Eighty-four

Esther was familiar with Lachelle’s bar. Show business was Tucker’s element. And Dante was fine checking on a friend. None of them required a backup. Nancy Kelly, however, was a different story.

The girl needed an escort, especially since she “didn’t remember the name of the street” where Tony parked for his catnaps, but she could “lead me there,” which meant we had to make the trip on foot, at night, to what Nancy described as an “out-of-the-way” spot.

“Don’t worry,” she assured me. “It’s just a quick walk.”

I had another motive for traveling with Nancy—expedience.

Tony Tanaka either had the notebook with him, or he knew who had it. Either way, finding Tony was sure to be the fastest way to get my hands on Mr. Scrib’s magnum opus.

Nancy and I were the last to depart the coffeehouse. Before we left, I pounded out a text to Mike Quinn—

We may have located the notebook. Following up now.

Mike’s response from Albany was immediate. Do you need backup?

Don’t worry, I told him. 911 is only three digits away…

After adding that I’d keep in touch, Nancy and I hurried across Hudson Street. As we headed down Leroy in the direction of the river, I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the freezing cold night. Not long ago, I’d chased a fleeing figure through this same jungle of scaffolding, until a stolen scooter slammed into me.

I didn’t relish another midnight stroll through this barren part of our neighborhood where the glow from streetlights was blotted out by the scaffolding’s rough wooden planks and no light shined through the shuttered windows.

Few pedestrians were out at this hour; even the entrance of that newly opened nightclub was quiet as we moved through the hazy shadows. Suddenly, a scooter whizzed by and made me flinch.

“Are you sure you know where you’re going, Nancy?”

“Sure, I’m sure,” she brightly replied, as if we were strolling through Central Park on a sunny morning.

It took several more minutes on our feet before Nancy spotted a powder blue graffiti-covered one-story building that was her landmark.

“Look, there’s the street!”

Weehawken Street was deserted except for a few parked cars. With a single streetlight in the middle of the short block, it was dim, too.

“Keep moving,” I said, clutching the pepper spray in my pocket. Madame had never asked for it back, and I was glad to have it now.

“There’s a construction site at the other end of the block,” Nancy said. “Tony moves a wooden barricade and backs his car into a loading area. It’s dark and private because it’s under—”

“Let me guess. More scaffolding.”

Nancy nodded. “It’s surrounded on three sides by plywood, too, but you can see the river if you sit in the front seat.”

As we approached Tony’s secret spot, Nancy pointed to a couple of long wooden planks leaning against the plywood fence.

“Look, he’s moved the barricade. Tony must be here.”

Nancy picked up her pace, and we reached Tony’s car. The doors were locked, the interior so black that I had to pull out the key chain flashlight in my coat pocket to see inside.

In the focused beam of the LED, I saw Tony sprawled across the front seat. He didn’t respond to the light, so I knocked on the windshield and called his name. When there was no reaction from Tony, Nancy and I banged on the windows.

“He’s not waking up!” Nancy said, alarmed.

I feared he never would.