now. I’ll take my bike. There’s not a lot of traffic going there, so it’s perfectly safe. Perfectly!” She saw my face and went further. “You know what you saw was only a crazy thing that could have happened anywhere.”

  “They do have tours,” I admitted reluctantly. “So you could sign up for a World War II tour. You’d learn a lot.” And be in a supervised group the whole time, I thought.

  “Tomorrow? It’s Saturday. Can I do it tomorrow?”

  “See if they have a tour and an open spot. Charge it to my card. And plan to dress warm. It’s windy down there on the water.”

  “Mom! Of course I will.” She shuddered. “It will be a chilly bike ride.”

  She popped back in to report she had found a tour at eleven, signed up, and would be out early enough to ride over.

  I didn’t know what worried me most, a bike ride through city streets on her own, or my own experiences. The time I went back I had a cop for an escort. I try hard not to be a smothering mother. I fell asleep still worrying.

  ***

  Saturday morning was bright and cold. I sent Chris off with an oatmeal breakfast for fuel, and harassed her about both calling me when she arrived at the Navy Yard and wearing warm clothes. She only reacted to my harassing with a sarcastic “Sure, Mom.”

  I knew what she did not: the clothes were a proxy for my rational—somewhat rational—worry about her biking off on her own and my irrational—well, mostly irrational—dislike of her being in a place where I had seen a shooting. She was right, though. It was a fluke in a low-crime—no, a no-crime—location. The new manufacturing businesses made sure there was lots of security. And, after all, she would be with lots of nor
mal visitors, history-minded folks like me.

  I had research results to write up for my real job, the one with a paycheck, tiny though it was. Dr. Adams would say my real job was finishing my dissertation and this job was a distraction, but then she was a full professor with a salary. And tenure.

  I spent one minute telling myself not to let Dr. Adams be in my head so often, and then buried myself in my task. When I looked up again, it was because I had a call from Chris. And about bloody time too. She had never called to report her safe arrival.

  When I pointed it out to her, she response was in a strange voice, “But I texted.”

  “What’s wrong?” Her tone of her voice had me on instant alert.

  “Mommy?” She hasn’t called me that in years. “You know how you always said, if I was out and there was something, anything, that scared me, to call? Trust my instincts, no matter what? “

  I managed to say, “Yes?” while holding my breath. That was the rule from the time she was first allowed to walk up the street to the corner grocery.

  It came out in a rush. “This is that call.”

  “What? Where are you? What…?”

  “I’m all right, honest I am, but…”

  “Chris!

  “Okay. Okay. So I came out of the tour and hopped right on my bike. I was not even out of the gates when I lost control and hit a wall. And, Mom, I’m so sorry but I bent a tire and I think the bike will have to be fixed.”

  “I don’t care about the tire, I care about you.” I would worry about what the tire would cost later. “Are you all right?”

  She took a deep breath. “Yes.”

  “You’re sure?” She didn’t sound sure.

  “Yes! Yes, I am.”

  I thought, what a colossal pain. But then I thought I could get it home on the bus, right? There’s a bus stop outside the gates. I’d have to wait but it could be done.” She didn’t sound sure. She sounded teary. “I really, really did not mean to bother you. But there’s no bus for a long time. And there’s a man…”

  “What man?” I was already collecting purse and keys, still holding the phone.

  “He’s walking, back and forth and back again. And…and looking…”

  “I’m on the way out the door. I’ll pick you up. Sit tight. Better than that, there’s a bar across the street. See it? The bartender is pretty nice.”

  “You know a bartender?” She sounded shocked but at least she was distracted for a moment.

  I pictured the bar. “No, forget that. You walk right back into the Yard and go to the museum. If they ask, tell them why, and that I’m coming for you.”

  “But I will sound so stupid. And maybe I am being silly, you know?”

  “No argument! Go do it. Now! And we stay on the phone together. I have to put it down to lock the door, but I’m here. Got it?”

  I made it to the car in record time. Start, I muttered to myself, start, damn it. And it did. I put my phone on the seat next to me, assured myself that Chris was okay and safe and was heading back to the museum.

  I cursed every red light I hit on my way down to the harbor.

  From her perch in front of the museum right near the entrance, she could see me pull up. She waved and dragged her disabled bike out.

  “You’re okay? You felt safe in there?”

  “You can see I am fine. But my poor bike?”

  She stopped wrestling with the bike and finally looked at me.

  “Mom, I feel so stupid. I convince you I’m old enough to do this bike ride, and then look what happened. I could have got myself home, and I should have.” Her expression was not nearly as confident as her words. She suddenly leaned over and whispered to me, “Only thing is, he’s still here.” She grabbed me. “Don’t look! I’m trying to pretend I never noticed him.”

  “Right. Let’s get the bike in the car, and while we do, I can take a peek. You lift, I’ll maneuver.”

  We succeeded, with some cursing involved. A compact car is not meant to transport a bicycle. And I did see the man. I almost exclaimed to Chris, “You were afraid of that shaky old guy?”

  His clothes were shabby, baggy pants and a baggy sweatshirt. A dark cap. He was somewhat stooped. Maybe old, certainly not young. And he walked up and down a short stretch of sidewalk weaving a little. Frail? Drunk? Mental health issues? He was muttering to himself. I could see that, but I could not make out the words.

  It used to be that someone talking to himself was a red flag to give the speaker wide berth and never lock eyes. Now, of course it is probably someone talking into a hands-free phone. But this man did not look like a person with an expensive gadget in his pocket.

  “Good that you called. Your instincts were dead-on. I mean, probably he is harmless, but what if?”

  “So you don’t think I was a silly little scaredy-cat?”

  “Nope. I would have been nervous around him too.”

  What made me the most nervous was that he was still looking as we pulled away from the curb.

  “You should be nervous but I’m stronger and tougher than you are. Bigger too. I should be more confident.”

  “Oh, ha, ha. Bigger, yes. Tougher, no way. I learned to scrap as a little kid.”

  “You only think you can still do that.”

  Going home after parking, turning the corner to our block, I almost missed him. I was busy with my thoughts, relieved to have Chris home, relieved to be safe on our own block.

  And there he was again, leaning against a tree, across the street. At least I thought it was the same man. I only had a fleeting glimpse of him in front of the museum.

  I forced myself not to look or acknowledge him in any way. I didn’t collapse until I get back in the house.

  Why was he here? Who was he? How did he find us? He could not have followed my car home without a car of his own.

  And the biggest question: what was I going to do about it? If anything? Certainly not tell Chris for now. I did not want to frighten her. Not, not, not call Joe, my usual source of strength and good advice. Dad? No, I did not want his help, which was not always helpful. He’d be just as likely to cause a scene and get hurt himself.

  When I peeked out again and he was still there I’d had enough. He had no right to be hanging around, loitering, on our home block. No right at all.

  I slammed out of the house and across the street.

  “You!”

  He turned quietly to squint at me.

  “What are you doing here? Why are you hanging around my house?”

  He looked confused, then sly.

  “I’m trying to meet someone. Someone else I used to know. Not you. Who are you?”

  “I saw you at the Navy Yard today.”

  “The lady with the car and the bike and that girl? That was you?”

  “You were loitering there, like you are here. What the hell do you want?”

  “Not loitering. I was waiting for a bus. Now I’m trying to meet someone. Like I said.”

  “Stay away from my daughter!”

  “What daughter? I already said I don’t know you or your daughter, lady. And don’t care about you either.” He turned his back to me, and began humming. That made me even more annoyed. I walked around to make him face me again.

  “You go away! You can’t hang around here like this.”

  “I can’t? Who says?”

  “Against the law.” I had no idea if that was true but I said it with conviction.

  He turned again, and walked away.

  “Wait!” Something had just clicked. “Haven’t I seen you before? In front of the coffee shop? You…“ I realized I almost said “beg” and switched gears at the last moment. “…open the door?” He hesitated, nodded, and walked away. I hadn’t learned anything but at least I seemed to have chased him off.

  I was glad I had a
date with a detective tonight. Not an actual date but at least a meeting. It would be a chance to get some expert advice.

  Did I need to tell Chris, just to make sure she stayed alert, kept her eyes open and—oh, yes—didn’t do anything dumb? When she first called me, he was only a strangely behaving old man on the street, probably as harmless as most of them were. Telling her he was hanging around turned it into something much scarier.

  It was already too late to wonder. She pounced as soon as I walked in.

  “Mom! What were you doing? Was that the same guy? What did he say?”

  “Yes it was. I chased him away and anyway he’s looking for someone else. He said. Now, listen, Chris. This evening…”

  Then I wasn’t sure what I needed to say. Scare her? Reassure her?

  “I’m going over to Mel’s.”

  “Oh?” Her casual statement lit up all my anxieties. “Were you planning to ask me?”

  “Eventually.” She was surprised. “You don’t mind, do you?”

  “No, of course not, but you need to tell me how you are getting there.”

  “What are you talking about? I’m walking the couple of blocks, of course. Like I have been doing since fifth grade. Why?” She looked up then and saw my face.

  “Oh? That guy?” She surprised me with a hug. “It’s all right. It’s all over. He was just some random weird street guy and I overreacted because of my bike.”

  I appreciated that she was soothing me, but now was not the time.

  “I worry if he followed us home somehow. I don’t know if he is telling the truth.” I considered his shifty expressions and went on, “I don’t know if he even knows what’s true.”

  “No. No. That’s too crazy.” She shook her head. “You are doing that paranoid parent thing. You’ve got to work on that.”

  “What paranoid parent thing?”

  She gave me a look and I knew we were getting away from the main subject.

  “Now listen up. I mean this! I want you to be extra cautious and extra alert. In fact, now that I think of it, I’m glad you will be at Mel’s instead of home alone.”

  “Mom, that is ridiculous.”