A.W. was in my office at the Bistro.
“He just walked in,” he said into the cell phone pressed against his ear. He stared at me while whoever was on the other end of the line had their say, then added, “Okay, Lee, I’ll take care of it.”
He closed the phone and slipped it into his jacket pocket. His expression showed more disappointment than annoyance. “You put me on the bad side of my boss,” he told me.
“That’s because he’s an inconsiderate bastard,” Cassandra said. She was sitting to my left in the corner of the room. Her eye makeup was smudged.
“Have you been crying?” I asked.
“You didn’t answer your phone. I thought you’d been killed, you asshole.”
“Well, I did get my skull cracked, if it’s any consolation.”
“Damn you, Billy,” she said, rising quickly from the chair and walking toward me. Studying my head, she added, “You could have a concussion. Move under the light.”
I moved near the light, and she stared into my eyes for a few beats. “Looks okay, but you can’t always tell. You feeling dizzy?”
“I’m feeling pain.”
“Turn,” she ordered. I obeyed, and she examined my wound. “There’re two lumps here, one small and one big and bleeding slightly.”
“People seem to like hitting me on the head lately,” I said.
“I’m next, you pull another stupid stunt like this,” she said. “Where the hell is your first-aid kit?”
“Down the hall in the bathroom,” I said. “Under the washbasin. And some aspirin, please.”
Watching her go fetch, A.W. asked, “What the hell happened, Billy?”
“Aspirin first,” I said. I sank to the nearest chair and waited for Cassandra to return. When she did I took the pill bottle, knocked a couple into my palm, and slapped them down with tepid water that had been sitting in a pitcher on my desk for at least five days.
While Cassandra poked at my scalp with a peroxide-soaked Q-tip, I told them of my misadventures of the past several hours, at least the conscious portion.
“Think it was Felix who took your friends?” A.W. asked.
“I don’t know. Getting two unconscious bodies out of that building was at least a two-man job,” I said. “I only got a glimpse of Felix that night at Phil Bruno’s, but he seemed a little too slight to be able to handle any heavy lifting.”
“So Felix and a helper,” A.W. concluded. “Your fake cop?”
“Maybe.” I felt something greasy on my scalp. “What’re you doing up there?” I asked Cassandra.
“Neosporin. I put it on everything, just in case,” she said. “The finishing touch.”
She returned the various oils, unguents, and no-stick strips to the plastic box and placed the box on the desk. “You can put this away, Billy,” she said. “I’m going home. I’ve had enough excitement for one night.”
“Thanks for being my administering angel,” I told her.
“Fuck you, Billy,” she said. Then she turned to A.W. and, to his surprise, kissed him hard on the lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Andrew.”
We both watched her strut from the office.
A.W. was in something of a daze, as well he should have been.
I snapped my fingers an inch from his ear. “Back to reality, Andrew,” I said.
“Right. Uh, reality. You should try to phone Ms. McCauley.”
“I did, on the cab ride here. Wound up with her voice mail. Good recovery, by the way.”
“Yeah, well, I wasn’t exactly … Why do you suppose they took your friends?”
“I have no idea. It can’t have been anything planned. We decided to go to Gallagher’s place on the spur of the moment. Either somebody was watching the apartment or it was just our bad luck.” But an egotistical, if not paranoid, reason did come to mind. Felix could have decided to take them just to put me on the spot.
A.W. got out his phone.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Calling Lee. I have to report this, Billy.”
“She’ll bring in the police, right?”
“She’s not big on that. She’d rather we clean up our messes ourselves. But we now have a kidnap situation involving a celebrity, so I don’t know.”
“Calling in the cops won’t accomplish anything except to get me arrested,” I insisted. “The doorman at Rudy’s building, a nice guy who helped me, will lose his job.” I got to my feet. “And I don’t think it’ll help Gin and Ted.”
“If I don’t call her, I’ll lose my job,” he said.
“Your job, as I recall, is to care for my well-being,” I said. “That won’t be served if I wind up in the slam.”
He looked at the phone in his hand.
“Lee might go along with keeping the police out,” he said.
I was weary, but the aspirin had done some work, reducing the ache to a mild throb. Or maybe it was the thought of Lee Franchette.… “Why don’t I invite her here for a talk,” I said, removing the white display handkerchief from my jacket pocket and handing it to him, “while you try and remove your new girlfriend’s lipstick?”