Dark Maze

still a damn sight better off than the sinkhole they made out of freaking Atlantic City once Prescott and the other hogs took over the boardwalk down there.
    “So I want to protect my turf. What’s more natural and patriotic than that I ask you?”
    “Natural, patriotic,” I said.
    “I got a little money here and I borrow some more there and I even got this here bar in hock to the bank. Anyway, I’m picking up parcels all up and down the boardwalk and I ain’t going to sell off to no Prescott creeps, and also I ain’t afraid of any hoods he might be connected up with since—well, that’ll be off the record also, okay?”
    “For now, all right,” I said. “But where does Celia come into all this?”
    “Word’s out all over town that somebody fronting for Prescott’s trying to get the casinos started up out here early. You know, sort of to lay the groundwork for a convincing load of bullshit to lay on the politicians up in Albany that gambling’s good economics for a rag-tag old seaside slum and so why not do it legal and get the tax revenues.”
    “And Celia was looking for this action?” I asked.
    “Yeah, she was bugging me day and night, her and me being one-time acquaintances in the old rackets and being that she’s so out of it she don’t even know there’s no way I can steer to nothing since I am death on gambling, especially in this place I love and am going to protect.”
    I thought about all the notes I would now have to make and my head started aching.
    “There’s just one more question, Johnny,” I said. “You mentioned three personal reasons. You only told me two of them.”
    “Well, third, I told you how I personally think Picasso is a great artist. You know what Prescott would do if he put up casinos here?”
    Ruby turned to me and said, “Hock, don’t you see? They’d tear down Picasso’s masterpiece.”

SIXTEEN

    She said she was scared to death.
    “You sure fooled me,” I said.
    “That’s because I’m a professional. It’s supposed to look easy when I put on an act.”
    “It was more than easy for you, it was natural.”
    “No,” she said. “I almost fell off my barstool when you went for your gun, and at that moment all I wanted in the whole world was just to duck into the ladies’ and throw up.“
    “Well it’s all over. So what do you want now?”
    “I want to get back to Manhattan, I want to sit down in my own place, I want to try and recover before the reading tonight.”
    “But what about the carousel?”
    “God, Hock, I don’t think so! How can you want to go do something... something fun and romantic at a time like this? Three people have been murdered.”
    “I’m well aware of that.”
    “You’re dealing with God-knows-what kind of deranged killer..
    She stopped and looked as if she might start crying. I put my arm around her shoulders, and we walked along Surf Avenue, toward the B&B Carousell (that is how carousel happens to be misspelled there, the fault of the original owner from way back when, and the wish of present management to respect a Coney Island tradition).
    The sky grew close and gray again. Rain started spotting our clothes just as we reached the B&B.
    “Step right up here, Ruby. Pick any horse you want,” I said, holding Ruby’s hand and urging her up onto the idled circular platform full of wooden horses. “They’re all brave steeds and they’ll treat you well, and I’ll be right here with you.”
    The carousel was empty. But the evocative sounds of the organ were there—bellows pushing air through rolls of perforated paper, brass pipes, felt-covered wood mallets— music from another life.
    So real a sound as my mother’s voice...
    The carousel operator, a small dark man about Picasso’s age with a toothy smile, stood by the organ. He waited patiently as we walked the plank floor of the carousel, looking over our exclusive selection.
    Ruby finally made her choice: a huge calico stallion with a wide black saddle, hooves reared and nostrils flared and mane flying. She put her foot into the stirrup and I boosted her up onto his back.
    “You picked the horse I favored when I was a kid and the B&B was always crowded,” I told her.
    “I did? You’re kidding!”
    “No, really.”
    “Why this one?”
    “Look here,” I said, pointing to the back of the saddle.
    Ruby found the hidden carving, the skinny black cat with green eyes coiled behind the saddle. She was charmed.
    “You’re feeling better now?” I