The Steel Kiss

He slipped the papers into his inner jacket pocket and the two men made small talk. Freddy said he was going to take his sister’s kids to the ball game this weekend.

“The Mets. They’re twelve and fifteen.”

“The Mets?”

“Ha. The boys. Attitude some but not with me so much. And you’re fifteen without an attitude, something’s way wrong.”

“Remember when Peterson caught us with that pint in the gym?”

Freddy laughed. “What’d you say to him? It was…  I don’t remember. But it didn’t go over good.”

Nick said, “He was like what the hell’re you doing with booze? Don’t you know it’s bad for you? And I just went: Then why’d your wife give it to me?”

“Jesus, that’s right! What a line. He decked you, didn’t he?”

“Shoved me, is all…  And suspended me for a week.”

They drove in silence for a few blocks, Nick relishing the memories of school. Freddy asked, “What’s the story with you and Amelia? I mean, she’s with that guy now, right?”

Nick shrugged. “Yeah. She’s with him.”

“That’s kinda weird, don’t you think? He’s a cripple. Wait. Can you say that?”

“No, you can’t say that.”

“But he is, right?”

“Disabled. I looked it up. You can say disabled. They don’t like handicapped either.”

“Words,” Freddy said. “My dad, he called blacks coloreds. Which you weren’t supposed to. But now you’re supposed to say ‘persons of color.’ Which is a lot like coloreds. So, I don’t get it. You guys made a nice couple, you and Amelia.”

Yeah, we did.

Nick glanced in the side-view mirror and stiffened. “Shit.”

“What?” Freddy asked.

“You see that car behind us?”

“The—”

“Green, don’t know. Buick, I think. No, Chevy.”

“Got a look. What about it?”

“It’s been making the same turns as us.”

“No shit. What’s that about? Nobody after me I know about.”

Nick looked in the mirror again. He shook his head. “Goddamn it.”

“What?”

“I think it’s Kall.”

“Is—”

“Vinnie Kall. That asshole detective hassling us at the Bay View with Von.”

“Shit, staking out your place. That’s low. I ditched the gun. They’ll never find it. And you didn’t do nothing. You could say you didn’t know he had a piece, even if it comes up. And Von didn’t give his real name. What’s he’s about?”

“He’s a dick, that’s what it’s about. Just riding me maybe. Man, I don’t want him to screw this up, with Perone. It’s too important. It’s the only way I’m going to prove I’m innocent.”

He looked around. “Look, Freddy. He’s got nothing on you. He doesn’t know you called in that false alarm. Do me a favor.”

“Sure, Nick. You got it.”

He looked around. “Pull into that garage.” Pointing ahead.

“Here?”

“Yeah.”

Freddy spun the wheel fast. Tires squealed. It was a four-story parking garage attached to an enclosed shopping center.

“I’m getting out here. Just hang for a half hour, forty minutes.”

“What’re you going to do?”

“I’ll go through the stores, get a cab to talk to Perone. Meet you back here. I’m sorry about this.”

“No, it’s cool. I’ll get some breakfast.”

Freddy pulled to a stop near one of the entrances to the mall. Nick asked, “You saw him at the restaurant, right? Kall?”

“Yeah, I remember him.”

“If he comes up and wants to know about me—”

“—I’ll tell him I can’t talk. I’m waiting for his wife.” Freddy winked.

Nick grinned and slapped the little man on the shoulder. He jumped out of the SUV and vanished into the mall.

* * *

There was no security—no human security—in the lobby of J&K Financial, only a mundane intercom. Nick pressed a button and announced himself.

A pause.

“Do you have an appointment?” a woman’s voice asked.

“No. But I’d appreciate a chance to speak to Mr. Perone.” He recalled something in the notes that Freddy had tracked down and given him an hour ago. “It has to do with Algonquin Transportation.”

Another pause. Longer.

The door lock buzzed with what Nick thought was a jarringly loud sound.

He stepped into a small elevator and on the third floor he entered a surprisingly nice office, given the neighborhood and the scruffy façade of the building. Jon Perone did okay for himself, it seemed. The receptionist was a beautiful woman with deep mocha skin.

Behind her two offices were visible through open doors. Both occupied by men, large men with short brownish hair. Their large torsos were encased in pressed dress shirts. One was lost in a phone call. The eyes of the other, in the near office, swiveled to Nick. The bigger of the two, he wore yellow suspenders over a pale-green shirt. His stare was cool.

The receptionist set down her landline. “Mr. Perone will see you now.”

Nick thanked her. He walked inside the largest office in the suite, filled with books and spreadsheets and business documents, along with memorabilia and photos. Hundreds of photos. On the wall, on the desk, on the coffee table. A lot of them appeared to be of family.