In This Rain (11 page)

“The drawing you give me. For the first job? What to take out from where? Of the— ”

“Shit. The kid made copies?”

“Don’t know if it’s true. T.D. say so.”

“Did T.D. say where they are?”

“Nah.”

“Do you have any idea?”

“Maybe. I been checking on it for you, already. Got someone to see, later on.”

“Do you? Where?”

“What you care? You gonna walk up and ring the doorbell, ask for ’em? You want ’em, you gonna need me to get ’em for you.”

“You may not be the best man for the job. Not so soon after this.”

“Then I do it later.”

“Are they at his place?”

“Don’t worry, I find out.”

The guy smiled again. A weird smile, different from usual. “No, Kong, I don’t think so. Sorry about this; you do good work.”

“About what?”

But he didn’t need to ask that. The Boss pulled his hand, that nervous hand, from his pocket. Kong saw the sun gleam off the .45, heard the crash of the bullet busting out, felt the slam in his chest all at the exact same time. The second one, too. And he thought maybe a third. But he never did know.

Sutton Place

“Oh, what great good luck, a visit from the Ice Queen.”

“Quite the pose, leaning casually on a mantel full of trophies, Walter,” said Ann. “But the smoking jacket’s pretentious.”

The maid who’d glanced nervously at the badge clipped to Ann’s coat retreated hastily down the carpeted hall of the Park Avenue penthouse, leaving them alone.

Glybenhall smiled. “I’ll take your word for it, Ann; you’re the expert on flamboyance. Though I seem to recall you liking my smoking jackets, long ago.”

“I never liked anything about you.”

“I fear that’s not true, but if it’s what you tell yourself, I shan’t argue. So, am I to understand this is an official call? That the minions of the law work tirelessly, even on Sundays? Or perhaps that was just a ploy to get into my sanctum. Are you hoping to get lucky, Ann?”

“If I were, I wouldn’t have come here.”

Ann navigated the huge room, edging around an overstuffed sofa and a thick-legged coffee table. A niche beside the fireplace held a grandfather clock.

Once, long ago, Ann had walked into the apartment Glybenhall maintained in Zurich. Every detail of what she’d seen that morning was burned into her memory. She’d loathed heavy furniture and grandfather clocks ever since.

“Have a seat, my dear.”

“I’ll stand. Walter, I’m here because I’m investigating you.”

“Is that a fact?” He sat in a studded leather armchair and smoothed the maroon silk of his jacket. “Well, Charlie Barr did say that the city would be forced to go through the motions of looking at me with concern, because of that unfortunate situation in the Bronx.” He paused, which Ann assumed was to allow the echoes of “Charlie Barr” to die down. “But he didn’t advise me that when someone did come barging in here, it would be on a Sunday and it would be you. Nor that being ‘looked at’ would include the privilege of being near enough to sniff your perfume. Hanae Mori, isn’t it?”

“No.”

“Oh. I could have sworn

” Walter shrugged. “That vulgar badge aside, you’re looking quite decorative, I must say.”

“Drop it, Walter. I’m here on business.”

“I wouldn’t be quite so quick to turn down a compliment if I were you. Your mother never has been.”

“My mother’s mistakes in judgment are legendary. What’s going on in Mott Haven?”

“Investigating Walter Glybenhall.” He eyed her speculatively. “What a plum this must be, in your world. Did you have to sleep with very many people to get it?”

Ann stood perfectly still, feeling the hot blood surge into her face, knowing Glybenhall could see it. In a voice of ice she said, “Mott Haven?”

“I beg your pardon, Ann. I don’t doubt you’re doing God’s work, as ever, but on whose authority? I find I can’t keep up with your rapid-fire changes of situation. However hard I try.”

She unclipped the badge from her coat’s lapel and dropped it on the coffee table.

He leaned forward to view it. “DOI? Isn’t the mandate of that agency corruption within the municipal ranks?”

“And the corrupters.”

He smiled. “And it would so please you if that were I! Well, I’m sorry I can’t provide you with that thrill, especially as you won’t allow me to offer you any other. Nevertheless, I shall try to help.” The smile abruptly disappeared. “At Mott Haven, work on my site is being deliberately disrupted in an attempt to cost me both time and money.”

“God, you really are the center of your own universe, aren’t you, Walter? Five bricklayers were hurt, and a firefighter, and a woman by the name of Harriet Winston was killed. Does that ring a bell?”

“Those unfortunate outcomes are what I believe is called collateral damage. I and my finances were clearly the intended target.”

“That’s one interpretation. Another is that these men’s injuries and Mrs. Winston’s death are the result of sloppiness, corner-cutting, and rushed work that you’re paying people not to see. In other words, you and your finances are not the victim, you’re the cause.”

“My dear girl, I’ve been in this business for many years. Accidents are rare on my sites, and I have never had a fatality before this.”

A Vivaldi theme playing too fast on an electronic chip pierced the air. Glybenhall reached for the phone on the side table, his eyes still on Ann. “Is he really?” he said into it, then, “No, I can’t right now, I’m having too much fun. Tell him fifteen minutes. Oh, will he? Well, it can’t be helped. Yes, all right, tell the mayor I’ll meet him at six. Thank you.”

“Walter, if that was to impress me, it didn’t work,” Ann said as Glybenhall hung up.

“Good grief, why would I bother? Where were we?”

“You were about to give me your theory on why someone would disrupt your work.”

“Ah, yes. To cause me to lose money?”

“As I understand it, you’re already losing money at Mott Haven.”

“Who told you that?”

“The grapevine. I’ve subpoenaed your records but the pattern’s clear.”

“There was no need for a subpoena, you know. We’ve offered to open our books.”

“So I heard. But I wanted to go by the rules.”

“How unlike you.”

“And offering to open your books seemed unlike you. So tell me, is it true?”

He shrugged. “Losing money and losing a lot of money are quite different.”

“It is true, then.”

“Yes, it is. That’s real estate development: some days you eat the bear, some days the bear eats you. As long as everyone’s fed.”

“There’s no way you’re that complacent about losing a fortune, Walter.”

“Sit down, Ann. This is unpleasant, to have you looming this way.”

She waited a long moment, then sat across from him, on the sofa.

“And you’ll take off your coat?”

“Don’t get greedy.”

“Well, then. Listen closely, my child, while I explain real estate development to you. Projects such as Mott Haven are complicated. Because of the inclusion of the low-income component, the tax structure is complex. Certain advantages will offset losses in other areas, et cetera. As long as one doesn’t lose a lot of money, one can lose and actually come out ahead.”

“As I understand it, this is the first time you’ve done a low-income development. You don’t usually even bother with residential except when it’s attached to a resort or a mall.”

“I do not build malls,” he said flatly. “I create retail experiences. But I’m pleased to find you so current with my work, and I apologize for not being so with yours.”

“Oh, mine wouldn’t interest you, it’s all about law and justice. Tell me, what made you decide to do something as out of character as Mott Haven?”

“I suppose I was looking for a challenge.”

“Baloney. You never take risks, Walter.”

“And nor do you, for all your physical daring. What’s in Mott Haven for me, darling Ann, is the possibility of accomplishing something I’d been told could not be done: building a profitable development in a marginal neighborhood. Trump’s never done it, nor that goon Kalikow, nor Silverstein: they’ve never even tried. Glybenhall will do it, and I’ll end up with a handsome New York City project for my ever-growing portfolio.”

“Ah. This is your chance to play with the big boys.”

“Is the aim of that remark to make me so angry that I lose control and immediately confess to whatever malfeasance you’re accusing me of? Which would be exactly what, by the way?”

“That your claim of sabotage is a smoke screen. That the three accidents at Mott Haven are the result of corners you’re cutting that you’re bribing city inspectors not to see.”

“You disappoint me, but then you always have. Why would I do that?”

“To keep from losing a lot of money.”

“Allow me to point out that on a job such as this, time is money. Since these accidents began, my schedule has been thrown into disarray by inspectors and police officers crawling all over my site.”

“A plan gone awry.”

“My plans do not go awry. But, if it relieves your mind, be assured all my employees have been given a severe talking-to, in which the limits of acceptable behavior were clearly laid out.”

“And those limits are?”

“Their dealings with public officials must be unimpeachable. All forms are to be filled out, all permits applied for, and all approvals received.”

“ ‘Public officials.’ Lying, cheating, and stealing in the private realm are acceptable?”

“Whatever the case in the private realm, my darling, that’s none of DOI’s business.”

“Is that so?”

“Am I wrong?”

“Technically, no. But if I— ”

“If you overstep, my dear Ann, you’ll be putting me in a very awkward position.”

“Walter! That wouldn’t be a threat, would it?”

“Of course not. Unless the prospect of discomfiting me fills you with dread.”

“On the contrary.”

“As I suspected. In fact, like the others of your kind who’ve been badgering me since these accidents began, you find me quite an attractive villain.”

“Actually, I find very little about you attractive.”

“So you’ve always maintained, though more stridently than convincingly. In any case, as to villainy, I’m a wealthy white man, irritatingly educated, not discernibly ethnic. I’m the perfect public enemy in this rainbow-coalition city.”

“You think that’s what this is about? Looking for a scapegoat?”

“What else?”

“Finding the truth?”

“You may be naive enough to believe that, but your superiors certainly aren’t.”

“No one’s out to get you, Walter.”

“Except possibly yourself, with your unhealthy inability to separate me from your sad father’s fate.”

Ann’s stomach twisted. She fought a sudden need to jump up off the sofa, to move. “Walter, it’s been years since you could get a rise out of me by mentioning my father.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. I think that’s precisely why this assignment is so gratifying to you. You know, if it weren’t such a terrible cliché, I’d tell you how lovely you are when you’re angry. Your cheeks and your eyes are positively glowing; you’re nearly as lovely as your mother once was. Now, if there’s nothing else I can do for you

?”

Ann stood. “You haven’t done anything for me yet. But I didn’t come here thinking you would.”

“Then why come?”

“To let you know I’m watching you.”

“O lucky man, to be watched over by you. Now, adieu. Until we meet again.”

“Count on it, Walter.” Ann strode across the priceless carpet, turned at the door. “Count on it.”

Heart’s Content

Joe spent the hours of the late afternoon ripping poison ivy off the slope to the creek. Snowdrops had sprinkled that hill when he’d first seen it, and he’d discovered crocuses and glory-of-the-snow nestled between tree roots. Beautiful, but small and low. He had an idea of a hillside of jonquils and anemones, planted in clumps this fall and blooming next spring, naturalizing through the years, popping up in places he hadn’t put them, going wherever they wanted to be. And he thought he might try a new white forsythia he’d read about, for the edge of the wood. It was said to be a very early bloomer, pale pearl flowers on red stems bursting open on a cold gray day in March, one of those days when you’re afraid that this is finally the year spring will not come.

He’d bundled the poison ivy stems, the roots and runners, and stuffed them into plastic bags and hauled them to the roadside for the county to pick up. He usually burned garden debris but you can’t burn poison ivy; in some people, the smoke hits lungs as the sap does skin. He’d labeled each bag. Some people were so allergic they shouldn’t even handle the bags, in case sap from the gardener’s hands had coated them already. Ellie and Janet were both sensitive like that. He wasn’t, himself; poison ivy had never even given him a rash. At one point, the hillside behind him cleared of vines but twice as much in front of him, he’d paused to wipe sweat from his eyes and asked himself why he was doing this at all. He could plant around, beside, and under the stuff without a problem. But still, it had to go. Someone sensitive to it might come here to wander this hillside, among the narcissus.

He stripped off his gloves and left them in the shed. He started to rinse his hands and arms at the outdoor spigot, so as not to bring sap into the house. As the icy water hit his skin he shook his head at his own foolishness. Every day, he discovered yet another thread tying him to nothing.

He had more to do, but he was hungry. A quick dinner, and then back out. He slit open a package of salami, cut a tomato, spread mustard on bread. Sandwich made, beer in hand, now he had a problem.

Ann’s papers still covered the table.

In a last attempt to ensnare him she’d dumped photos and papers out and spread them. He’d refused to look at them; she’d refused to stick them back in the envelope and take them away. She’d walked out, leaving the cabin silent and empty but leaving her evidence behind.

For a moment he stood uneasily in the middle of the floor, as if the space between the counter and the table were a crossroads. But what turning could this pretend to be? What choice?