DINNER BROKE UP around ten. Herbie declined a ride home, saying he’d rather walk off his meal. It was only a few blocks anyway. He set off in the opposite direction, surreptitiously glancing around him as he went.
Herbie probably wouldn’t have spotted Mookie, who was an old hand at surveillance, but Paulie was another story. A driver first and foremost, a bodyguard second, he was as subtle as a bull in a china shop. Herbie spotted his tail within one block. He had such an easy time doing it he kept looking around for someone else, in case Paulie was the rough shadow he was supposed to spot and ditch, while the smooth shadow took over. After a couple of blocks he’d concluded there was no such thing. The guy was just bad.
Herbie walked home. His doorman had been avoiding him ever since the murder, not knowing what to say. Herbie walked up to him and plowed through his apologies. “There’s a guy following me. I’m going to walk over to the elevator like I’m going upstairs, but I’m going to duck in the mailroom instead. Go out on the sidewalk like you’re looking for a cab, but don’t hail one. See if the guy across the street is still watching the building, or if he’s walking away. Big guy with a crew cut.”
The doorman gulped. “Yes, sir.”
He was back thirty seconds later. “The man you described is walking away.”
Herbie tipped the doorman fifty bucks and went out the front door.
Paulie was on the far side of Park Avenue. He reached the corner and took a left.
Herbie hurried to the corner and caught the light. He crossed the street and tailed along behind.
Paulie kept going, crossed the street, and went into a garage between Lexington and Third.
There was a cab coming down the block. Herbie stepped out in the street and hailed it.
The cabbie had a five-o’clock shadow and a Brooklyn twang. He half turned in his seat and said, “Where to, buddy?”
“Right here.”
“Huh?”
“Pull over and put your blinkers on.”
“We’re not going anywhere?”
“Yeah, we are, in a minute.”
“Where we going?”
“I don’t know.”
“I gotta put down a destination.”
“Put it down when we get there.”
“I gotta put it down now.”
“Yeah, but we don’t know it now, so we put it down when we get there.”
A car pulled out of the garage.
“That’s him,” Herbie said. “Give him a head start and pull out.”
“Give him a head start? What is this?”
Herbie slapped a fifty-dollar bill across the back of the seat. “This is fifty dollars. There’s another fifty at the other end if you do as I say.”
“Is this illegal?”
“No. You have a perfect right to drive where you want.”
“But you’re following this guy.”
“I hope so. If you lose him, you don’t get the fifty bucks.”
“I’m not sure I wanna do this.”
“Okay. Drop me off next to a cabbie who does.”
The cabbie gave him a look, but pulled out and started driving.
The car was stopped at a light on Second Avenue.
“Stay back. If he spots you, you don’t get the fifty bucks. And he’ll probably shoot you in the head.”
“Are you shitting me?”
“Yeah. I’ll still give you the fifty, even if he shoots you in the head.”
“I don’t wanna do this.”
“I’m kidding. It’s fine. Here’s the other fifty. There’s two more at the other end if you get me there and he hasn’t spotted us on the way.”
The car went over the Fifty-ninth Street Bridge and drove straight to a shabby house in Queens. There was a parking space out front. The guy parked the car and went in.
“Drive on by,” Herbie said.
“I need the number.”
“No, you don’t. You’re not writing it down.”
The cabbie looked betrayed. “You said I could write down the number.”
“You don’t need the number. Put down the cross streets. That’s what I gave you. The cross streets. Isn’t that how you write down most addresses? Fifty-seventh and Seventh?”
“Not outside Manhattan.”
“Yeah, well, this time the passenger did. Drive down to the corner, turn left, and stop. You can write down the cross streets.”
“You’re paying me off?”
“Yeah. Here’s the hundred I promised, plus enough to cover the meter. If you want a return fare, hang out here counting your money. I should be back.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know. Half an hour.”
“Half an hour?”
“Or however long you think another hundred-dollar bonus is worth. Just don’t decide to knock on the front door and ask me if I’m going back.”
From the terrified look in the cabbie’s eyes, there was no danger of that.