Backflash. Part 5

"Not for me," Parker told him, and looked around at Cathman's lair. It was a larger office than the one outside, but not by much. One wall was mostly window, with a view out and down toward the huge dark stone pile of the statehouse, a turreted medieval castle, outsize and grim, built into the steep slope and now surrounded by the scuttle of modern life. From here, you saw the statehouse from an angle behind it and farther up the hill and from the eleventh floor and the steep city in a tumble of commercial and government buildings on down to the river.

Inside here, Cathman had made a nest for himself, with an imposing partner's desk inset green felt top, a kneehole and drawers on both sides so the partners could sit facing one another angled into a corner, where Cathman could look out the window and still face the door. There were more bookcases in here, but better ones, freestanding, with gla.s.s doors that closed down over each shelf. Framed diplomas and testimonials and photos were s.p.a.ced around the walls. An L-shaped sofa in dark red and a dark wood coffee table filled the corner opposite the desk.

Cathman, calmed by Parker's indifference, but still feeling wronged, came forward, making impatient brus.h.i.+ng gestures at the sofa. "Yes, well, at least you used a different name," he said. "Sit down, sit down, as long as you're here. But I already told you, I repeatedly told you, I'll be happy to meet you anywhere, anywhere at all, answer any questions you have, just phone me and-"

"Sit down," Parker said.

They were on opposite sides of the coffee table. Cathman blinked, looked at the sofa, looked at Parker, and said, "My secretary-"

"Rosemary s.h.i.+elds."

Cathman blinked again, then thought, and then nodded. "Yes, you do your research. You probably know all there is to know about me by now."

"Not all," Parker said.

"Well, the point is," Cathman said, "Miss s.h.i.+elds will expect me to offer you a cold drink. We're not equipped to do coffee here, but we have a variety of soft drinks and seltzer and so on in the refrigerator under her desk. Business meetings begin with that, she'll expect it. What would you like? I can recommend the Saratoga water, it's a New York State mineral water, very good."

The local politician to the end. Parker said, "Sure, I'll try it."

"Please sit down."

Parker sat on the side of the sofa where the light from the window would be behind him. Easier then to see Cathman's face, harder for Cathman to see his. Meanwhile, Cathman went back to the door, opened it, murmured to Miss s.h.i.+elds, shut the door, and returned. "She'll bring it, in just a moment."

"So this is the time we talk about the weather, right?"

Cathman smiled, apparently surprising himself when he did it. "I doubt that," he said, "though it would be usual, yes. But we won't want to discuss Ah, Miss s.h.i.+elds. Thank you."

They waited and watched her in silence as she brought in a small silver tray, on which faintly jingled two bottles of mineral water and two gla.s.ses with ice cubes. She didn't speak, but continued her performance of being in a world where her efficiency mattered. She put the tray on the coffee table, nodded to Cathman, and left, closing the door firmly but quietly behind her.

Cathman actually wanted water; he poured himself some as he said, "Is there really any reason for this urgency?"

"No urgency," Parker told him. "I wanted to talk to you, and I wanted to see your place."

"And now you've seen it. Will you need to see it again?"

"I hope not."

Cathman sipped his bubbly water, put the gla.s.s down, and gave Parker a curious look. "That was some sort of threat, wasn't it? What you meant was, the only reason you'd come back here is if you intended to do me harm."

Parker said, "Why would I want to do you harm?"

"Only if I'd done you some." Cathman smiled. "And I'm not going to, so that's an end to that. Mr. Parker, I do understand what sort of man you are, I really do. I knew what sort of man our late friend Marshall Howell was. I am no threat to you, nor to anybody at all except the gambling interests in New York State."

"That's nice," Parker said.

"You wanted to-"

"Talk to you about those gambling interests," Parker told him, "and the people opposed to them. There's some state legislators against it, right?"

"In a minority, I'm afraid."

"That's a list you'll have."

Cathman was startled. "You want a list of anti-gambling legislators? But, why would you want to You don't mean to approach them."

"Cathman," Parker said, "get the list."

Cathman didn't know what to do. He needed rea.s.surance, but if Parker were to consult with him once, give him explanations, then Cathman would want explanations and rea.s.surances all the time. Stop it now, and it's dealt with.

When Cathman couldn't stand the silence any more, he put down his gla.s.s of New York State mineral water, with a click on the coffee table, louder than he'd intended, and said, "I'll get But Of course, it can't leave Well."

Parker watched him. Finally Cathman got to his feet and hurried from the room.

There was a second door in here, narrower, in the other corner, farthest from the desk. A way out, or a bathroom? Parker rose and crossed over there, and it was a bathroom, small and efficient, with a shower. Towels were hung askew, the soap in the shower was a smallish stub, hotel shampoos were on the shelf in there; so it was used, from time to time.

As Parker headed back toward the sofa, Cathman returned, a thick manila folder in his hand. He saw Parker in motion, looked quickly at his desk, then realized Parker was coming from the other direction, and stopped worrying; about that, anyway.

When they were both seated, Cathman put the folder on his lap, rested a protective hand on it, and said, "If you could tell me what you want..."

"An anti-gambling legislator. Not from this part of the state. Short and fat. Sour expression."

Cathman looked alert, ready to be of help. "Do you know his name?"

"You're going to tell me," Parker said. "He should be an obscure guy, somebody most people wouldn't know very much."

"Oh, I see," Cathman said, and shook his head. "I'm sorry, I was confused, I thought you meant one specific person, but you want a type, someone to match a Well, it would have to be an a.s.semblyman, not a state senator, if you want someone obscure. There are many more a.s.semblymen than senators."

"How many a.s.semblymen?"

"One hundred and fifty."

"That's a good herd," Parker said. "Cut me out one. Short and fat. Sour expression. Most people don't know him, or wouldn't recognize him."

"Let me see." Cathman opened the folder, riffled through the sheets of paper in there, then found it was more comfortable to put the folder on the coffee table and bend over it. After a minute, he looked up and said, "Would New York City be all right?"

"Wouldn't they be well known?"

"Not at all. There are sixty a.s.semblymen from New York City alone. And a.s.semblywomen, of course." Cathman shrugged. "And to tell the truth," he said, "the rural people and the people in towns are likelier to know their a.s.semblyman than the people down in the city."

"What have you got?"

"His name is Morton Kotkind, from Brooklyn. His district has hospitals and colleges, a lot of transients. It always has among the lowest percentage of eligible voters who actually cast the ballot. n.o.body actually likes Kotkind, he's just a good obedient party man who does the job, and it's a safe seat there, where n.o.body will ever notice him."

"Sounds good."

"He's a lawyer, of course, they're all lawyers. He has a practice in Brooklyn, and devotes most of his time to that, so he consistently has one of the worst absentee records in the a.s.sembly. Basically, he shows up only when the party needs his vote."

"Do you have a picture?"

"No, I don't have any photos here, but he's as you described. Short and quite stout, and very sour in expression." Cathman smiled faintly. "He's a contrarian, which I think is the only reason he's come out against gambling. Of course, a number of the city legislators object because the city and Long Island have been excluded as gambling locations."

"But he's known to be against gambling."

"Oh, yes," Cathman said. "His name is on all such lists. He's spoken out against it, and he votes against it if he happens to be around."

"You got a home address there?"

Again Cathman looked startled and worried. "You're not going to What are you going to do?"

"Look at him," Parker said. "Does he have letterhead stationery? Not as a lawyer, as an a.s.semblyman."

"Oh, yes, of course."

"Get me some," Parker said. "And write down his address for me."

Cathman dithered. He said, "Nothing's going to... happen to him, will it? I mean, the man is... inoffensive, he's on our side, I wouldn't want..."

Slowly, Cathman ran down. He gazed pleadingly at Parker, who sat waiting for him. There was a notepad on the coffee table, and after a while Cathman pulled it close and copied the address.

13.

Parker was the first to arrive. "Lynch," he said, and the girl in the black ball gown picked up three menus and the red leather-covered wine list and led him snaking through the mostly empty tables in the long dim room to the line of windows across the rear wall. Most of the lunchtime customers were cl.u.s.tered here, for the view. Parker sat with his left profile to the view, where he could still see the entrance, then looked out at what the other lunchgoers had come here to see.

First week in May. Sunlight danced on the broad river. Across the way, the Palisades made a vertical curtain of dark gray stone, behind which was New Jersey. This restaurant, called the Palisader and catering mostly to the tourist trade, was built on the eastern sh.o.r.e of the river, just above the city of Yonkers, New York City's neighbor to the north. That was the northeast corner of New Jersey over there, behind the Palisades, with New York State beginning just to the right, leading up toward West Point. A few sailboats roamed the river today, sunlight turning their white sails almost to porcelain. There were no big boats out there.

Parker looked away from the view, and saw Mike Carlow come this way, following the same hostess. He nodded at Parker, took the seat across from him, then looked out at the view. "Nothing yet, I guess," he said.

"Not yet." Cathman had said it would happen between one and three, and it was now just twelve-thirty.

"I've got a sister in Connecticut," Carlow said. "If we're gonna do this thing, I might bunk in with her for a while, save all this flying around."

"Well, it's looking real," Parker said, and the girl came swis.h.i.+ng back through the tables, this time with huge Dan Wycza in her wake. She gestured toward Parker and Carlow with a slender hand and wrist that only emphasized Wycza's bulk, smiled at them all impersonally, and sailed away.

Wycza looked at the remaining places at the table; he could sit with his back to the view or to the door. "Never be last," he announced, and pulled out the view-facing chair. Settling carefully into it, the chair creaking beneath him, he said, "So we'll do it?"

"Unless something new happens," Parker told him. "I called Lou Sternberg again this morning, he'll come over next week."

"Good." Wycza picked up his menu, but then looked out at the river and said, "What we need's somebody that can walk on water."

Carlow grunted. "They don't play on our team," he said.

Wycza shrugged. "If the price is right," he said, and studied the menu.

Their order was taken by a skinny boy wearing a big black bow tie that looked as though somebody was pulling a practical joke on him. After he left, Parker said, "We need a woman. Not to walk on water."

"What about yours?" Wycza asked him.

Parker shook his head. "Not what she does."

Carlow asked, "What do we need?"

"Young, thin, good-looking. That could look frail maybe."

Grinning, Wycza said, "Like the little lady led me here."

"Like that," Parker agreed. "But one of us."

Carlow said, "There was a girl with Tommy Carpenter like that. You know Tommy?"

"We worked on something together with Lou Sternberg once," Parker said. "What was her name? Noelle."

"Noelle Braselle," Carlow said, and smiled. "I always thought that was a nifty name."

Parker said, "But she comes with Tommy, doesn't she? That's two more slices, not one."

Shaking his head, Carlow said, "Tommy got arrested or something. Well, they both did."

"That's the job," Parker said. "The same job, with Lou. Some paintings we took. Those two got grabbed, but then they got let go, they had a good lawyer."

"Well, it scared Tommy," Carlow said. "You wouldn't think he'd be a guy to spook, but he did. He quit, right then and there."

Wycza said, "Do I know these people?"

"I don't think so," Parker said.

"You'd remember Noelle," Carlow told him.

Parker said to Carlow, "Where's Tommy?"

"Out of the country. Went to the Caribbean somewhere, doing something else. Nothing bent, he doesn't want the arm on him ever again. Left Noelle without a partner, but the last I heard, she's still around."

Parker said, "Can you find her? I'd have gone through Tommy's contact, but that can't be any good now."

"I'll ask," Carlow said.

Wycza said, "I smell my money."

They looked at him, and he was gazing out the window, and when they turned that way the s.h.i.+p was just sliding into view from the left. On the gleaming blue-gray water, among the few sailboats, against the dark gray drapery of the Palisades, it looked like any small cruise s.h.i.+p, white and sparkly, a big oval wedding cake, except in the wrong setting. It should be in the Caribbean, with Tommy Carpenter, not steaming up the Hudson River beside gray stone cliffs, north out of New York City.

"I can't read the name," Carlow said. "You suppose they changed it already? Spirit of the Hudson?"

"They changed that name," Wycza a.s.sured him, "half an hour out of Biloxi."