Hedging (A Smith and Wetzon Mystery)

wavered in the condensation, gaping, rivulets of shock. Or was it tears? Whatever it was, it was gone in an instant.
    She looked for Silvestri, didn’t see him in the misty drizzle.
    The actors left and two more people came through, waiting to be seated. Leslie hurried back to Carlos. “Find Silvestri,” she said. “I just saw—” She stopped.
    Silvestri was back. “You just saw?”
    “David Lumare. He was staring at me through the window. He’s wearing a broad brimmed black hat.”
    “Christ!” Silvestri was out the door.
    Wally gave her three more wine orders. “You got to keep an eye out for the refills.”
    Her feet hurt. Her hand was throbbing again. Silvestri came through the door, shaking off the rain. He shook his head. The evening wore on.
    Carlos watched, worried. “Birdie, I think you should call it quits. Not just tonight, but for good. This is no way for you to live. You don’t have to.”
    She had to agree with him. Besides, she had to begin recapturing her real life.
    It was after two when Silvestri sent Carlos home.
    With only Wally and Silvestri remaining, she wiped down the bar. Wally restocked the fridge. No one spoke.
    She placed the Mets cap and the leather glove on the bar. “This is it for me, Wally.”
    “I’ll see you Monday, T.J.,” Wally said.
    “She’s quitting,” Silvestri said.
    “Silvestri!”
    “Well, you are, aren’t you?”
    “Are you?” Wally said.
    Leslie nodded. “Outside, Silvestri.”
    She waited until he closed the door. “You saved my life, Wally. Literally. And I thank you. I needed this job because I’d lost my memory. I have a whole other life I have to get back to.”
    “Okay, T.J., that’s cool.” He came around the bar and gave her a bear hug. “Any time you want, you got a job.”
    “Thanks, Wally.”
    The night was moist, but the rain had stopped. Their breaths made white puffs.
    “You didn’t owe him any explanations,” Silvestri said.
    “Yes, I did. He was nice to me.”
    He hailed a cab in spite of her protestations. “You look like you’re about to drop, so don’t give me a hard time, okay?”
    The stairs were daunting. Silvestri picked her up and slung her over his shoulder.
    “The blood is rushing to my head,” she said, thumping his back.
    “Good. Maybe you’ll get smart and start taking care of yourself.”
    She didn’t even have the strength to protest.
    He lowered her to the bed and took her coat, fighting Izz off.
    “The down jacket,” she said. “I swiped it from a nurse—Lucy—at Mount Sinai. I have to give it back to her. And the money—sixty dollars.”
    “The jacket is evidence. We’ll buy her a new one, or better yet, we’ll send her a check for the works.”
    “Was that call something to do with me?”
    He pulled off her boots and set them next to the bed. “Metzger.”
    “So?”
    “He picked up the ID of one of the bodies, the woman. Natalie Nostrand, real name Natalya Nostradovich.”
    Leslie shook her head. “Don’t know her, by either name.”
    “Her prints were on file.”
    “How come? Was she a felon?”
    “She was a stock broker.”

29
    “I CAN get pretty close,” William said, inspecting the new ash blonde leaking through the dark. “Maybe a little warmer than ash.”
    “What do you think, Birdie?”
    She tugged at the towel William had wrapped around her neck. “I like warmer, but stop fussing.”
    William performed hair miracles for Broadway. They were in his tiny Village apartment where wigs and pieces, some of unearthly hues, claimed every available surface. As for William’s own hair, he didn’t have any. His looks were startling. He shaved his head and dyed his wooly eyebrows bright blue.
    William was beaming to his own melody, tuned out, hands like a piano virtuoso, lathering Leslie’s hair with glop, as Carlos said, putting the pieces of his Birdie back together.
    “Fussing? Bite me.”
    “No, thank you.”
    She’d been relieved that Silvestri had to go to work. “Once I’m blonde again,” she’d said, “don’t you think I can go home without anyone still thinking I’m Mary Lou Salinger?”
    “No. The Barracuda settled that with her news conference.”
    “Barracuda?”
    “What Carlos calls your esteemed partner.”
    Leslie giggled. “It’s good.”
    “Anyway, they may have someone watching your place, and your office. They’re not stupid. They’ll figure you were working inside and have something on them.”
    “Diamonds?”
    “Only the FBI, the