Part 6 (1/2)
”My own mother didn't even want to read it with that jacket. She saw the mock-up, she says-”
”Danny-”
”-says 'what kinda cover's this, Danny? Black, white, silver, no picture, no girls? Go beat some sense into them.”
”Danny-”
”Jacket approval.” Danny rolled up the doc.u.ment and took a few friendly swipes at Clive's chin.
”Could we get to our problem?”
”You mean, can I handle somethin' personal? I'm in-”
”No, no, not you yourself. Just recommend somebody. Put us in touch with someone. I know you're supposed to be in”-he'd almost said ”hiding,” then thought Danny wouldn't like that, so he changed it-”visible these days. You're keeping a very low profile. You might be out of touch-”
”Outta touch? h.e.l.l, no. It ain't safe to be outta touch.”
Clive thought it didn't look all that safe to be in touch.
”I know some guys might do me a favor. Me a favor: you, you pay, right? Ones I'm thinking of, it might take a few days. They make themselves hard to get ahold of.”
They? ”We only need one.”
Danny shook his head. ”Ones I'm thinking of work absolutely together. They're the best, don't leave no trail, nothing. Only they're particular. Well, that's what you want, ain't it? Wet work may be wet, but it don't have to leave a puddle. I guess I'm not surprised; I guess it was only a matter of time before they got in.”
Clive frowned. What was he talking about?
Danny took a long drag of his cigarette, flipped it, and watched it arc out over the river. ”h.e.l.l, if they're into spas these days, no reason they're not into publis.h.i.+ng. Makes sense, just look at the way publis.h.i.+ng's going. Big conglomerates taking over, big fish sucking up the little fish-”
Clive was still back on spas. Spas?
”-it was only a matter of time. I guess the mob don't miss nothin', right?”
”You mean, you think this is a mob thing?”
”Ain't it?”
”Not exactly. It's a, ah, publis.h.i.+ng thing.”
”Same difference. Meet me back here in a coupla hours. No, let's say midnight. Back here at midnight.”
”Come on, Danny, can't you simply give me a call?”
Danny just looked at him. ”Better to do it in person. These guys, they don't like their names bandied about over a cell phone. Back here.”
Clive sighed.
The dinner at Pastis had done something to restore Clive's flagging spirits, which were quickly dissipating again as he stood on the pier, beating his gloved hands against the cold.
Danny appeared again, fog bound. From somewhere came the deep, hollow growl of a boat.
”Candy and Karl. They'll meet you and Bobby Mackenzie two o'clock Friday at the RTR. They don't wanna do lunch, necessarily, but they'll have coffee, drinks, whatever. Get a banquette in the rear. They said.”
”That's the Russian Tea Room, Danny. It's closed.”
Danny's eyes widened; he stopped chewing his gum. ”Get outta here!”
”No, it's true. It shut down.”
”Jesus. You can't depend on nothin' anymore. Okay, Michael's, then. Only make sure Bobby gets a table near the front. Michael's is a swell restaurant only I remember me and Jerry Bransoni went in there once-that's when we were still talking-and they stuck us in the back room. I mean around the corner. As far back as you can get. The whole f.u.c.king Giancarlo family could have walked into Michael's and me and Jerry none the wiser. You'd think, my G.o.d, they'd be more careful, that maitre d' and all. The place coulda gone up in smoke.”
”I don't think Michael's gets all that many drive-bys, Danny.”
”Yeah, well all the same. Don't get the idea of meeting in some crumby coffee shop on Lex.”
”There are no crumby coffee shops in New York.”
Danny's gum traveled from one side of his mouth to the other. ”Just remember, these two, they're the creme de la creme.”
p.r.o.nounced, Clive noted, with a long e.
”Make 'em sit around the corner and I can't answer for what could happen.”
Oh, for G.o.d's sakes. Clive sighed and said, ”Look. Bobby won't get a table back there. He's too d.a.m.ned important.”
”In the window, maybe?” Danny was recklessly chewing his gum.
In another minute, Clive swore to himself he'd kick this guy into the Hudson and not look back. ”Maybe, maybe. But wouldn't it make more sense to meet somewhere private?”
”Like, you mean, here? Maybe in some dark alley? You see too many gangsta movies.” Danny twitched his shoulders to better settle his black cashmere coat. ”You're afraid they'll show up wearin' porkpie hats and yellow shoes?”
”Of course not.” Clive's laugh was stagy.
”In case you want to know for future reference, they get all their stuff at Armani or Faconnable.” He reached out and plucked a bit of fluff from Clive's lapel. ”As do I.” He pulled on his own lapel. ”Armani, this is. He makes good wpp clothes-grays and blacks, deconstructed-h.e.l.l, you could carry a Uzi.” Danny still had the contract and stuck it in an inside pocket. ”I never stopped, you know.”
What? Killing people? Clive took an involuntary step back.
Danny, though, was looking out across the river. ”I got maybe ten chapters going on this”-he patted his pocket-”so it's not like I'm going at it, you know, cold turkey.”
”Good. Look, I hope coming out here tonight hasn't, you know, compromised your, uh, safety.” What did these witness protection people do for G.o.d's sakes?
”You kidding? I go out all the time.”
”But isn't that dangerous? You've got a lot of people looking for you, surely. I mean, I would have thought remaining in New York pretty dangerous.”
Danny laughed, shook his head at, it would seem, Clive's ingenuousness. ”People see what they expect to see. Papa B, he expects to see me run like h.e.l.l. The Bransonis are looking for me all over the map-except in Manhattan. I live here, you know.” There was an inclination of his head toward the streets behind them.