Spector was tired of waiting. His anonymous contact had said eleven-thirty, and it was already several minutes past that. Maybe they hadn’t been satisfied with the way he’d handled Gruber. It wasn’t his fault the idiot had pulled a gun. They couldn’t have been stupid enough to think the bullets did it. He leaned against the statue of George M. Cohan and cracked his knuckles. He was aware of the bulge the Ingram was making in his coat. Most of the cops were in Jokertown, but the rest of the city had to be covered, too. It might be good to dump the gun, now that the Astronomer was off his tail. Then again, you never knew when an automatic pistol might come in handy.
The crowd waiting in line for Broadway show tickets was smaller than usual. Spector had never been to one; they seemed stupid and overpriced. He used to come over from Jersey on New Year’s Eve to watch the ball drop at midnight. It was one of the few times he felt like a part of something bigger than just him.
The neon signs around the Square were washed out and dull during the day. If his connection didn’t show up soon, he might pick up a whore for some fun. Seeing the tombstones rolled up in some cheap hooker’s eyes would give him a few moments’ relief from the pain. It wouldn’t be great, like the girl in the subway, but it would be distraction. God, he had wanted to kill her. At least hurt her enough to get a reaction out of her. Better to just get drunk and watch the ball game on television, though. A low profile for the rest of the day was not an entirely bad idea.
“Fuck it,” he said, walking away from the statue. “Those Shadow Fist boys are going to have to do better than this.”
“Don’t go away mad,” said a deep, nasty voice from behind.
Spector turned. There was a joker a few paces behind him, closing the distance with slow, measured strides. There was dried blood smeared on his shirt. He had a single eye set in the center of his forehead.
“You’re late.”
“It’s been a busy morning. Had a little business to attend to down at the waterfront.” The cyclops made a fist, showing his badly bruised knuckles. “You must be Spector.”
“Right. So tell me something.”
“It’s like this.” He looked over his shoulder. “The Gambiones are having dinner at the Haiphong Lily tonight. Family meeting, you know. The don is in the way. He has to be taken care of’ That’s where you come in.”
“Tonight, huh? What’s the job pay?”
“Five grand.”
Spector ran his tongue around his teeth, cleaning away more dried blood. He figured this punk had been given a ceiling amount by someone higher up and could keep the rest for himself. The joker didn’t have the brains to snow a six-year-old. “No way. Do it yourself.”
“Okay, okay. Seven-five.”
“Ten, or get somebody else. We’re not talking about an easy target here. This is the don you want iced.” Spector took a step back and looked away. He wanted to push this guy hard, so the organization wouldn’t take him for a fool.
The joker put his hands on his hips. “You got it.”
“I’ll want two of that right now.” Spector extended his hand.
“What? Right here? You’ve got to be kidding.” He glanced around again, this time in melodramatic fashion.
Spector had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing. This moron needed acting lessons and the brains to use them. “They wouldn’t send you here with just change in your pocket. Now pay up, or find me somebody who will.” Spector liked leaning on the punk a little, watching him squirm.
The cyclops pulled a thick brown envelope from his coat and shoved it in Spector’s face. “Just to show we trust you.” Spector tucked the envelope in his coat pocket and smiled. “I won’t even count it. Yet. Now, what time is dinner fbr our friend the don?”
“Around eight, so you’ll need to get there a little before. You can eat pretty well, now,” he said, tapping the envelope in Spector’s pocket.
“When do I get the rest?”
“Tomorrow night. We’ll let you know where.” He leaned in close. His breath stank of decay. “By the way, if you happen to hear anything about some missing stockbooks, let me know”
He pulled out a small spiral notebook and pen, then wrote a phone number on the top sheet. “You can reach me here for the next few hours,” he said, tearing out the sheet and handing it to Spector “It’s the Bowery Wild Card Dime Museum. I do security work there in my spare time.”
“You keep an eye on the place, right?”
The cyclops ignored his joke. “Hey, you have to have a legit job for tax reasons. That’s what the boss says. Looks suspicious otherwise.”
“Sure. Sure. What did you say your name was? Just in case?”
“Eye.”
“And if I can’t get hold of you?”
“Call the Twisted Dragon. Ask for Danny Mao. Tell him you were born in the year of the fire horse. He’ll take it from there.”
“How would you like to come with me tonight? Just so you’ll be completely sure the contract was filled.” Spector put his arm around the joker and walked him down the sidewalk.
Eye shrugged him off. “Just do your fucking job. And keep your faggot hands off “
“Pleasure doing business.” Spector watched him walk away. There was time to hit a bar and watch the game before he went to work. The Dodgers had better fucking win today or the don would have plenty of company.