George Chesbro - Shadow of a Broken Man

Tal shook his head. "Wouldn't it be virtually impossible for a man as famous as Victor Rafferty to simply disappear without leaving a trace? And why would he want to do such a thing?"

"Because some people were after him; they wanted him very badly." I handed Tal the list of names. "If Rafferty was-or is-here, the name he's using should be on this list."

Tal studied the list for a few moments, then said: "I don't believe Rafferty can be any of these people. Obviously, they wouldn't have been invited to participate in the conference if they weren't established professionals in their own countries. I'm sure the careers of all these people predate Rafferty's supposed death."

"You're probably right. Still, I'd like to do some preliminary checking. Do you know any of the people on the list?"

"Of course." He smiled broadly. "I see you have a circle around my name."

"You're an American, about the same age as Rafferty would be. You don't look anything alike, but plastic surgeons work miracles these days. I'm just trying to narrow down the possibilities."

Tal chuckled and held out his hands. "Why don't you fingerprint me? That should dispel any doubt in your mind."

I could feel my face grow hot. "I didn't bring my fingerprint kit with me. Thanks anyway."

Just then the phone on a desk at the other side of the office rang. Tal excused himself and rose to answer it. His back was to me as he spoke, and to be sure his offer to fingerprint him wasn't a bluff I picked up the pencil he'd left on the coffee table between us. Holding the pencil by the eraser, I dropped it into my pocket. Then I rose and moved toward the elevator; I didn't want to get caught pilfering pencils from the Secretary General's suite.

Tal finished on the phone and came over to me.

"I've used up enough of your time," I said.

"May I keep this list of names?" Tal asked, smiling.

"Sure. I have another copy."

"I'll look it over more carefully," he said. "If I think of anything I may have forgotten, I'll call you."

I gave him my card and thanked him again.

Abu was in his office when I stopped back in. We had coffee, we reminisced a bit, and then I went out into the late morning. I intended to go to Jack's Cakewalk, and I didn't want company.

The man in the checked suit was studiously pretending to read the Daily News . He was chomping on a hot dog, and a strand of sauerkraut was pasted to his chin. He blinked rapidly as he watched me out of the corner of his eye.

The direct approach was called for. "Hi," I said pleasantly as I walked up to him. "Why the hell are you following me?"

He didn't like it; I'd caught him with his mouth full. He chewed furiously, swallowed hard while his face auditioned a variety of expressions, and finally settled for a mixture of surprise and indignation. "Excuse me, sir?"

"I asked you why the hell you're following me. You've got sauerkraut all over your chin."

He swiped at his chin. He was getting mad; he did Mad better than Surprise and Indignation. "What are you talking about, pal?"

"Does it have something to do with Victor Rafferty? If you'd just tell me why you're following, I might not have to do so much walking around and we could all go home and relax."

His eyes narrowed. "Nobody's following you. You're crazy."

"Uh-uh. It's a sin to tell a lie. You're following me-and so is he." I pointed across the street to where the man's partner sat in the pink Pinto staring hard at the two of us.

"You're out of your mind, fella."

"Oh, good. Then I know I won't be seeing the two of you around anymore. Have a nice day."

I walked half a block, then stopped and looked back. The two men were having a heated conversation. The one I'd confronted reached inside the car and snatched a mobile telephone. He spoke into it quickly.

I hustled along, ducking into and out of a few storefronts on the way, just in case they had a third man on the job. When I was sure I was clean, I headed for the restaurant.

Jack's Cakewalk was open, crowded with laborers enjoying a late coffee break or an early lunch. There were two rooms, a lunch counter in front and a dingy, dimly lighted dining room in the back. I sat down in an empty seat at the lunch counter and exchanged a little friendly banter with the big boys around me who wanted to know if I was old enough to drink coffee.

The waitress, a pretty young thing with an astounding bust, finally worked her way down to me. She looked at me, smiled warmly. "What'll it be, little man?" she asked, shoving her chest at me amidst a chorus of cheers.

I grinned. "The little man would like a bun."

"A bun?" she singsonged. "Only one?"

"The cinammon variety." I put a five-dollar bill on the counter. "I'm looking for the old man."

"Barney?"

"Is Barney old?"

She pursed her lips. "Barney's old."

"That's him. Is he around?"

She waved her hand in the direction of the dining room. "He's probably in the john; Barney's got weak kidneys. He takes care of the back, if you want to talk to him. Go ahead. I'll bring your food and change back to you."

I thanked her and walked into the gloom at the back. There was an empty table near a dirty window, and I sat down at it. A few seconds later there was a flushing sound from the men's room to my right. Ancient plumbing clattered, and a man who looked like a contemporary of the plumbing emerged, drying his hands on an equally ancient, greasy apron. He looked around, squinting in the dim light, saw me, and came over. Through the wet, rheumy windows of his eyes he studied me. Then he rubbed his belly and cackled.

"Circus in town?" he wheezed.

"Funny, I was about to ask the same thing. You've got to be the oldest waiter I've ever seen."

He liked that; he carried his age around with him like a trophy. He gave me a gummy grin and slapped the top of the table with his hand. "Been workin' steady for seventy years, not countin' the Depression when nobody was workin'. Been right here for twenty-five. Can't afford to retire. You ever try livin' on Social Security?" He answered the question himself. "You can't do it. Then you go on Welfare and somebody's always stickin' their nose into your business." He paused, frowned. "You ain't from Social Security, are ya?"

"No, Barney, but I'd still like to talk to you. My name's Mongo."

He looked around. The dining room was beginning to fill. "Bad time, mister. Lunch crowd's comin' in pretty quick."

I laid another five-dollar bill on the table, pushed it toward him. "This won't take long."

He looked at the bill greedily. "Why you want to talk to me, mister?"

The waitress brought me my coffee and bun, with a glimpse of cleavage on the side. Barney ogled her as she walked away.

"I'm a private investigator," I said loudly in an attempt to get his attention back.

He cackled again. "That's the funniest thing I ever heard."

"I've got lots of friends," I said. "Big spenders with a sense of humor. I want to talk to you about a man named Victor Rafferty."

"That's easy," he said, quickly glancing at the bill as if it were about to be taken out of his reach. "I never heard of him."

Barney's hand came closer as I touched the five-dollar bill. "It would have been about five years ago. The man passed out on you."

He snapped his fingers; his eyes were suddenly clear, excited. Memories moved there like tides beneath their wet surface. "The guy that bounced the food!"

"I think that's the one," I said. "Is he the one who passed out on you?"

"Yessir, that's the guy I'm talkin' about! He zonked out after he bounced the food!"

"What do you mean, he 'bounced' the food? He didn't like it? He sent it back?"

The old man looked injured. "No! I'm tellin' you, the food bounced off him, like he was standin' behind an invisible wall. Didn't have a spot oh him!" He paused, frowned. "You don't believe me, either, do you?"