They were deep in an underground parking lot. Large pipes dripped overhead. The floor was concrete, cracked and stained with salt. The place smelled of grease and exhaust and damp. Several bare bulbs swung from the ceiling at the end of thin electrical cables, sending shadows bouncing against the walls.
Travis had been hustled here so quickly – the stinking glove clamped over his mouth, his right arm locked and pressed behind his back – that only when he was released did he realize Nish had been dragged along too.
There were only a couple of cars in sight. One may have been working; the other certainly was not. It had been stripped of its wheels, and the windshield had been smashed in. The back doors were open and it looked as if someone might have been living in it. There were dirty blankets and old newspapers everywhere.
Along the ledges of the parking garage were stacks of briefcases, like the one Big carried his fake Rolexes in. This had to be “head office” of the fake-watch-and-sunglasses gang, and the two Owls were clearly considered intruders. Big was nowhere to be seen.
The two large men who had hustled them down here said nothing. They seemed to be waiting for something.
The larger man – heavy, unshaven, with one eye slightly off so it was impossible to tell whether he was looking at Travis or Nish – started at a sound that came from the down-ramp into the garage. He seemed nervous, but at the same time expecting someone.
“Big!” Nish suddenly cried out.
There was no fear in his voice. He seemed genuinely glad to see Big walking towards them. And Big, Travis had to admit, seemed glad to see Nish.
“You lookin’ for permanent work wit’ us, Hockey Man?” Big laughed.
“I knew I’d find you somewhere around here,” Nish said. “Dese guys musta t’ought I was da heat.”
Big smiled slightly. Travis wondered for a moment exactly how Nish saw himself. Some tough guy who could hold his own with Big and his colleagues? Not likely.
“We have to watch our merchandise, that’s all,” said Big. “Lots a thieves in da Big Apple, you know.”
Yeah, Travis said to himself, and three of them are standing right here.
“What were you after?” Big asked, as if expecting a new order for Oakley sunglasses.
Nish explained. He told about the break-in, or near breakin, at the hotel, and how someone had knocked Muck on the head for sixteen stitches. He said it was Data and Fahd’s room, where Big had been invited only a couple of days earlier.
“That’s a shame, Hockey Man. Did they get anything?”
As if you need to ask, Travis thought.
“No,” Nish said. “Nothing.”
“Dat’s good,” Big said. “Dat’s good.”
Travis was almost certain Big had glanced quickly at the smaller of the other two men, but he didn’t catch any look back and couldn’t be sure. Still, he was deeply suspicious.
“Some of da kids think one a da suspects looked like you,” Nish said unexpectedly.
Big spun around – to stare at Travis, not Nish. “Peewee here?” he asked.
Nish said nothing, waiting.
Travis cleared his throat.
“M–Muck described something l-like this coat,” Travis said.
Big smiled.
“Lots a coats like dis in New York, Peewee. Shadow’s got one on right now.”
He pointed to the heavy man dressed like himself. Travis never liked the name “Big,” but “Shadow” sounded worse.
“Besides,” Big continued, “I wasn’t anywhere near dat place last night. Ain’t that right, Shadow?”
Shadow turned, almost as if he hadn’t even been listening. He blinked, then answered, “Yah, dat’s right. We was at the … theatre.”
Big nodded. He looked at Nish, waiting for him to respond.
Travis wanted to shout, Theatre? Right! Sure! Two thugs in long dirty coats and hold-up hats watching a play?
“Dat’s good,” said Nish. “I was thinking you might do something like dat.”
“We was out all night,” said Big. “We got witnesses.”
“I’ll tell dem,” said Nish. “Set dem straight.”
“You do dat,” Big said. “You do dat.”
Nish and Big then changed the topic to watches and sunglasses and how there was nobody around downtown any more to sell to. Nish seemed so sympathetic.
Travis wandered around the parking lot, waiting. He checked out the old abandoned car. Behind it he found a small cache of tinned foods and drinks and even a small cooking unit like the kind campers use. There was garbage everywhere. Opened cans. Broken beer bottles.
Why didn’t they use the garbage can? Travis wondered. There was a large open drum in the corner that Travis supposed was for trash.
He wandered over and looked in. It was a firepit. There were black ashes halfway to the top, and charred broken boards, some with nails still in them. They had the camper stove for cooking, Travis knew. They must set fires here for heat. He hated to think of such a life.
Travis could tell by the sounds that Nish was getting ready to head back to the hotel. He was just about to step away from the rear of the car when he looked in on the dashboard, beneath the crumbling windshield.
A hotel-room key!
Fahd’s missing key?