Manhattan Is My Beat

curiosity.
    “That guy a minute ago? He almost knocked me over.”
    “Me too,” one woman said. Her gray hair was in pink curlers.
    “Who is he?” Rune asked, breathing hard, leaning against the banister.
    “That’s Mr. Symington. In 3B. He crazy.” The woman didn’t elaborate.
    So he lived here. Which meant he probably wasn’t the killer. More likely a witness.
    “Yeah,” the woman’s friend added, “move up there last month.”
    “What’s his first name?”
    “Victor, I think. Something like that. Never says hello or nothing.”
    “So what?” the curler woman said. “He’s nobody you’d want to talk to anyway.”
    “I don’t know,” Rune said indignantly. “
I’d
have a couple things to tell him.”
    The curler woman pointed to the box of diapers. “Greatest invention ever was.”
    “After TV,” her friend said.
    Rune said, “Well, sure,” and started down the stairs.

     
    She ran into Amanda on the street corner.
    “Look,” the woman said. She’d been to Hallmark and had bought a fake silver picture frame. Inside she’d put a picture of her and Mr. Kelly. It was at Christmas and they were in front of a skinny pine tree decorated with a few lights and tinsel. There was still a smear of adhesive on the glass from the price tag.
    “It’s totally cool,” Rune said, and started to cry once more.
    “You have babies?” Amanda was looking at the diapers.
    “Oh. Long story. You want them?”
    A faint laugh. “Did that years and years ago.”
    Rune pitched them out. “I’ve got a question. What do you know about Victor Symington?”
    “That guy live upstairs?”
    “Yeah.”
    Amanda shrugged. “Not so much. He been in the building for maybe six weeks. A month. He never say hi, never say how you doing. I no like him so much. I mean, why not say good morning to people? What’s so hard about that? You tell me what’s so hard.”
    “You said Mr. Kelly never talked about his life much?”
    “No, he didn’t.”
    “Did he mention anything about a bank robbery? Or a movie called
Manhattan Is My Beat?
“
    “You know, I think he say something about that movie. Yeah. A couple times. He was real happy he find it. But he never say anything about a bank robbery.”
    “Are you going to have a funeral for him? I talked to the police and they said you wanted to bury him.”
    The woman nodded. Rune thought: This is what you think of when somebody says a “handsome” woman. Amanda wasn’t beautiful. But she was ageless and attractive. “He has no family,” Amanda said. “I have a friend, he cuts grass at Forest Lawn. Maybe I can work something out with him to get Mr. Kelly buried there. That’s a nice place. If I can stay here in the U.S., I mean. But I no think that going to happen.”
    Rune whispered to her, “Don’t give up just yet.”
    “What?”
    “I think Mr. Kelly was about to get a lot of money.”
    “Mr. Kelly?” Amanda laughed. “He never said anything about that to me.”
    “I can’t say anything for certain. But I think I’m right.
And
I think this Symington knows something about it. If you see him, will you let me know? Don’t say anything to him.” She gave the woman the number of the video store. “Call me there.”
    “Sure, sure. I call you.”
    Rune watched the skepticism surface on her face.
    “You don’t believe me, do you?” she asked Amanda.
    The woman shrugged. “Believe that Mr. Kelly was going to get some money?” She laughed again. “No, I no think so. But, hey, you find it, you let me know,” she said. Looked at the picture once more. “You let me know.”

     
    Once upon a time
…
    Walking west toward Avenue A. Rune looked up and down the street for Symington. Gone.
    The heat was bad. City heat, dense heat, wet heat. She didn’t feel like hurrying but she also didn’t want to get into a shouting match with Tony so she broke one of her personal rules and hurried to work.
    Once upon a time, in a kingdom huge and powerful and filled with many wonders, there was a princess. A very small princess who no one took seriously
….
    She continued along the sidewalk, feeling exhilarated. She’d met her first black knight—a pock-faced man in his sixties, wearing an ugly brown hat—and escaped from him without being broadsworded to death.
    Oh, she was a beautiful princess though she was too short to be a model. A beautiful princess—and would be a lot more beautiful when her hair grew out. Then one day the princess became very sad