you’re working for for.” Making fun of his deer-in-theheadlights admission.
He got in the car and thought for a second about just driving off, leaving Gloria at the curb. But what would that get him? He reached across the seat and unlocked her door. Gloria slid in and turned toward him, giving him a glimpse of trim ankles, tight black leotards curving up under the coat.
“If you don’t, I’ll rat you out. I’ll tell my father about you sitting in your big black car, and you’ll look like a dope.”
“Well, he was the one who hired us, so I don’t know how far you’ll get with that.”
It came out meaner than he’d intended, but she didn’t flinch. “My father, huh?”
“He said he was worried about you.”
“That’s rich. There’s only one person he worries about these days, and it’s not me. Anyway, how much fun do you think it is, feeling like someone’s watching you all the time?”
How long had she been on to him? Jarkey turned and blinked at her. A smile began in her eyes and moved to her mouth— mischievous, conspiratorial.
Jarkey wasn’t having any. “I know what the deal is, Gloria.”
“What’s the deal?”
“About what you and Gallagher are doing to those poor dopes who think they’re going to start a revolution.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Come off it.The photos are sitting in Kelly’s office right now. The negatives are somewhere else.”
“Photos of what?”
“Photos of your boyfriend walking out of the downtown field office of the FBI. Photos of you talking to him an hour later.”
Her face went blank, then white. At that moment he saw that her features were quite delicate—exquisite, actually, in a way that belied her glib toughness. Then they bunched themselves into the deepest scowl. She said, “Shit,” once, softly, and turned from him, toward the passenger door.
That was when Jarkey fell for her.
An American Place
K
elly spent a few hours in his office assembling the information he’d gathered, which consisted of the photographs Jarkey had taken, each one with the date and time printed in a white rectangle at the bottom, to correspond with his field notes.The man was brilliant. As he sifted through them Kelly thought back on what he’d seen of Gloria at Lloyd’s party. It was hard to imagine a rich girl like her working as a stoolie for the FBI. Harder still to imagine why she’d do such a thing. Whatever the reasons, it was a risky place for her to be. Her father would not be happy to hear about it. But he was going to hear it anyway, and soon. Kelly dialed Mundi’s office and made an appointment for late afternoon. Then he took a long, hot shower.
Kelly’s office, with its efficiency unit adjoining, was in a venerable building on the corner of Fifty-Third and Madison. The place had formerly been occupied by a shady business type who, after a wrangle with the IRS, was forced by bankruptcy to vacate. Mr. Hurst, the landlord, then cut Kelly a deal on the remainder of the lease. The truth was, Hurst owed him. He’d hired the detective when he’d begun to suspect his soon-to-be third wife of serious gold-digging. Kelly ( Jarkey, actually) had uncovered a forgotten husband to whom, it seemed, she was still married. Hence the break on the office.
As he buttoned his shirt, Kelly thought about Mr. Hurst and his encyclopedic knowledge of Manhattan real estate, how he must’ve known Richard Mundi back in the old days. He might even have something to add to Sandy’s sad narrative and the stark facts contained in the clippings Jarkey had gathered. He picked up the phone.
Fortunately Mr. Hurst was just about to step out for his daily constitutional when Kelly called. They met on the corner of Fifth and Seventy-Sixth, and hiked together up to the Met where, with no one but yawning guards to overhear them, they discussed Richard Mundi.
Mundi, Hurst recalled, had married Agnes Day at the beginning of his career.There’d been a society wedding, quite a do.
He got in the car and thought for a second about just driving off, leaving Gloria at the curb. But what would that get him? He reached across the seat and unlocked her door. Gloria slid in and turned toward him, giving him a glimpse of trim ankles, tight black leotards curving up under the coat.
“If you don’t, I’ll rat you out. I’ll tell my father about you sitting in your big black car, and you’ll look like a dope.”
“Well, he was the one who hired us, so I don’t know how far you’ll get with that.”
It came out meaner than he’d intended, but she didn’t flinch. “My father, huh?”
“He said he was worried about you.”
“That’s rich. There’s only one person he worries about these days, and it’s not me. Anyway, how much fun do you think it is, feeling like someone’s watching you all the time?”
How long had she been on to him? Jarkey turned and blinked at her. A smile began in her eyes and moved to her mouth— mischievous, conspiratorial.
Jarkey wasn’t having any. “I know what the deal is, Gloria.”
“What’s the deal?”
“About what you and Gallagher are doing to those poor dopes who think they’re going to start a revolution.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Come off it.The photos are sitting in Kelly’s office right now. The negatives are somewhere else.”
“Photos of what?”
“Photos of your boyfriend walking out of the downtown field office of the FBI. Photos of you talking to him an hour later.”
Her face went blank, then white. At that moment he saw that her features were quite delicate—exquisite, actually, in a way that belied her glib toughness. Then they bunched themselves into the deepest scowl. She said, “Shit,” once, softly, and turned from him, toward the passenger door.
That was when Jarkey fell for her.
An American Place
K
elly spent a few hours in his office assembling the information he’d gathered, which consisted of the photographs Jarkey had taken, each one with the date and time printed in a white rectangle at the bottom, to correspond with his field notes.The man was brilliant. As he sifted through them Kelly thought back on what he’d seen of Gloria at Lloyd’s party. It was hard to imagine a rich girl like her working as a stoolie for the FBI. Harder still to imagine why she’d do such a thing. Whatever the reasons, it was a risky place for her to be. Her father would not be happy to hear about it. But he was going to hear it anyway, and soon. Kelly dialed Mundi’s office and made an appointment for late afternoon. Then he took a long, hot shower.
Kelly’s office, with its efficiency unit adjoining, was in a venerable building on the corner of Fifty-Third and Madison. The place had formerly been occupied by a shady business type who, after a wrangle with the IRS, was forced by bankruptcy to vacate. Mr. Hurst, the landlord, then cut Kelly a deal on the remainder of the lease. The truth was, Hurst owed him. He’d hired the detective when he’d begun to suspect his soon-to-be third wife of serious gold-digging. Kelly ( Jarkey, actually) had uncovered a forgotten husband to whom, it seemed, she was still married. Hence the break on the office.
As he buttoned his shirt, Kelly thought about Mr. Hurst and his encyclopedic knowledge of Manhattan real estate, how he must’ve known Richard Mundi back in the old days. He might even have something to add to Sandy’s sad narrative and the stark facts contained in the clippings Jarkey had gathered. He picked up the phone.
Fortunately Mr. Hurst was just about to step out for his daily constitutional when Kelly called. They met on the corner of Fifth and Seventy-Sixth, and hiked together up to the Met where, with no one but yawning guards to overhear them, they discussed Richard Mundi.
Mundi, Hurst recalled, had married Agnes Day at the beginning of his career.There’d been a society wedding, quite a do.
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