Noodle?”
“Sure,” I said, wincing inwardly as I thought about my wallet.
The French Noodle was already packed with the early lunch crowd. Maura knew the maître d’, however, and he got us a table overlooking the river. She inspected the menu.
“I’ll have the lobster-stuffed scallops to start with, followed by the blackened swordfish fettuccini and the ahi steak with truffle-dusted calamari fries. Make the ahi extra rare, please.”
“Very good, madam,” said the waiter expressionlessly. I figured he must have waited on her before. “Will that be all?”
“No. A prawn cocktail while I’m waiting.”
“Very good, madam. And you, sir?”
“A rib eye, rare,” I said. “With another one on the side.”
He shimmied off and then shimmed back with a prawn cocktail big enough to drown in.
“Maura, how about a date tonight? The gala at the Museum of Natural History.”
She looked at me, eyes wide, momentarily silenced by a mouthful of prawns. She chewed furiously and swallowed.
“Mike! How sweet! That sounds lovely.”
I waited until she’d taken another mouthful of prawns.
“And bring your .38 with you.”
Burnham Backus picked us up at seven sharp. He was dressed in a black tuxedo but still wore his floppy hat. I was wearing a grey suit with a slightly generous cut in the shoulders to hide my Glock. Maura had something black and slinky on. Backus nodded in approval at Maura.
“You armed?” he said.
She snapped her fingers and a neat little .38 appeared in her hand. His eyes widened.
“Like magic,” he said.
I didn’t say anything. It was magic. There was no way Maura could’ve hidden a .38 in what she was wearing. He looked at her again.
“Say,” said Backus. “You’re missing something with that getup. How about a pearl necklace?”
We pulled up the front of the Museum of Natural History with a triumphant screech of brakes. Backus tossed the keys to a parking attendant. The wide steps leading up to the museum entrance were roped off. Crowds filled the sidewalk. Flashes went off as photographers snapped photo after photo. The anchorperson from Channel 4 was there—you know, the one with all the blonde hair and teeth—talking animatedly for the camera. Celebrity after celebrity sauntered up the steps. The mayor emerged from a limousine, adjusting his toupee. The crowd cheered.
“All right,” muttered Backus. “Showtime. Keep an eye peeled for my enemies.”
“You talking about zombies, right?” I said.
“I’m talking about everyone. And keep the mayor away from me. You flash a buck and that guy sprouts more hands than an octopus.”
“I love octopus,” murmured Maura.
We walked up the steps. Flashbulbs popped. Maura preened for the cameras. The light gleamed on her pearl necklace. The mayor strode by. He glanced at Backus and looked a bit puzzled, but Backus was still wearing his floppy hat pulled low, as well as that scraggly little beard. His own mother wouldn’t have recognized him.
Inside, the main hall was a sea of tuxedos and evening gowns. Waiters roamed the floor with platters of champagne and hors d’oeuvres. A string quartet sawed industriously in one corner. The mayor sidled up to the Bulgarian ambassador and his wife and began chattering away. The Bulgarians looked bored stiff. A movie star oozed by, followed by some yelping journalists. Politicians, media flacks, blasé rich people, and giddy nonentities mixed in close confusion.
The back of the hall was taken up by an enormous aquarium leading to the Aquatic Wing. The left side of the hall led into the Special Exhibit area, which was currently housing the Famous Egyptian Mummies of All Times exhibit. The right side of the hall led into the main wing of the museum, which housed all the typical stuff, such as stuffed tigers, shrunken heads, and the freeze-dried corpses of a tribe of pygmies.
Maura and I drifted behind Backus as he wandered through the crowd. He stopped at one of the refreshment tables
“Sure,” I said, wincing inwardly as I thought about my wallet.
The French Noodle was already packed with the early lunch crowd. Maura knew the maître d’, however, and he got us a table overlooking the river. She inspected the menu.
“I’ll have the lobster-stuffed scallops to start with, followed by the blackened swordfish fettuccini and the ahi steak with truffle-dusted calamari fries. Make the ahi extra rare, please.”
“Very good, madam,” said the waiter expressionlessly. I figured he must have waited on her before. “Will that be all?”
“No. A prawn cocktail while I’m waiting.”
“Very good, madam. And you, sir?”
“A rib eye, rare,” I said. “With another one on the side.”
He shimmied off and then shimmed back with a prawn cocktail big enough to drown in.
“Maura, how about a date tonight? The gala at the Museum of Natural History.”
She looked at me, eyes wide, momentarily silenced by a mouthful of prawns. She chewed furiously and swallowed.
“Mike! How sweet! That sounds lovely.”
I waited until she’d taken another mouthful of prawns.
“And bring your .38 with you.”
Burnham Backus picked us up at seven sharp. He was dressed in a black tuxedo but still wore his floppy hat. I was wearing a grey suit with a slightly generous cut in the shoulders to hide my Glock. Maura had something black and slinky on. Backus nodded in approval at Maura.
“You armed?” he said.
She snapped her fingers and a neat little .38 appeared in her hand. His eyes widened.
“Like magic,” he said.
I didn’t say anything. It was magic. There was no way Maura could’ve hidden a .38 in what she was wearing. He looked at her again.
“Say,” said Backus. “You’re missing something with that getup. How about a pearl necklace?”
We pulled up the front of the Museum of Natural History with a triumphant screech of brakes. Backus tossed the keys to a parking attendant. The wide steps leading up to the museum entrance were roped off. Crowds filled the sidewalk. Flashes went off as photographers snapped photo after photo. The anchorperson from Channel 4 was there—you know, the one with all the blonde hair and teeth—talking animatedly for the camera. Celebrity after celebrity sauntered up the steps. The mayor emerged from a limousine, adjusting his toupee. The crowd cheered.
“All right,” muttered Backus. “Showtime. Keep an eye peeled for my enemies.”
“You talking about zombies, right?” I said.
“I’m talking about everyone. And keep the mayor away from me. You flash a buck and that guy sprouts more hands than an octopus.”
“I love octopus,” murmured Maura.
We walked up the steps. Flashbulbs popped. Maura preened for the cameras. The light gleamed on her pearl necklace. The mayor strode by. He glanced at Backus and looked a bit puzzled, but Backus was still wearing his floppy hat pulled low, as well as that scraggly little beard. His own mother wouldn’t have recognized him.
Inside, the main hall was a sea of tuxedos and evening gowns. Waiters roamed the floor with platters of champagne and hors d’oeuvres. A string quartet sawed industriously in one corner. The mayor sidled up to the Bulgarian ambassador and his wife and began chattering away. The Bulgarians looked bored stiff. A movie star oozed by, followed by some yelping journalists. Politicians, media flacks, blasé rich people, and giddy nonentities mixed in close confusion.
The back of the hall was taken up by an enormous aquarium leading to the Aquatic Wing. The left side of the hall led into the Special Exhibit area, which was currently housing the Famous Egyptian Mummies of All Times exhibit. The right side of the hall led into the main wing of the museum, which housed all the typical stuff, such as stuffed tigers, shrunken heads, and the freeze-dried corpses of a tribe of pygmies.
Maura and I drifted behind Backus as he wandered through the crowd. He stopped at one of the refreshment tables
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