Ed McBain - Downtown

“How do you do, Mr. Fingers?” Michael said.

“It’s Finnegan, actually. But that’s okay, everybody knows me as Jimmy Fingers.”

“Especially the cops,” Hannah said.

“Yeah, them,” Jimmy said.

“Mobile encounters,” Al said into the microphone, “by which I’m referring only to passenger automobiles and not vans or pickup trucks — and, mind you, I’m not even including figures for the Holland Tunnel or the George Washington Bridge — were up a full fifteen percent over last year.”

“That’s very good,” Jimmy said appreciatively.

“Good? That’s sensational,” Frankie said.

“But it can give you backaches,” Hannah said.

“Does anyone know where I can find a telephone?” Michael asked.

“Why you need a telephone?” Frankie said.

“I want to call a friend of mine. She may be able to take me to St. Luke’s Place.”

“Why you wanna go to St. Luke’s? What’s the matter with here?”

“Here is very nice, but...”

“... know I speak for all of us,” Al said at the microphone, “when I extend our sincere appreciation and gratitude to our fine mayor, David Dinkins, and our excellent police commissioner, Lee Brown, and also the good Lord above us, thank you one and all!”

“Hear, hear,” Jimmy Fingers said.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, I am going to ask you to please enjoy the food and the beverage and the music and to stay as long as you like, although some of us may have made previous arrangements. To one and to all, to those of us in management, and to you — the rank and file in the front lines — I wish you a merry Christmas and a new year even more financially and spiritually rewarding than this one has been. Enjoy!” he shouted, and extended both arms in the V gesture Richard Nixon had made famous.

“You wanna go to St. Luke’s, I’ll take you to St. Luke’s,” Frankie said. “It’s Christmas, I feel like Santa Claus. Anyway, it’s on my way home.”

“Well, thank you, that’s very kind of you,” Michael said.

“I got the car right outside,” Frankie said.

At the microphone, four women began singing, “Deck the whores with boughs of holly, fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la. Look-in’ for a good-time Charlie, fa-la-la...”

The moment they were seated in Frankie’s red Buick Regal, he turned to Michael and said, “So they want you for murder, huh?”

Michael’s hand shot out for the door handle.

“Relax, relax, maybe I can help you.”

“I think you have the wrong party,” Michael said.

“I seen you on television, I ain’t got the wrong party. Relax.”

“It’s the kind of face I have, I’m often mistaken for...”

“Relax, willya please? I’m only tryin’a help here.”

“Well, thanks, but how can you possibly...?”

“I can hide you out for a coupla days,” Frankie said.

“But I didn’t kill anybody,” Michael said.

“Well, of course you didn’t, nobody ever killed anybody. But this is me you’re talkin’ to.”

“Well...”

“So you want to go under or not?” Frankie asked. “You surface again sometime next week, the cops’ll forget you even existed.”

“Excuse me,” Michael said, “but I don’t think that’s the way to go.”

“Then what is the way to go?” Frankie said, sounding a bit irritated. “I mean, no offense meant, but you’re the fuckin’ guy murdered somebody, not me.”

“I think I’ve got to find out who got killed.”

“Who got killed is this guy Crandall.”

“No, it wasn’t Crandall.”

“On television, they said he was the dead guy. And they said you killed him. Which, by the way, your name ain’t Donald Trump.”

“That’s right, it isn’t.”

“I mean, nobody in this whole fuckin’ world could be named Donald Trump. I mean, if you had to pick a phony name...”

“It’s Michael Barnes,” Michael said.

“Which also sounds phony. I’m tryin’a help you here, and you keep layin’ this bullshit on me. Is it that you don’t trust me? I mean, I spent all my life in this fuckin’ downtown community, tryin’a build a reputation for honesty and trust, so if there’s one thing you can do, it’s trust me.”

“I do trust you,” Michael said.

“Good,” Frankie said, and pulled a gun from a holster under his jacket and stuck it in Michael’s face. “You know what this is?” he asked Michael.

Michael knew what it was. It was a Colt .45 automatic. He had handled many guns exactly like it while he was in the army.

“Yes,” he said, “I know what it is.”

“Good,” Frankie said. “You know how to use it?”

“Yes.”

“Good. ’Cause I want you to use it.”

Michael looked at him.

“There is a person I would like you to kill,” Frankie said. Michael kept looking at him.

“Because I understand you’re very good at that,” Frankie said.

Everyone in this city is crazy, Michael thought.

“You already killed this movie guy,” Frankie said, “so it...”

“No, I didn’t kill this movie...”

“Hey,” Frankie said, “ listen, okay?” and put the gun to his ear as if it were a finger. “This is me, okay?” he said, and winked. “Never mind what you tell nobody else, this is me. Now. If you already killed one guy and the cops are lookin’ for you...”

Michael sighed.

“... then it won’t make no difference you kill another guy, ’cause the cops’ll still be looking for you, am I right?”

“No, you’re wrong,” Michael said. “Because killing two people is a lot more serious than killing one person.”

“Well, you certainly should know,” Frankie said.

“And besides, I didn’t... look, do me a favor, okay? It was nice meeting you, really, and I enjoyed being there at your union meeting...”

“We’re not a union,” Frankie said. “We’re a social and athletic club.”

“Whatever, it was very nice. I’m glad business was so good, I’m very happy for you. And I appreciate your offer to drive me to St. Luke’s Place...”

“So then take the gun and help me out,” Frankie said. “I mean, that’s the fuckin’ least you can do.”

“You make it sound as if I owe you something,” Michael said.

“I’m not turnin’ you in, am I?”

“Goddamn it, I didn’t kill anybody!”

“If you can’t do the time, don’t do the crime,” Frankie said.

“Mr. Zepparino,” Michael said, “I’m going to get out of this car now.”

“Please take the gun,” Frankie said, “or I’ll blow your fuckin’ brains out.”

“All right, give me the gun,” Michael said.

“Now you’re talkin’ sense,” Frankie said, and handed him the gun.

“Thank you,” Michael said, and pointed the gun at him. “And now I’m going to bid you a fond...”

“That won’t do no good,” Frankie said.

Michael looked at him.

“The gun ain’t loaded,” he said.

“What?”

“The clip’s here in my pocket.”

“What? What?”

“Also, if a person asks you nice to kill somebody for him, why don’t you just do it?”

“Because I...”

“Instead of threatening that person with an empty pistol?”

Michael was thinking first Charlie Wong with his fake gun, and now Frankie Zeppelin with an empty one. He was thinking he had to get out of this city. He was thinking that he had to get out of here before he himself went crazy.

“The person I want you to kill is Isadore Onions,” Frankie said.

“I’m not about to kill Mr. Onions or anyone else,” Michael said wearily.