the theater’s rear rose to better his view, but the screen denied it, refusing to let him gain a clear glimpse through the blur. “Is that supposed to mean something to me, Major?”
“Indeed it is, sir,” said the man in the theater’s front, and then he began to explain.
CHAPTER 9
Sal Belamo arranged the meeting for McCracken from his bedside. The effects of the bullet wound suffered the previous afternoon had left him stiff and uncomfortable after a restless night. He grimaced and dry-swallowed a pair of Percodans in the bedroom of the Grand Hyatt suite.
“You ask me, a guy could get to like this shit too much, he gets the chance.”
“What’d your man say about the bodies?” McCracken asked him.
“Nothing. Won’t talk on the phone, even after I tell him that’s the way it’s gotta be. He says in person or I can go fuck myself.”
“You tell him I was coming?”
Belamo smirked, eyes starting to grow glassy as the Percodans took hold. “I told him to look for a guy ’bout as pretty as me only ten years younger.”
McCracken walked the short distance from the Hyatt to the Broadway Deli on Forty-second, where Sergeant Ed Reese would be waiting for him. Blaine didn’t need
Belamo’s description to spot the cop; a fat man in a cheap khaki overcoat was sitting with his counter stool hal-cocked toward the door when he stepped into the deli. He gave McCracken a disinterested glance and went back to a jelly doughnut which leaked all the way to his lips. Took a big slurp of coffee next and left what didn’t reach his mouth pooling in the saucer. Reese had hair that was slicked down in the front and stood upright in the back. His eyes looked tired and drained, but confident.
McCracken was a yard away when Reese threw him another cursory glance and then started talking.
“Old Sal got himself shot, did he?”
“He did.”
“It’s happened before.”
Reese shifted his bulk enough on the stool to make it wobble.
“Got hit myself in Korea,” he explained, and slapped the upper part of his left leg. “Took it right in the hip. Part of the slug’s still in there. Bastard doctors couldn’t get it all.”
“You know Sal from Korea?”
Reese shook his head demonstratively. “Hell, no. He was into a whole different game and a lot better at it than I was. You?”
“Nam.”
“So I figured. Anyway, I got to know Little Sal after, while he was boxing. Bet on both Carlos Monzon fights.”
“Must have lost your shirt.”
“Nah! I took the odds and went with Monzon. What the hell, I figure. Guy’s never lost, it’s not gonna be Little Sal puts him on the mat.” Reese stuffed the rest of his doughnut into his mouth, chewed rapidly, and swallowed before he checked his watch. “You don’t mind, I want to be out of here fifteen minutes ago.”
“You ID those two shooters we iced?”
“Nope, and we’re not going to neither.” Reese stopped and looked around to see if anyone was watching before he took another doughnut from inside the glass container.
“’Cause the bodies are gone. Somebody lifted them right out of the ME’s office. Knocked the guard out and that was that.” He reached a hand into his sport jacket and it emerged holding a folded, coffee-stained envelope. “Preliminary report on the two stiffs is in here. Best I can do. Hey, they got something in common.”
“Other than having been stolen?”
“Try this out: Both of them were missing the lobes on their left ears.”
Blaine thought about that briefly. “What about the body found back on Lexington near Fifty-ninth Street?” referring to the man who had uttered a dying message to Johnny Wareagle, after switching briefcases with El-Salarabi.
“Had both his lobes still intact, that’s what you’re asking.”
“At least you didn’t lose his body too.”
Reese frowned. “Yeah, well, that guy lost most of his guts to somebody who knows how to use a killing knife.” Reese reached into his pocket and came out with
“Indeed it is, sir,” said the man in the theater’s front, and then he began to explain.
CHAPTER 9
Sal Belamo arranged the meeting for McCracken from his bedside. The effects of the bullet wound suffered the previous afternoon had left him stiff and uncomfortable after a restless night. He grimaced and dry-swallowed a pair of Percodans in the bedroom of the Grand Hyatt suite.
“You ask me, a guy could get to like this shit too much, he gets the chance.”
“What’d your man say about the bodies?” McCracken asked him.
“Nothing. Won’t talk on the phone, even after I tell him that’s the way it’s gotta be. He says in person or I can go fuck myself.”
“You tell him I was coming?”
Belamo smirked, eyes starting to grow glassy as the Percodans took hold. “I told him to look for a guy ’bout as pretty as me only ten years younger.”
McCracken walked the short distance from the Hyatt to the Broadway Deli on Forty-second, where Sergeant Ed Reese would be waiting for him. Blaine didn’t need
Belamo’s description to spot the cop; a fat man in a cheap khaki overcoat was sitting with his counter stool hal-cocked toward the door when he stepped into the deli. He gave McCracken a disinterested glance and went back to a jelly doughnut which leaked all the way to his lips. Took a big slurp of coffee next and left what didn’t reach his mouth pooling in the saucer. Reese had hair that was slicked down in the front and stood upright in the back. His eyes looked tired and drained, but confident.
McCracken was a yard away when Reese threw him another cursory glance and then started talking.
“Old Sal got himself shot, did he?”
“He did.”
“It’s happened before.”
Reese shifted his bulk enough on the stool to make it wobble.
“Got hit myself in Korea,” he explained, and slapped the upper part of his left leg. “Took it right in the hip. Part of the slug’s still in there. Bastard doctors couldn’t get it all.”
“You know Sal from Korea?”
Reese shook his head demonstratively. “Hell, no. He was into a whole different game and a lot better at it than I was. You?”
“Nam.”
“So I figured. Anyway, I got to know Little Sal after, while he was boxing. Bet on both Carlos Monzon fights.”
“Must have lost your shirt.”
“Nah! I took the odds and went with Monzon. What the hell, I figure. Guy’s never lost, it’s not gonna be Little Sal puts him on the mat.” Reese stuffed the rest of his doughnut into his mouth, chewed rapidly, and swallowed before he checked his watch. “You don’t mind, I want to be out of here fifteen minutes ago.”
“You ID those two shooters we iced?”
“Nope, and we’re not going to neither.” Reese stopped and looked around to see if anyone was watching before he took another doughnut from inside the glass container.
“’Cause the bodies are gone. Somebody lifted them right out of the ME’s office. Knocked the guard out and that was that.” He reached a hand into his sport jacket and it emerged holding a folded, coffee-stained envelope. “Preliminary report on the two stiffs is in here. Best I can do. Hey, they got something in common.”
“Other than having been stolen?”
“Try this out: Both of them were missing the lobes on their left ears.”
Blaine thought about that briefly. “What about the body found back on Lexington near Fifty-ninth Street?” referring to the man who had uttered a dying message to Johnny Wareagle, after switching briefcases with El-Salarabi.
“Had both his lobes still intact, that’s what you’re asking.”
“At least you didn’t lose his body too.”
Reese frowned. “Yeah, well, that guy lost most of his guts to somebody who knows how to use a killing knife.” Reese reached into his pocket and came out with
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