The informal arrangements that Ted maintained with those few who had worked for him had their drawbacks. Other than a cell phone number, he had no way of contacting Lester—and his phone went straight to voice mail. Ted left a message that he hoped conveyed the seriousness of the situation.
The pain in his gut flared into a wince-inducing stab only when he took a deep breath. The bathroom mirror revealed a deep purple mark with tendrils snaking faintly across his belly. Was there internal bleeding? How would he know? An inch or two higher and he might have had a ruptured liver—if there was such a thing—or a busted sternum. A couple of inches lower and the Molloy genetic trail would have reached a sudden and tragic end.
He rode the elevator down to the lobby, his mind jumping between ideas for locating Lester. Kenzie knew who he was. Would any of her protestors be of help? Lester had once mentioned a sister. Could Ted locate her? Damn. This was inconvenience squared. What would he do if the case file ended up in front of a judge? The Russians would not like that. Ted would have to hire a lawyer to lose a case.
The crowds downstairs had dissipated—morning deadlines were over—and he walked out past security and down the steps. He scanned the loiterers out front for the two Russians, half expecting to see them glaring back at him. There was no sign of them.
The plaza held a tall sculpture that vaguely resembled a twentieth-century subway token. Around it were a series of knee-high concrete mushrooms—each representing one of the original towns of the borough—that served as less-than-comfortable seats, resting points for weary litigants. Lester Young McKinley was sitting on Howard Beach.
“Thank god, I found you,” Ted said. “Jesus! What happened to you?”
Lester looked up. Large sunglasses—the kind you see on Floridian retirees—did not entirely hide the stitches and bruises on his face. His right hand was encased in fiberglass and suspended in a blue sling. He looked very small.
“Morning,” he said. The word slurred, but it wasn’t from vodka. Ted could see wires holding his teeth in place. “Sorry I’m late. I’m feeling a little under the weather this morning.”