Manhattan Is My Beat

you and I, I mean, between you and
me
, I don’t like to travel. I can’t say anything to them though. You understand. Do you know when we’re leaving?”
    “I don’t know, Mr. Elliott. I sure don’t … So what did you find out about the cop who stole the money?”
    “Cop?”
    “In
Manhattan Is My Beat?
“
    “I wrote the story. I tried to write a good story. There’s nothing like that, you know. Isn’t that the best thing in the world? A good story.”
    “It was a wonderful story, Mr. Elliott.” She got up on her knees. “I especially liked the part where Roy hid the money. He was digging like a madman, remember? In the movie it was hidden in a cemetery. In real life did you ever have any idea where the cop who stole the money hid it?”
    “The money?” He looked at her for a second with eyes that seemed to click with understanding. “All that money.”
    And Rune felt a low jolt in her stomach, a kick. She whispered, “What
about
the money?”
    His eyes glazed over again and he said, “What they do here—they’ll do it when the weather’s nice—they put paper on the tables, like tablecloths and we have picnics here. They put nuts in little paper cups. They’re pink and look like tiny upside-down ballet dresses. I don’t know where the tables are. I hope they do that again soon…. Where’s Bips?”
    Rune sank back down on her haunches. She smiled. “He’s playing, Mr. Elliott, I’ll look out for him.” They sat in silence for a moment and she asked, “What did Robert Kelly want when he came to visit you a month ago?”
    His head nodded toward her and his eyes had a sudden lucidity that startled her.
    “Who, Bobby? Why, he was asking me questions about that damn movie.” The old face broke into a smile. “Just like you’ve been doing all afternoon.”

     
    Rune, leaning forward, studying his face, the lines and gnarls. “What exactly did you talk about, you and Bobby Kelly?”
    “Your father, Bobby? Oh, the usual. I worked on
Manhattan
with some of the boys.”
    “I know you did. What did Bobby ask you about it?”
    “Stuff.”
    “Stuff?” she asked cheerfully.
    Elliott frowned. “Somebody else did too. Somebody else was asking me things.”
    Her heart pounded a little faster. “When was that, Mr. Elliott? Do you remember?”
    “Last month. No, no, just the other day. Wait, I remember—it was today, little while ago.” He focused on her. “It was a girl. Boyish. Looked a lot like you. Wait, maybe it
was
you.”
    He squinted.
    Rune felt that he was on the verge of something. She didn’t say anything for a moment. Like the times she and her father would go fishing in rural Ohio, playing the heavy catfish with the frail Sears rods. You could lose them in a wink if you weren’t careful.
    “Bobby Kelly,” she tried again. “When he came to visit, what did he ask you about the movie?”
    The eyes dropped and the lids pressed together. “The usual, you know. Are you his daughter?”
    “Just a friend.”
    “Where is he now?”
    “He’s busy, he couldn’t make it. He wanted me to say hello to you and tell you that he had a great time talking to you last month. You talked, he told me you talked all about … what was it again?”
    “That place.”
    “What place?”
    “That place in New York. The place I sent him. He’d been looking for it for a long time is what he told me.”
    Rune’s heart thudded hard. She turned her head and looked directly into his milky eyes.
    “He was happy when I sent him there. You should have seen his face when I told him about it. Oh, he was real happy. Where’s Bips?”
    “Just playing, Mr. Elliott. I’m looking after him. Where did you send Bobby Kelly?”
    “He was real anxious to find it and I told him right off, I’m sure I did.”
    “Do you remember now?”
    “Oh, one of those places … there are lots of them, you know.”
    Rune was leaning forward.
Please try to remember
, she thought.
Please, pleasepleaseplease
… Didn’t say anything.
    Silence. The old man shook his head. He sensed the importance of her questions and there was frustration in his eyes. “I can’t remember. I’m sorry.” He rubbed his fingers together. “Sometimes I think I’m going loony. Just loony. I’m feeling pretty tired. I could use a nap.”
    “That’s okay, Mr. Elliott.” She tasted her disappointment. But she smiled and patted his arm, then moved away quickly when she felt how thin it was. Thought of her father. “Hey, don’t