Grief Street

the message.”
    “Rodef shalom?”
    “Whatever.” I heard Caras rustle through paper. “Okay, I found it.”
    “The message?”
    “Yeah, it’s another Hebe word.”
    “Hebrew.”
    “Whatever. I got to spell it: z-a-c-h-o-r. I as’t him what it means, he says maybe you’d know.”
    “I don’t. But I can find out.”
    Lieutenant Rankin came clomping in, tucking his shirt and buckling his belt after his ablutions next door. I rang off with Caras.
    “Well, well—I didn’t know we’d be seeing your celebrated likes around our humble quarters so soon,” Rankin said. He bent over the refrigerator and pulled out a can of Yoo-Hoo. Before sitting down behind his desk, he slammed the top of the oscillating fan, which brought some moving air to the squad room. Rankin picked the Winston from the ashtray and puffed at it. “I heard about the exceptional clearance order you got from Inspector Neglio. Also I seen the papers, cover boy, and how the mayor’s your number one fan. So what are you doing around here with us peasants?”
    “Phone calls, like a cop has to make. By the way, I can give you a line on that coronary scam giving you trouble up on Restaurant Row.”
    “Oh, that? And just the other day you got no time for my troubles.”
    “You want to bust my chops or make a collar?”
    “I don’t mind both.”
    I wrote off the lieutenant’s remark to the phenomenon oi a man with a title too big for his general good.
    “There’s a squatter by the name of Monaghan living in a sealed brownstone three blocks from here. He’s got to be sixty years old or better and he’s no wacko, so you won’t have trouble.” I wrote down the number of the house on West Fortieth Street, the one next to Sister Roberta’s shelter. “Sharp dresser, good talker.”
    “He sound like an old sod mick?”
    “If I was the kind to be counting insults, Looey, that’s twice now you would have been thrown out the window.”
    “Don’t be minding my mouth, Hock. It’s your own you should be watching.”
    “One of the things the mayor and I talked about was dealing with chickenshit bureau cops like you, the kind that really tire my ass.” I started dialing the phone. “The mayor gave me a private number. He said to call him up when I was having problems with a real class-A chickenshit...”
    “Give us a break, Hockaday. Hang it up.”
    “My mouth’s suddenly all right with you?”
    “Just give me the address you wrote out. I’ll send over a crew.”
    “Much better, Looey, maybe we can be friends someday.” I hung up the phone, putting an end to my bluff, knowing it would come to haunt me as yet another grievance by the wreathing types. I got up from my desk and walked over to Rankin to hand him the slip of paper. “This Monaghan, he should profile all the way. Call in your restaurant managers and you ought to be able to make the guy on a lineup. Just do me one favor.”
    “What’s that?”
    “Next door to where you roust Monaghan, there’s a mission run by a nun—Sister Roberta Lowther. Make her know I’m no part of this.”

    Two more calls. One to Inspector Neglio to clear an out-of-town date with a hermit, one to the sector garage to reserve an unmarked car.
    It was early to be calling Ruby, but I rang her anyway. There was no use avoiding her on the subject of my afternoon. She would only track me down.
    “Housekeeping went faster than I thought,” I said. “I don’t suppose you’re ready with that gym date.”
    “You mean you’re freed up right now?”
    “I guess.”
    “Good. As it turns out, the trainer wasn’t available this afternoon. But he can take you now.”
    My luck.
    Ruby told me to go to the Chelsea Racquet and Fitness Club down on West Eighteenth Street off Sixth Avenue.
    “Take the train down to Union Square and stop off at that sporting goods shop on the north side,” she said.
    ‘You’re going to need tennis shoes, shorts, and a T-shirt and a jockstrap. Can you remember all that?”
    “Actually I can.”
    “I can’t wait to see you in your little gym shorts.”
    “You’re coming to the gym?”
    “No, Irish, I told you—I’ve got things to do afternoon.”
    “What?”
    “Wait and see.”

Twenty-four

    B y now, the class mostly treated Thornton with respect. One imperious glare from those intelligent blue eyes of his could translate into an incomplete evaluation and a man was back to square one at charm school. There was a greater reason for respecting Thornton,