Detective

but I knew she got an answer because I could see her head bobbing up and down and her lips moving. She was on the phone less than a minute. She hung up, walked out onto Broadway, and hailed a cab.
    I followed the cab to an address on East 64th Street. It was a townhouse just like all the other buildings on the block, except it was the only one with the upstairs light on. Rosa got out of the cab, went up the steps to the front door, and rang the bell. About thirty seconds later a man opened the door and let her in. The light was poor, and the best I could make out was he was young enough to have dark hair, and he wore a maroon robe.
    The door closed behind them. I sat in the car with my lights out, waiting. I had what I wanted now. I figured this guy had to be Rosa’s connection, and therefore Gutierrez’s connection, and therefore the guy the coke had flowed through before the deal went bad. Perhaps he was even Pluto himself. I had the guy’s address and I could check him out at my leisure. But I decided to wait anyway. I didn’t figure Rosa would be long. Just a quick score and out of there. The connection wouldn’t be tempted by her body, great knockers notwithstanding. He’d recognize the uniform, just as I had, and wouldn’t be keen on banging her after coming off an evening of turning tricks. Besides, a big coke and skag connection in an East Side townhouse who was up at 3:00 in the morning would undoubtedly have one or two fifteen-year-old nymphets sitting on his face and plunging his drug-inflamed tool into every orifice. And Rosa, having scored, would be eager to get on home. Despite the fact she had let the cab go, I figured she’d be quick.
    She was out in five minutes. She walked briskly to the avenue and caught a cab downtown. I figured she was on her way home, but I tagged along just to make sure. She was. The cab let her out in front of the candy store, and she went straight inside and up the stairs, nodding as she passed to the old lady, who was still sitting on the front steps and who showed no signs of moving. I didn’t know what her story was, but fortunately, as far as I knew, it didn’t concern me, for which I was thankful.
    I checked my watch. It was nearly 3:30. I drove back over to Crosby Street and parked a block away from the casino. About a quarter of four the elevator began disgorging loads of tired gamblers. At 4:15 Tony Arroyo came out. As soon as he appeared on the sidewalk, a limo that had been parked in the shadows roared into life and pulled up in front of the door. Tony got in and the car pulled away. I followed more carefully this time. It was one thing to tail a hooker in a taxi. It was something else to follow a guy in a chauffeured limousine, particularly when that guy is probably connected with people who have a habit of cutting people’s cocks off.
    If the chauffeur had the faintest idea he was being followed, he didn’t show it. He drove straight uptown and pulled up to a luxury apartment building on East 58th Street, one of those buildings that is so posh it has a circular driveway for cars to pull in to drop off tenants right at the front door. Tony got out and went in and the limo drove off.
    I sat and looked at the building for a while. A thought kept nagging at me, and finally I couldn’t resist. I drove to the corner, parked, got out, and went to the pay phone. I dialed information, and asked if they had a Manhattan listing for a Tony Arroyo. Yes, they had a Tony Arroyo on East 58th Street. They even gave me the address. It was the building I had just seen him go into.
    It figured. Tony could have had an unlisted number, or the phone company could have refused to confirm the address but, no, it was right there for the asking. Some detective. I stake out a casino at four in the morning, follow the guy home, worrying the whole time about being spotted by his chauffeur, and what do I learn? The same thing I could have got by just picking up the phone and dialing information in the first place.
    But that didn’t really matter. And it didn’t really bother me. After all, all the running around I’d been doing wasn’t that important, and it didn’t really accomplish anything. It was just jerking off. It was just me trying to keep busy and pretend I was doing something, to make up for the fact that I had muffed the really big play, the golden opportunity I had had back in the casino when Tony had asked me if I were driving down to Miami. It had been right