the rest, I believe in them, you know? That's all I have. The rest, for me, OK, I don't mean to insult your religion, but for me, it's all bullshit. You want to do dinner, tonight?"
"If you get lucky." She kissed me and looked at her watch. "Christ, it's late. So make it a late dinner, OK? Come back around nine. No pizza, either. I'm cooking. I bought steak for the kids to take up to their grandmother and they left it. New York strip. Salad. Red wine."
"This could go great with steak," I said, and gave her the bottle Johnny gave me.
She looked at it. "Jeez, that's some helluva wine. You forgot to tell me what you were doing in Brooklyn so early in the morning."
"Can we talk about it later?"
"Sure," she said. Maxie was a pro; she knew if I had a case, I'd talk when I was ready. "So you have the keys I gave you, right? If I'm late, just let yourself in."
"Thanks."
"Listen, you can keep those keys, I mean in case you're ever working a case here and you need to crash and you don't want to go all the way back to the city, whatever." She stuttered some when she said it. "I mean no big deal, OK. Just if you want."
I put my arms around her. There was a lot I wanted to say, but I wasn't brave enough. I could work cases in bad places. I could chase bad guys with guns if I had to. I'd seen lousy stuff on the job. This was different. Harder.
"Thanks," was all I said. "That's really nice. Thank you."
6
"Where are you?" It was Sonny Lippert on my cell phone.
"On my way home."
"Stay there," he said. "I might need you later."
"What's going on?" I said but the line went dead.
The bridge was like spun silver behind me. On the hill above was the old fort which had been there since men in wigs and three-cornered hats made a revolution. The traffic was light and the sun blinding. I pulled my sunglasses out of my jacket pocket. It was cold and beautiful. The river was bright with sunlight, navy blue and silver, the way it gets in the winter, and there were chunks of ice jamming it up. The short trip, water always on my left, I felt I was in a boat. I drove without feeling the road under the tires, as if I was driving on water.
I wasn't sure why Sonny Lippert was so agitated, but it was Lippert who helped me get back on the job. Even before 9/11, I had wanted it. I hated the time when I worked as a private investigator. I tried it on my own; I had tried working for Keyes, one of the big security companies. I made more money, I had a fine health plan and an office and regular hours, but there was none of the stuff about being a New York cop that I'd always loved, even when I knew how much bullshit went down.
Keyes was mostly paperwork, bank accounts, corporate stuff; I learned my way around a paper trail, but I was bored. Anyway I could never get rid of the idea that being a private eye was something out of a B movie. Chandler, Ross MacDonald, Ellroy, those writers who did it brilliantly in books, but it wasn't like that for me. It was dull and lonely. I never got over missing the guys at work, the station house, the noise and smells, even if the pay was lousy.
"We had fun, didn't we?" a detective I know—I was at the academy with her—said after we both retired. We were sitting over a beer at Fanelli's and regretting it, that we'd left, and remembering the good times, except she had a husband and kids, so it was OK for her. Someone, probably Sonny Lippert whispering in his ear, bent the rules for me so I could go back even though I missed the one-year rule—you could go back on the job up to a year after you quit. I was twice as old as some of the new guys; it was OK.
Lippert took a risk on me. "You'll have to cool it," he'd said. "You'll have to play by the rules. My rules. You'll have to go where I need you, OK? You get it?"
I promised to be good and he got me my job. Nominally, I worked out of headquarters in Manhattan, but in reality I went wherever Sonny went. Ever since I had first worked for him at the Federal
"If you get lucky." She kissed me and looked at her watch. "Christ, it's late. So make it a late dinner, OK? Come back around nine. No pizza, either. I'm cooking. I bought steak for the kids to take up to their grandmother and they left it. New York strip. Salad. Red wine."
"This could go great with steak," I said, and gave her the bottle Johnny gave me.
She looked at it. "Jeez, that's some helluva wine. You forgot to tell me what you were doing in Brooklyn so early in the morning."
"Can we talk about it later?"
"Sure," she said. Maxie was a pro; she knew if I had a case, I'd talk when I was ready. "So you have the keys I gave you, right? If I'm late, just let yourself in."
"Thanks."
"Listen, you can keep those keys, I mean in case you're ever working a case here and you need to crash and you don't want to go all the way back to the city, whatever." She stuttered some when she said it. "I mean no big deal, OK. Just if you want."
I put my arms around her. There was a lot I wanted to say, but I wasn't brave enough. I could work cases in bad places. I could chase bad guys with guns if I had to. I'd seen lousy stuff on the job. This was different. Harder.
"Thanks," was all I said. "That's really nice. Thank you."
6
"Where are you?" It was Sonny Lippert on my cell phone.
"On my way home."
"Stay there," he said. "I might need you later."
"What's going on?" I said but the line went dead.
The bridge was like spun silver behind me. On the hill above was the old fort which had been there since men in wigs and three-cornered hats made a revolution. The traffic was light and the sun blinding. I pulled my sunglasses out of my jacket pocket. It was cold and beautiful. The river was bright with sunlight, navy blue and silver, the way it gets in the winter, and there were chunks of ice jamming it up. The short trip, water always on my left, I felt I was in a boat. I drove without feeling the road under the tires, as if I was driving on water.
I wasn't sure why Sonny Lippert was so agitated, but it was Lippert who helped me get back on the job. Even before 9/11, I had wanted it. I hated the time when I worked as a private investigator. I tried it on my own; I had tried working for Keyes, one of the big security companies. I made more money, I had a fine health plan and an office and regular hours, but there was none of the stuff about being a New York cop that I'd always loved, even when I knew how much bullshit went down.
Keyes was mostly paperwork, bank accounts, corporate stuff; I learned my way around a paper trail, but I was bored. Anyway I could never get rid of the idea that being a private eye was something out of a B movie. Chandler, Ross MacDonald, Ellroy, those writers who did it brilliantly in books, but it wasn't like that for me. It was dull and lonely. I never got over missing the guys at work, the station house, the noise and smells, even if the pay was lousy.
"We had fun, didn't we?" a detective I know—I was at the academy with her—said after we both retired. We were sitting over a beer at Fanelli's and regretting it, that we'd left, and remembering the good times, except she had a husband and kids, so it was OK for her. Someone, probably Sonny Lippert whispering in his ear, bent the rules for me so I could go back even though I missed the one-year rule—you could go back on the job up to a year after you quit. I was twice as old as some of the new guys; it was OK.
Lippert took a risk on me. "You'll have to cool it," he'd said. "You'll have to play by the rules. My rules. You'll have to go where I need you, OK? You get it?"
I promised to be good and he got me my job. Nominally, I worked out of headquarters in Manhattan, but in reality I went wherever Sonny went. Ever since I had first worked for him at the Federal
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