CAPRIATI'S BLOOD (ALTON RHODE MYSTERIES Book 1) by Lawrence de Maria
Authors: Lawrence de Maria
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insurance? If they report it and I don’t, I could get screwed.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it. They left the scene.”
“Oh, yeah. Right.”
By this time we were both thoroughly soaked and cars were beeping at us. We looked at each other and then both said “fuck it” and went to our respective cars and drove away.
I hadn’t eaten since the morning so I stopped at Tug’s, a waterfront restaurant on Richmond Terrace a few blocks from my house. It was early for dinner so I scored a table with a nice view of the Kill van Kull. The Yokahama Maru would have passed right in front of the window where I sat sipping a Guinness stout and eating fish and chips. Of course, it would have been the entire view. After I finished eating I went home to watch some football and catch up on my sleep. It promised to be a busy week.
CHAPTER 9 – CLAPPER
The next morning I worked the Internet some more at home and didn’t find out anything else. Then I called Dave Clapper at Wagner and told him what I needed.
“That kind of information is strictly confidential,” he said.
“How long?”
“Give me an hour, hour and a half, tops.”
Enough time for another run to the King’s Arms, where I ordered juice, coffee and a bagel. I called Alice Watts on her cell while I ate. Got a recording. After the beep I said, “I decided to slow down our relationship, which is why I didn’t call you yesterday. I’ll be at Wagner today. If you are around, how about a platonic cup of coffee? If that’s too daring, perhaps we could just wave to each other across the quad.”
I left my name and number. I thought about calling her home as well, but that would have ruined the poetry of the cell message.
When I got to Wagner College, I parked in the visitors’ lot across Howard Avenue and headed over to Ithan Hall, which was the name of the school’s new administration building, cutting across the wide lawn that is the centerpiece of the campus. Many college campuses are beautiful, but Wagner still surprises. It looks as if someone dropped New England onto Staten Island. Broad green expanses, tall trees, ivy covered buildings, rolling hillsides. And glittering in the distance, framed by the valley cut by glaciers in one of the Ice Ages, sat New York Harbor in all its glory. The only campus I’d seen that could compete was Cornell. But Manhattan was 30 minutes away from where I stood. Cornell was upstate in Ithaca, where they made good shotguns but lousy Saturday nights.
It was a splendid day and there were plenty of students out and about, walking between classes carrying books, sitting on benches or under trees and generally not wasting the best years of their lives. Good for them. They weren’t all scraggly dressed, which surprised me. I paid particular attention to the co-eds, and was rewarded by a few who gave me it’s not likely pal but it’s possible smiles that made my day.
The designers of Ithan Hall had tried to conform to the architecture of the surrounding buildings, some of which were almost a hundred years old and wouldn’t have looked out of place at Oxford. To their credit, they had mostly succeeded. The building looked new, lacked arches and turrets, and had too much glass, but at least it didn’t stick out on the campus like tits on a bull. It would even be better once the ivy got going. Maybe the Botanical Garden student interns could do something about that.
Inside everything looked like the starship Enterprise. Dave’s office is on the first floor, just outside the college president’s. I could hear his voice through Bradley’s partly closed door. A middle-aged woman looked me over with a friendly but non-committal gaze from behind a wraparound desk. I was too old and too well dressed to be a student, but just about the right age for a parent or, better still, a well-heeled alumnus.
“May I help you?”
“My name is Rhode. Dave Clapper is expecting me.”
“Oh yes, the Commander mentioned it.
“I wouldn’t worry about it. They left the scene.”
“Oh, yeah. Right.”
By this time we were both thoroughly soaked and cars were beeping at us. We looked at each other and then both said “fuck it” and went to our respective cars and drove away.
I hadn’t eaten since the morning so I stopped at Tug’s, a waterfront restaurant on Richmond Terrace a few blocks from my house. It was early for dinner so I scored a table with a nice view of the Kill van Kull. The Yokahama Maru would have passed right in front of the window where I sat sipping a Guinness stout and eating fish and chips. Of course, it would have been the entire view. After I finished eating I went home to watch some football and catch up on my sleep. It promised to be a busy week.
CHAPTER 9 – CLAPPER
The next morning I worked the Internet some more at home and didn’t find out anything else. Then I called Dave Clapper at Wagner and told him what I needed.
“That kind of information is strictly confidential,” he said.
“How long?”
“Give me an hour, hour and a half, tops.”
Enough time for another run to the King’s Arms, where I ordered juice, coffee and a bagel. I called Alice Watts on her cell while I ate. Got a recording. After the beep I said, “I decided to slow down our relationship, which is why I didn’t call you yesterday. I’ll be at Wagner today. If you are around, how about a platonic cup of coffee? If that’s too daring, perhaps we could just wave to each other across the quad.”
I left my name and number. I thought about calling her home as well, but that would have ruined the poetry of the cell message.
When I got to Wagner College, I parked in the visitors’ lot across Howard Avenue and headed over to Ithan Hall, which was the name of the school’s new administration building, cutting across the wide lawn that is the centerpiece of the campus. Many college campuses are beautiful, but Wagner still surprises. It looks as if someone dropped New England onto Staten Island. Broad green expanses, tall trees, ivy covered buildings, rolling hillsides. And glittering in the distance, framed by the valley cut by glaciers in one of the Ice Ages, sat New York Harbor in all its glory. The only campus I’d seen that could compete was Cornell. But Manhattan was 30 minutes away from where I stood. Cornell was upstate in Ithaca, where they made good shotguns but lousy Saturday nights.
It was a splendid day and there were plenty of students out and about, walking between classes carrying books, sitting on benches or under trees and generally not wasting the best years of their lives. Good for them. They weren’t all scraggly dressed, which surprised me. I paid particular attention to the co-eds, and was rewarded by a few who gave me it’s not likely pal but it’s possible smiles that made my day.
The designers of Ithan Hall had tried to conform to the architecture of the surrounding buildings, some of which were almost a hundred years old and wouldn’t have looked out of place at Oxford. To their credit, they had mostly succeeded. The building looked new, lacked arches and turrets, and had too much glass, but at least it didn’t stick out on the campus like tits on a bull. It would even be better once the ivy got going. Maybe the Botanical Garden student interns could do something about that.
Inside everything looked like the starship Enterprise. Dave’s office is on the first floor, just outside the college president’s. I could hear his voice through Bradley’s partly closed door. A middle-aged woman looked me over with a friendly but non-committal gaze from behind a wraparound desk. I was too old and too well dressed to be a student, but just about the right age for a parent or, better still, a well-heeled alumnus.
“May I help you?”
“My name is Rhode. Dave Clapper is expecting me.”
“Oh yes, the Commander mentioned it.
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