horn and talked Darla into picking me up in the van to go meet someone I’d long wanted to meet.
It was a long shot, but Nixon Deebee was as near a legend as you got, at least in the sport of falconry. A retired game warden, he lived on a small farm near West Point and kept anywhere from five to ten hawks and falcons, depending on the year and the results of his captive breeding operation. From what I’d heard, Deebee had a contract with New York City to help rid the parks of pigeons by bringing his hawk in to fly to the lure. He wasn’t the only person performing such services. A much bigger outfit used falcons as part of a comprehensive program to keep the runways at Kennedy Airport clear of migrating birds. And around the world, dozens of other falconers had been hired by various municipalities to deal with similar problems.
Darla was outfitted for battle this morning. She wore a white Polo shirt tucked into blue jeans, which served to reinforce her bulk. Handcuffs and pepper spray hung from her belt, and her Glock was tucked neatly into its holster beneath her seat where she could easily reach it. She had a line on a bail jumper in White Plains, and she was hoping we could take a run at him on the way back from the farm. Not her usual line of work, especially on a holiday, but the call had come in on her service the day before, her kids were gone to her sister’s, and money was money.
“You hear any more from Marbush about what they found at the murder scene last night?” I asked as we cruised up the Saw Mill River Parkway.
She shook her head. “Nada.”
“Probably keeping us out of the loop.”
“Probably.”
“You ever work with any PIs back when you were on the force?”
“Never.”
“Me neither.”
She said nothing.
“After we finish with Deebee,” I said, “since we’re up in the area anyway, I thought you might want to take a swing by and show me Watisi’s manor.”
Darla chuckled. “I figured you might have an ulterior motive in this little wild goose chase. Like I told you, it’ll probably be a waste of time. But we can take a run by there, if you want, on the way to track down my claim jumper.”
“What did Lonigan say when you told her about the shootings in the park?”
“She said it makes her more worried than ever about Watisi.”
“Obviously something strange is going on here. When we get back to the city, Nicky and I will head uptown, see what we more can find out about Los Miembros and any ties they might have to Watisi. Nothing to stop us from trying to find out whatever we can about the dead men too.”
“Just try to stay out of Marbush’s way,” she said.
“Will do.”
“Tell me some more about this bird guy we’re going to see and this raptor fascination you all are into,” she said. “You guys all obsessed with eagles, or knights and lords and ladies or something?”
“Not quite,” I said.
“So it’s a big bird. You take the thing and what, you train it to kill stuff for you?”
“Sort of. More often than not the bird trains you.”
“The bird trains you?”
“Birds already have the instinct to chase and hunt game when they come out of the egg.”
“No kidding.”
“Most birds of prey know more about hunting and survival than any idiot with a rifle will ever know.”
“So you’re against hunting with a gun? Is that what you’ve got against Watisi?”
“Not at all. I’m just saying, why have the artificial experience when you can get up close and personal with the real thing?”
She shook her head. “You people are out there, I’ll give you that. You think this Deebee character knows anything about our falconer in the park?”
“I have no idea, but he knows more about the parks and falconry than anyone else in the region and he might have heard something that can help us.”
“Okay. If you say so.”
We drove on in silence. Half an hour later our tires crunched onto a rock strewn dirt road that led off the state highway into
It was a long shot, but Nixon Deebee was as near a legend as you got, at least in the sport of falconry. A retired game warden, he lived on a small farm near West Point and kept anywhere from five to ten hawks and falcons, depending on the year and the results of his captive breeding operation. From what I’d heard, Deebee had a contract with New York City to help rid the parks of pigeons by bringing his hawk in to fly to the lure. He wasn’t the only person performing such services. A much bigger outfit used falcons as part of a comprehensive program to keep the runways at Kennedy Airport clear of migrating birds. And around the world, dozens of other falconers had been hired by various municipalities to deal with similar problems.
Darla was outfitted for battle this morning. She wore a white Polo shirt tucked into blue jeans, which served to reinforce her bulk. Handcuffs and pepper spray hung from her belt, and her Glock was tucked neatly into its holster beneath her seat where she could easily reach it. She had a line on a bail jumper in White Plains, and she was hoping we could take a run at him on the way back from the farm. Not her usual line of work, especially on a holiday, but the call had come in on her service the day before, her kids were gone to her sister’s, and money was money.
“You hear any more from Marbush about what they found at the murder scene last night?” I asked as we cruised up the Saw Mill River Parkway.
She shook her head. “Nada.”
“Probably keeping us out of the loop.”
“Probably.”
“You ever work with any PIs back when you were on the force?”
“Never.”
“Me neither.”
She said nothing.
“After we finish with Deebee,” I said, “since we’re up in the area anyway, I thought you might want to take a swing by and show me Watisi’s manor.”
Darla chuckled. “I figured you might have an ulterior motive in this little wild goose chase. Like I told you, it’ll probably be a waste of time. But we can take a run by there, if you want, on the way to track down my claim jumper.”
“What did Lonigan say when you told her about the shootings in the park?”
“She said it makes her more worried than ever about Watisi.”
“Obviously something strange is going on here. When we get back to the city, Nicky and I will head uptown, see what we more can find out about Los Miembros and any ties they might have to Watisi. Nothing to stop us from trying to find out whatever we can about the dead men too.”
“Just try to stay out of Marbush’s way,” she said.
“Will do.”
“Tell me some more about this bird guy we’re going to see and this raptor fascination you all are into,” she said. “You guys all obsessed with eagles, or knights and lords and ladies or something?”
“Not quite,” I said.
“So it’s a big bird. You take the thing and what, you train it to kill stuff for you?”
“Sort of. More often than not the bird trains you.”
“The bird trains you?”
“Birds already have the instinct to chase and hunt game when they come out of the egg.”
“No kidding.”
“Most birds of prey know more about hunting and survival than any idiot with a rifle will ever know.”
“So you’re against hunting with a gun? Is that what you’ve got against Watisi?”
“Not at all. I’m just saying, why have the artificial experience when you can get up close and personal with the real thing?”
She shook her head. “You people are out there, I’ll give you that. You think this Deebee character knows anything about our falconer in the park?”
“I have no idea, but he knows more about the parks and falconry than anyone else in the region and he might have heard something that can help us.”
“Okay. If you say so.”
We drove on in silence. Half an hour later our tires crunched onto a rock strewn dirt road that led off the state highway into
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