The Steel Kiss

“You’d like it. Middle Eastern, you know. I do more shoe stores and clothes and prepaid phone card operations but some restaurants.”

“My lawyer’s looking for one.”

“So this guy?” Energetic, Freddy drained his beer and ordered another.

“This guy I was mentioning? Yeah. He hangs in Flannigan’s. Or did.”

“Oh, then likely connected.”

“Right. His first name starts with a J. And he’s got a wife named Nanci.”

“And that’s it? That’s all you know?”

“’Fraid so.”

“Well, it’s a start. I’ll do what I can, man.”

“One way or another I’ll make it up to you.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Freddy laughed. “Those were the days, high school. Going to Shea or up to the Bronx. Remember that feeling, early in the season? You—”

“Oh, Jesus. I know what you’re going to say. You walk up the stairs before the game, into the stadium, and through the tunnel into the stands and there’s the whole park in front of you like Saint Peter opened the gates.”

“The smell of everything. Wet concrete, popcorn, beer, the grass.”

“Fertilizer too, I think.”

“Never thought about that. Yeah, probably fertilizer. You know, Nicky Boy, maybe it won’t be that hard to find this guy, J, and his lady…  What’s her name again?”

“Nanci. With an i.”

“Nanci. Since you went in, there’s this thing called data mining.”

“What’s that?”

“Let’s just say you can do all the searching you need by sitting on your ass.”

“I’ve used Google.”

“That’s a place to start. But there’s more to it than that. There’re services. You drop a few bills, they can find anything. I kid you not. A little bit of luck, you’ll get his name, address, where he went to school, what kind of dog he has, how big Nanci’s tits are and how long his dick is.”

“Seriously?”

Freddy frowned. “Okay. Probably not the boobs and dick, but that’s not impossible. The world has changed, my friend. The world has changed.”

FRIDAY IV THE PEOPLE’S GUARDIAN

CHAPTER 26

At 12:30 a.m., Abe Benkoff took a last sip of his brandy and clicked off the streaming Mad Men episode with ten minutes left to go. He liked the show—he worked in advertising, one of the biggies in Midtown, though on Park, not Madison—but without Ruth here, it wasn’t as much fun to watch. He’d save the episode for when she returned from her mother’s in Connecticut the day after tomorrow.

Benkoff, fifty-eight, was sitting in his leather lounger in the couple’s town house in Murray Hill. Many old buildings here but he and Ruth had found a three-bedroom co-op in a building that was only six years old. A motivated seller. That coincided with Abe’s promotion to partner of WJ&K Worldwide, which meant a bonus. Which became the down payment. Still more than they could afford, technically. But with the kids gone, Ruth had said, “Go for it.”

And they had.

Great for entertaining. And it was just a walk to his job and hers, at a publisher in Times Square.

Not to mention the place was modern as modern could be. Abe and his wife had sunk tens of thousands into the decor and appliances, stainless steel, glass, ebony. State-of-the-art kitchen—a phrase that Abe would not let a copywriter slip into an ad, though it certainly did describe the room. Brushed-steel stove and oven and other accessories.

Tonight, though, he’d cranked up nothing more than the microwave, zapping General Tso’s Chicken from Hunan Host, up the street. Not so great in the calorie department but it had been a busy day, he’d gotten home late and didn’t have the energy—or inclination—to whip up something healthy.

Was General Tso from Hunan province? Benkoff wondered, rising stiffly from the chair and gathering the dishes. And if not, would he be offended that he was being honored by a restaurant with roots from a different locale from his own?

Or was Hunan Host run by Taiwanese or Koreans or an enterprising couple from Laos?

It’s all in the marketing, as Abe Benkoff knew quite well, and Cambodian Star might raise a few questions and discourage diners. Or Pol Pot Express, he thought, both smiling and acknowledging his bad taste.

The plates and glass and utensils he took to the kitchen, rinsed and stacked them in the dishwasher rack. Abe started to leave then paused and returned. Then rearranged the dishes and utensils the way Ruth would have wanted. They loaded the device differently. He believed he was right—sharp ends down—but that was a battle not worth fighting. It was like trying to convince a Dem to vote Republican or vice versa.

After a shower, he donned pajamas and, snagging a book from above the toilet, he flopped into bed. There he set the alarm for six thirty, thinking about the health club. He laughed to himself and reset it for seven thirty. Benkoff opened to page thirty of the thriller, read five paragraphs, closed the book, doused the light and, rolling onto his side, fell asleep.

Exactly forty minutes later Abe Benkoff gasped and sat up in bed.

He was fully awake, sweating, gagging, from what was filling his bedroom.

Gas!