Michael Baden - Skeleton justice

"I'm Travis Heaton's defense attorney," Manny said, once the music was playing. "I want to know why you've been refusing to cooperate with me. Who planted that bomb? Where is Travis now?" There was so much to find out and so little time.

Manny saw the expression on Paco's face change from fearful to merely cautious. "It's too complicated to explain it all right now. Let's make a plan to meet somewhere else."

"Yeah, right. You talk here or I'll show your mother the document."

Even though she didn't understand everything the document said, Manny could tell she possessed a powerful weapon. She watched as Paco weighed his risks, his eyes darting back and forth.

"No!" His fingers, slender but strong, pressed into her forearm. "Travis is at an apartment in Brooklyn. Three twenty-nine Rosamond Street, 4E. He called me from there yesterday, but he couldn't talk."

"What-" But Manny was interrupted by a high-pitched voice nearby.

"Ms. Medford? Are you ill? Do you need help?"

Manny pushed Paco toward the door. "Get your mother back in the living room. Tell her you ran into me in the hall and sent me to the kitchen for a drink. I'll follow you out there in a few seconds." The rain had stopped. Jake loped down First Avenue, trying to put as much Manhattan real estate between himself and the Sandovals' apartment building as possible.

As he walked, he delivered a diatribe. "Totally irresponsible… reckless and immature… only concerned with what's important to you…"

From where she trotted four steps behind him, Manny could hear only parts of the harangue, but she caught the drift. She didn't attempt to defend herself. Jake was right: She had put him at terrible professional risk. She should have thought of the long-term consequences had they been caught. But the bottom line was, they had pulled it off. So why all the outrage? She hated when he pulled this indignant father crap. "Slow down," she gasped. "You're more of a workout than spinning class."

"Take your time. No need to keep up with me. I've served my purpose, so let me go."

Oh, now we've switched to used and abused boy toy. "Why are you so touchy? Everything worked out brilliantly. I have this document, which is going to help me figure out what's happening here, and I found out where Travis is. And"-Manny reached into her pocket and pulled out a small yellow rectangle-"we even got a check for five thousand dollars."

"What the hell are you going to do with that?"

"I'm going to send it to Home Again. When I tell them what a great fund-raiser you are, I bet they'll put you on their board."

Not even a glimmer of a smile. Geez, he really was pissed. Manny tried again.

"Jake, look! Souvlaki King." She grabbed his arm and dragged him to a halt. "Let's stop and eat. I'm starving."

"Eat! How can you even think about food at a time like this? I've got so much adrenaline pumping through my body, I won't be able to eat or sleep until next Tuesday."

"I have a parasitic infestation, remember? It must be a tapeworm."

Jake stared at her for a long moment. Then his upper lip twitched. Soon, his shoulders were shaking. By the time they stumbled into Souvlaki King, they were both laughing so hard, all they could do was point to the gyro special and collapse in the red vinyl booth.

"You have tzatziki sauce on your chin." Jake smiled at Manny and indicated the location on his own face.

She grinned and wiped her mouth with a handful of the Greek diner's flimsy napkins. Jake never stopped marveling at how totally unflappable Manny was. If he had told his ex-wife, Marianna, that, she would have leaped up from the table in a huff and spent twenty minutes in the ladies' room repairing the damage. Not that Marianna would ever have agreed to eat at Souvlaki King. But if she had found herself in such a place, she would never have ordered the gyro special. His ex-wife did not eat messy food-no ribs, no lobster in the shell, no corn on the cob, ever. No wonder his work had repulsed her.

Manny leaned back in the booth. "Wow, that hit the spot. Just what I needed before a long drive to Brooklyn."

Jake's benevolent mood dissolved. "Brooklyn? We can't go out there right now. I have to get back to the office."

"What's this 'we,' Kemo Sabe? I don't recall asking you to go."

Jake glared at her. "You can't go out to some strange apartment in Brooklyn alone. There's no telling what you'll find there, or whom Travis is with."

"I'll be fine." Manny stood and straightened the demure skirt she'd chosen for her animal activist charade. "Look how I'm dressed-drab as a dormouse. No one will take the slightest interest in me."

Jake slid out of the booth to block her exit, causing the worried waiter to rush over with the check. "Manny, please. This is needlessly risky. Just wait until five-thirty and we'll go out there together."

Manny dodged around him. "I don't need a chaperone. Every minute that Travis is away from his apartment, he digs himself deeper in the hole with the feds. I've got to talk to him and figure out what's going on, then bring him back on my terms, not the government's."

"Don't be reckless!" Jake grabbed her shoulder, but she pulled away and strode down the center aisle of the diner. Jake followed. Groundhog Day-shades of Il Postino.

"You pay! You pay bill now!" the waiter shouted.

"Give the man his money, Jake," Manny instructed as she reached the door of the restaurant.

"At least call Sam to go with you," Jake shouted after her as he fumbled with his wallet.

"Okay, sure. Bye-thanks for lunch!"

And she was gone.

Jake stood at the cash register and watched her red hair disappear into the crowd. He knew damn well she wouldn't call Sam. Should he follow her to Brooklyn? By the time she got her car and drove through midday traffic, he could make it out to Rosamond Street on the subway. He thought of the pile of work on his desk, the hours this morning that he'd been missing in action. Pederson was probably already foaming at the mouth.

Well, screw Pederson. He wasn't going to let Manny get killed just to avoid a confrontation with his boss. Now, what was the address and apartment number Paco had given her? Jake closed his eyes and tried to relax his mind so it would come to him.

"Hey." The waiter poked him. "Here's your change. Whaddaya, some kinda horse? You sleep standing up?"

Jake scowled. No one could accuse this guy of groveling for tips. If the address had been about to come to him, it was lost now. He suspected Rosamond Street was one of those short blocks in Carroll Gardens, but he'd have to check a map to be sure. He figured maybe he should just hang out on the street and wait for Manny's high-profile black convertible to arrive.

Damn it-he didn't need this aggravation. Manny was a complication in his life, a complication that took him away from concentrating 100 percent on his work.

His cell phone rang. The knot of tension within him unwound. He assumed it must be Manny, telling him she'd changed her mind and that she'd wait until five-thirty and go to Brooklyn with him.

"Hello."

"Rosen, get over to 233 1/2 West 164th Street." Pederson's snarl came through the airwaves. "There's another body waiting for you. Your Vampire has struck again."

Jake stepped out onto the sidewalk, looking in the direction Manny had charged off. Then he turned and walked the other way. Whatever awaited Manny on Rosamond Street, she'd have to face it alone. • • • Jake arrived on an upper Harlem street packed with police vehicles to find a gray-faced Pasquarelli pacing outside the door to a boarded-up storefront church. TABERNACLE OF LIVING PRAISE was painted on the filthy window, just barely visible behind a rusty metal grate permanently fused in the closed position. The gentrification that had swept through the brownstone blocks of central Harlem hadn't reached this grim little enclave of tenements, liquor stores, and check-cashing shops. The neighbors sat on their front stoops and leaned out their windows, watching the unfolding drama with about as much interest as they would give to a repeat of Beverly Hills, 90210.