Ed Dee - The Con Man's Daughter

"Bartender," Eddie finally said. He knew better than to refer to her as miss, or think of her as a barmaid .

She said something out of the side of her mouth, which got a few laughs, then walked down.

"Do you know this woman?" he asked, showing her the picture of Zina. He held his thumb partially over the B number under her chin, but still letting her see it.

"I figured you gotta be a cop," she said. "Ballsy attitude and all. My friend says it's not balls, that it's something kinkier, but I'll give you the benefit of the doubt."

She took a quick look at the photo, not long enough to tell anything. Her answer was prepared and practiced.

"Never saw her before."

"Look again," he said. "She comes in here all the time."

"I told you: I don't know her."

"Sure you do. Her name is Zina Rabinovich."

"If you know who she is, why the hell you asking me?"

"I need to find her."

"Sorry, can't help you."

"Then I'll ask your friends," he said, starting to get off the stool.

"Wait, wait, wait," she said. "What's so important that you need to find her tonight?"

"Because a friend of hers just got arrested. A retarded guy named Freddie Dolgev. He lives across the hall from her. He wanted me to find her."

"If you know where she lives, go there."

"I did. She's not home."

"Okay, just show me some identification before I let you go around interrogating my customers."

Eddie took out the small leather case that contained the replica of his old detective shield. The tattered case looked like it had been around the block. He'd carried it since he'd first made detective. The emblem and numbers had embedded in the leather. It couldn't have looked more authentic. His ID card was another matter. Retired cops got to keep their ID; it was merely stamped "Retired." No such perk if you resigned. Before turning in his ID on his last day as a cop, he'd color-copied and laminated it. It looked official-enough, sitting behind the yellowed plastic sleeve in the case.

"Give me a minute," the bartender said.

Her leather pants squeaked as she went back to the other end to confer with the small blonde. The big bare-armed woman, muttering to herself, slapped the bar hard with the palm of her hand; then she stood up and walked out. As she turned to throw an ugly glare at Eddie, he saw that the tattooed banner read death before dishonor. A minute later, the small blonde pulled up the stool next to him. She wore a navy blazer over faded jeans and could have been a suburban soccer mom.

"I never saw you around here before," she said after she asked to see his identification.

"I'm on special assignment."

"Where do you normally work?"

"The Four-eight in the Bronx."

"You know Kevin Moroney?"

Eddie did know Kevin Moroney. But he also knew the blonde was a cop and that she had his number.

"It was the ID, right?" Eddie said.

"The whole department changed years ago. We use an upright card now, and it's red, white, and blue. Only retired cops carry these old maroon cards."

"I should get it changed."

"If you're going to pull this stunt again, you'd better. There's one thing I want you to remember: Don't ever pull this shit in here again or I'm going to lock your ass up. You're not an active cop. You can't play like you're one. That's impersonating. It's a crime. Good try, but you can't do this. We understand each other?"

"Yeah," Eddie said. "But how about Zina?"

"Don't worry about Zina. Someone will get word to her that Freddie is jammed up. Is he in the Six-oh?"

The couple on the dance floor clung together during another slow tune, a twangy female vocalist who had it bad and that ain't good. All other eyes were focused on him.

"Listen," Eddie said, leaning over so he could speak softly. "You seem like a nice young woman. So I have a little advice for you. Don't get on the wrong side of this. If Zina has anything to do with kidnapping my daughter, you don't want to come out of this as a lesbian cop who obstructed justice."

The little blonde sat back and gave him a look that said, Okay, now I've got it. "I know who you are," she said, nodding her head. "I heard the story. Tough thing, tough goddamn thing. I want you to know that if Zina had anything to do with it, I'll be the first one to put cuffs on her. Okay? We see eye-to-eye on that, right? Like I said, I feel bad for what happened. Hurting your family is bullshit, but that doesn't give you the right to come in here and threaten me. All that does is piss me off."

"I wish all I felt now was pissed-off," Eddie said.

"Get the fuck out of here," she said. "Before we have to call an ambulance."

In the quiet, the regulars picked up on the tension in the blonde's voice. Eddie nodded toward her and scooped all but a buck off the bar. Nothing to be gained in forcing the issue. On the way out, he stopped to read the posted softball schedule. The Brooklyn Adult Women's Fast-Pitch Softball League. Six teams total, a few in Queens. Alice B's played Dietrich's for the season opener on May 1. Eddie snatched the schedule off the wall. It gave him five more places to look. One called Lady's was close by, in Bay Ridge, ten minutes away. He had enough time before closing to hit a few of them.

A damp, cold Coney Island chill hung in the night air. The streets were empty, but as soon as he took three steps from the bar, he could see something was wrong. The entire driver's side of his Olds tilted toward the road. He had a flat tire and no spare. There would be no tour of lesbian bars tonight. Then as he got closer… double that problem. Two flats. Both tires had been slashed.

Sunday night was always a bitch in Brooklyn. Auto mechanics in the borough were never informed that Brooklyn was part of a town called "the city that never sleeps." Just try to get a tire fixed on Sunday night. Eddie took both tires off, then eventually found an off-duty cab-driver willing to make two hundred bucks. He tossed the tires in the trunk and the driver took him to the spot his garage used. He bought two retreads from Northey's Discount Tire, got them mounted, and paid another two hundred for the ride back.

By the time he got there, a hint of a sunrise had begun to lighten the sky. Srillwell Avenue was so quiet, he could hear the ocean churning. A few early birds hustled toward the el station. Eddie jacked up the front end of the Olds and slid the wheel on, only hand-tightening the lugs. Then he went to the back wheel. He heard another car nearby, the engine idling roughly. Looking in his side-view mirror, he saw a dark blue muscle car, either a Camaro or a Firebird, parked in front of the coffee shop across from Nathan's. The car vibrated from a badly tuned engine. The glass was tinted black. A stream of cigarette smoke rose from the crack above the window on the driver's side. Eddie tightened the lug nuts on the back wheel. He didn't bother with the hubcap; he tossed it in the trunk for now. Then he went back to the front wheel.

With two lugs to go, Eddie worked faster. He needed a shower, something to eat, and a chance to talk to someone who loved him. He pressed his cheek against the front fender and leaned into it. Then something hit the car. He heard it at the same moment he felt the impact. It hit the roof, something solid, a heavy, rolling bang. At first, he thought it was a rock, maybe a baseball or pool ball. Rolling… from the roof… rolling down to the hood. It bounced off the hood, hit the pavement, and rolled against the curb right in front of him.

Nobody had to yell "Grenade." Despite stiff knees, he moved quickly, three steps to the back of the Olds. He hit the ground and rolled under an SUV parked behind him. He saw the muscle car peel out, but he only heard rubber squealing for a moment. Then the explosion.

The aftermath was worse than the boom. His ears rang as if he had a burglar alarm in his head. The SUV still shook. Dirt and grit that had fallen from the undercarriage of the SUV when it was rocked by the blast filled his mouth, eyes, and hair. Eddie pushed himself out, then to his feet. He could feel the smashed safety glass in his palms. The air was full of rising dust and dirt and the smell of explosives. And the ringing car alarms, burglar alarms.