Manhattan Is My Beat

had been a key witness in a series of Racketeering Influenced Corrupt Organizations (RICO) trials of midwest crime leaders earlier this year was shot to death yesterday in a gangland-style hit in Brooklyn.
    Vincent Spinello, 70, was killed by gunshots to the chest. A witness, who asked not to be identified, reported that a young woman with short hair fled from the scene and is a primary suspect in the case.
    Another witness in the same series of cases, Arnold Gittleman, was murdered, along with two U.S. marshals, in a St. Louis hotel last month.
     
    The paper crumpled in her hands. Me! she thought. That’s me, the young woman with short hair.
    She
used
me! Emily. The bitch used me. She knew all along where Symington was and got me out there to make it look like
I
killed him.
    And, hell, my fingerprints’re all over the place!
    Primary suspect
…
    Tony snatched the newspaper away from her. “You can pick up your check on Monday.”
    “Please, Tony,” she said. “I need money now. Can’t I get cash?”
    “No fucking way.”
    “I’ve got to get out of town.”
    “Monday,” he said. Returned to his paper.
    “Look, I’ve got a check for fifteen hundred bucks. Give me a thousand and I’ll sign it over to you.”
    “Yeah, like
you’ve
got a check that’s going to clear. I’m sure.”
    “Tony! It’s payable to cash. From a law firm.”
    “Out.”
    Frankie Greek stuck his head out of the storeroom and said, “Hey, Rune, like, you got a couple calls. This cop, Manelli. And that U.S. marshal guy. Dixon. Oh, and Stephanie too.”
    Tony barked, “But don’t call ‘em from here. Use the pay phone outside.”
    Stephanie! Rune thought. If they’d been following me, they’ve seen me with her.
    Oh, Jesus Mary, she’s in danger too.
    She ran back to the counter and swept the phone off the cradle. Tony started to say something but then seemed to decide that it wasn’t worth fighting the battle; after all, he’d won the war. He turned on his worn heel and retreated to the other counter, carrying the newspaper.
    Stephanie’s groggy voice finally answered.
    “Rune! Where’ve you been? You missed work last night. Tony’s really pissed—”
    “Steph, listen to me.” Her voice was raw. “They murdered that man I was trying to find, Symington, they’re trying to make it look like I did it.”
    “What?”
    “And they tried to kill me!”
    “Who?”
    “I don’t know. They work for the Mafia or something. I think they might’ve seen you too.”
    “Rune, are you making this up? Is this one of your fantasies?”
    “No! I’m serious.”
    Several customers glanced at her. She felt a shiver of fear. She cupped her hand over the receiver and lowered her voice. “Look on the front page of the
Post
. The story’s there.”
    “You have to call the police.”
    “I
can’t
. My fingerprints’re all over the house where Symington got killed. I’m a suspect.”
    “Jesus, Rune. What a mess.”
    “I’m going back to Ohio.”
    “When? Now?”
    “As soon as I can get some money. Tony won’t pay me.”
    “Prick,” Stephanie spat out. “I can lend you some.”
    “I can give you a check for fifteen hundred.”
    “Are you serious?”
    “Yeah, it’s payable to cash. You can have it. But, listen, you have to come with me!”
    “Come with you?” Stephanie asked. “Where?”
    “To Ohio.”
    “No way. I’ve got an audition next week.”
    “Stephanie …”
    “I’ll get you a couple of hundred. I’ll stop at the bank. Where’ll you be?”
    “How ‘bout Union Square Park? The subway entrance, southeast side.”
    “Okay. Good. A half hour.”
    “Is it safe?” Stephanie asked cautiously.
    “Pretty safe.”
    A pause. “I don’t want to get beat up or anything. I bruise real easy. And I can’t be bruised for my audition.”

     
    As she stepped into the street, Rune heard the man’s voice right beside her.
    “You’re a hard person to find.”
    Panicked, Rune spun around.
    Richard was leaning on a parking meter. The yuppie in him had been exorcized; Mr. Downtown was back. He wore boots, black jeans, and a black T-shirt. He also wore a gold hoop in his ear. She noticed that it was a clip-on. He looked tired.
    “You have,” he continued, “as FDR said, a passion for anonymity. I called you at the store a couple of times. I was worried about you.”
    “I haven’t been in for a while.”
    “There was this party last night. I thought you might want to go.”
    “You didn’t ask …