Part 8 (1/2)
”An ambulance?”
She turned to her father, saw his s.h.i.+rt darkening around his hands, staining through his jacket.
”Dad?”
”Frankie. Go!” He breathed hard. ”Now. Run.”
And she ran.
She ran and she ran like the Gingerbread Man.
There was a knock on the LT's door and Silvester poked her head in. ”I talked to my Loo. You wanna ride over to Queens with me?”
Frank pushed a hand through her hair. ”Yeah. I'd like that.”
”Let's go.”
Frank scooped the papers into the folder, pa.s.sing it back to Annie as they walked down the hall.
”Anything?”
”No,” Frank said. ”Nothing.”
Annie dropped the folder on her desk. ”Here.” She handed Frank the jars and their paperwork. ”You're deputized. Let's go sign out a car. Maybe we can even get one with tires and a steering wheel. Psh. The c.r.a.p they make us drive. Half the time they break down in the middle of rush hour and the other half they don't even start.”
They got a plain brown Buick that choked to life, shaking like a wet dog.
”Cross your fingers,” Annie muttered.
Leaving the lot she dug a pack of espres...o...b..ans from her purse and held them out to Frank.
”No, thanks.”
Annie popped a handful, smirking, ”Legal speed.”
”Need somethin' on this job.”
”Tell me about it.” She chewed, her dark eyes roving the street. ”Franco? Is that Italian?”
”Nah. Spanish. Spanish-German on my father's side. Norwegian-Dutch on my mother's. You?”
”Eye-talian. True and true.”
Frank deciphered ”true and true” as through and through.
”I been called everything-guinea, dago, wop, greaser-I didn't know my name was Annie until I was six. My father's side of the family is from Naples and my mother's from Salerno.”
”Ever been?”
”No.” Annie grew wistful. ”I've always wanted to go, but I've never had the time. You know how it is. Kids, the Job.” She shrugged. ”You got kids?”
”Nope.”
”I got two. Ben and Lisa. They're good kids, despite me. Lisa's at NYU-wants to be a lawyer. Can you imagine? My own daughter. Her brother's a chef. You ever heard of Gramercy Tavern, up on East Twentieth?”
”Uh-uh.”
”Oh, it's a nice place. Very fancy. They got foie gras and quail, salmon cooked in salt. They got eighty-five types of cheeses. My son's the grill chef.”
”Quite an accomplishment.”
”Let me tell ya, he didn't get his talent from me. That's for sure. I cook outta a box. If mere weren't Kraft macaroni and cheese my kids woulda starved to death. Musta skipped a generation, cause my mother's baked ziti? To die for!”
Grizzled clouds spit snow, the flakes melting as they hit the winds.h.i.+eld.
Jutting her chin skyward, Annie said, ”Supposed to be more of this.”
”I heard. Guess I better pick up a real jacket somewhere.”
”You stickin' around a while?”
”Yeah. At least until we get the print results back. Then ...” Frank flipped a hand, checking Annie's profile. ”What about talking to someone at the cemetery? If you don't have time, I could do it. Ask around, see if the groundskeepers have seen anyone at the grave, if there's been things left there before? If so, how often? Stuff like that.”
Annie nodded, covering the street. ”I got this kid I'm workin'.
That's my priority, but maybe we can take a run out there when this breaks. Or you could ask on your own, let me know what you find out.”
”All right.”
They drove and watched, keeping one ear on the street, the other on dispatch chatter.
As the snow acc.u.mulated Annie said, ”It's starting to stick. Bet you wish you were home now, huh?”
”Nah, I like it. I miss the city. I think it's prettier than LA.”
”Prettier? New York? Come on.”
”You're right. Pretty is for flowers. New York isn't pretty. It's ... good-looking. It's handsome. Makes you stop and stare, you know? I like that no one smiles here. Until they know you. In LA everyone smiles. Until they know you.”
Annie chuckled. ”If New York was a woman it'd be Madeline Albright.”
”Yeah.” Frank thought. ”If LA was a woman it'd be Britney Spears.”
Annie banged the wheel and laughed. ”How about this? If New York was a dog it'd be a pit bull. Straight outta Harlem.”
”If LA were a dog it'd be a papillon.”