Amanda was waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs. Her lips were set so firmly that there were wrinkles around her mouth.
“Did you get what you wanted from him?”
“Yes. Confirmation.”
“He’s an old man. Whatever he did in the past, he’s paid more than enough for it in suffering.”
“You know, Amanda, I don’t believe that’s true.”
Her face flushed red.
“Get out of here. The best thing you ever did was leave this town.”
And that much, at least, was true.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
THE WOMAN WH [2"¤?O WAS now Emily Kindler in name only arrived at the Port Authority Bus Terminal two days after Jimmy Gallagher was killed. After leaving the bar, she had spent an entire day alone in her little apartment, ignoring the ringing of the telephone, her date with Chad now forgotten, Chad himself reduced to nothing more than a fleeting memory from another life. Once, the doorbell rang downstairs, but she did not answer it. Instead, she reconstructed past lives, and thought about the man whom she had seen on the TV screen in the bar, and she knew that when she found him, then so too would she find her beloved.
Using a poker, she carefully burned her flesh. She knew the exact place upon which to work, for she could almost see the pattern hiding beneath her skin. When she was done, she bore the old mark.
In time, she left for the city.
At the bus station, it took her almost an hour of looking lost before she was approached. While she was freshening up for the third time in the women’s restroom, a young woman not much older than she was approached her and asked if she was okay. The woman’s name was Carole Coemer, but everyone called her Cassie. She was blond and pretty and clean, and looked nineteen even though she was actually twenty-seven. Her job was to scout the bus station for new female arrivals, particularly those who looked lost or alone, and befriend them. She would tell them that she was new in town herself, and offer to buy them a cup of coffee, or something to eat. Cassie always carried a backpack, even though it was filled with newspapers topped off with a pair of jeans and some underwear and T-shirts, just in case she had to open it to convince the more skeptical of the waifs and strays.
If they didn’t have somewhere to stay, or if nobody was really expecting them in town, she would propose that they spend the night with a friend of Cassie’s and then try to find somewhere more long term the next day. Cassie’s friend was called Earle Yiu, and he maintained a number of cheap apartments across the city, but the principal one was on Thirty-eighth and Ninth, above a grimy bar called the Yellow Pearl, which was also owned by Earle Yiu. This was a little joke on Earle’s part, as he was part Japanese and “Yellow Pearl” wasn’t a million miles removed from “Yellow Peril.” Earle was very good at assessing the vulnerabilities of young women, although not quite as good as Cassie Coemer who, even Earle had to admit, was a predator of the first degree.
So Cassie would take the girl—or girls, if her day had been particularly productive—to meet Earle, and Earle would welcome them and arrange to have food delivered or, if he was in the mood, he sometimes cooked for the girls himself. It would usually be something simple and tasty, like teriyaki with rice. Beers would be offered, and a little pot, maybe even something stronger. Then Earle, if he thought the new arrival was suitable and sufficiently vulnerable, would offer to let her and Cassie stay in the apartment for a couple of days, telling them to take it easy, that he knew someone who might be looking for waitresses. The next day, Cassie would drift away, isolating the new arrival.
After two or three days, Earle’s disposition would alter. He would arrive early in the morning, or late at night, and wake the girl. He would demand payment for his hospitality, and when the girl couldn’t pay—and they could never pay enough to satisfy Earle—he would make his move. Most ended up turning tricks, once Earle and his buddies had broken them in first, if that was necessary, usually in one of Earle’s other apartments. Particularly promising can Z anovedidates would be sold off elsewhere, or escorted to other cities and towns where new blood was scarce. The most unfortunate simply disappeared off the face of the earth, for Earle knew men (and some women) with very particular needs.
Earle was careful in how he used Cassie. He didn’t want her to draw any attention to herself, or to become overly familiar to the Port Authority cops at the bus station or the Amtrak station. Often he would let months go by without putting her into the field, contenting himself with the plentiful supply of Chinese and Korean women who were easily available to him, and harder for the authorities to track once they became part of his operation, but there was always a need for Caucasians and Negroes too, and Earle liked to provide a little variety.
And so it was that Cassie approached Emily and asked if she was okay, then said:
“You new in town?”
Emily stared at her, and Cassie squirmed. For a moment, she was sure that she’d made a mistake. This girl looked young but, like Cassie’s, her looks were deceptive, and she was older than she at first appeared. The problem for Cassie was that, for an instant, she experienced a kind of atavistic rush, a sense that this girl was not just old, but very old. It was there in her eyes, which were very, very dark, and in a musty odor that seemed to hang about her. Cassie was ready to back away, cutting her losses, when the girl’s demeanor subtly changed. She smiled, and Cassie was captivated by her. She stared deep into the girl’s eyes and felt that she had never seen anyone quite so beautiful. Earle would be pleased with this one, and Cassie’s reward would be commensurately greater as a consequence.
“Yes,” said Emily. “I’m new. Very new. I’m looking for a place to stay. Do you think you can help me?”
“Sure, I can help you,” said Cassie. I’d love to, she thought. I’d do anything for you, anything. “What’s your name?”
The girl thought about the question. “Emily,” she said, at last.
Cassie knew that it was a lie, but it didn’t matter to her. Earle would give her a new name anyway, if she worked out.
“I’m Cassie.”
“Well, Cassie,” said Emily, “I guess I’m following you.”
Together, the girls walked to Earle Yiu’s apartment. Earle wasn’t there, which surprised Cassie, but she had a key and a prepared story about how she’d been there earlier in the day, and how Earle had given her a key and told her to come back because the apartment was being cleaned. Emily just smiled, and all was right in Cassie’s world.
When they were inside the apartment, Cassie offered to show Emily around. There wasn’t much to show, as the apartment was very small, consisting only of one modestly sized area that doubled as living room and kitchen, and a pair of tiny bedrooms, each barely large enough for a single mattress.
“And this is the bathroom,” said Cassie, opening the door onto a room that was so small the sink and toilet almost overlapped from opposite walls, with a shower stall that was little bigger than an upright coffin.
Emily gripped Cassie by the hair and struck her face hard against the edge of the sink. She did it again Zp higg and again until Cassie was dead, then left her lying against the wall before closing the bathroom door carefully behind her. She took a seat on the old, foul-smelling couch in the living area and turned on the TV, flicking through the channels until she found the local news. She turned up the volume when the anchorman returned to the story of Jimmy Gallagher’s killing. Despite the best efforts of the cops and the FBI, someone had been speaking out of turn. A reporter came on-screen, and spoke of a possible connection between the death of Gallagher and the killing of one Mickey Wallace at Hobart Street. Emily knelt down and touched the screen with her fingertips. She was still in that position when Earle Yiu entered. He was in his forties, carrying a little extra weight that he hid with well-cut suits.
“Who are you?” he asked.
Emily smiled at him. “I’m a friend of Cassie’s,” she said.
Earle smiled in return. “Well, any friend of Cassie’s is a friend of mine,” he said. “Where is she?”
“In the bathroom.”
Instinctively, Earle glanced in the direction of the bathroom, which was just to his left. His brow furrowed. There was a dark, spreading stain on the carpet where it met the door.
“Cassie?”
He knocked once.
“Cassie, you in there?”
He tried the handle, and the door opened. He was still taking in the sight of Cassie Coemer’s ruined face when a kitchen knife entered his back and pierced his heart.
When she was sure that Earle Yiu was dead, Emily searched him and found a .22 with a taped butt and nearly seven hundred dollars in cash. She took Yiu’s cell phone and made a call. When she ended it, she knew where Jimmy Gallagher was to be buried, and when.
There were strong locks on the apartment door, as much to prevent anyone from leaving as from entering without permission. Emily secured them all, then turned off the television and sat, still and silent, upon the couch as day became night and night, at last, gave way to morning.