Walter Mosley: Known to Evil

What beats a fighter with a good plan isn't power or a lucky punch, not usually; no, what beats a journeyman pugilist is the onslaught of an implacable attack. If your opponent throws so much at you that you get confused, you will necessarily be drawn away from your game plan and defeated by the complexity of your own (mis)perceptions.

I had a lot on my mind: everything from murder to the unexpected bouquet of wildflowers that Katrina had placed in our dining room.

I resolved to ignore any new information until I had answered at least one question.

At that moment the buzzer sounded again. I decided to have that wire disconnected.

"Yes, Mardi?"

"A Mr. Alphonse Rinaldo to see you, Mr. McGill."

Show him in," I said, stunned by the impact of the soft words. Alphonse Rinaldo.

I had never seen him outside his downtown offices. The Big Man didn't come to you; he never went anywhere, as far as I knew.

When the door came open I stood up. Mardi entered with a smile for me and the view. She moved a little awkwardly but that was okay-I was off balance myself. Alphonse Rinaldo was the most powerful man I had ever met. Seeing him follow the child into the room was unreal. His dark-brown silk suit cost more than most cars. He was five- nine, with a perfect complexion and black, well-managed hair. He nodded and then moved gracefully to the visitor's chair.

It seemed like a travesty that such an important man should sit in the same seat that was occupied by George Toller just a while before.

"Can I get you anything, Mr. Rinaldo?" Mardi asked.

"Coffee?" he said.

"There's a Coffee Exchange in the lobby," I said. "Get me one, too, will ya, Mardi?"

I handed her a ten-dollar bill and the key ring for the front door, adding, "The silver key works on the top lock."

She smiled and backed out of the room.

"Nice place," Rinaldo said. His voice was smooth and deep like a placid lake on just the right day.

"Thank you."

I sat down and frowned again. It was becoming less and less likely that I'd make it to the final round.

Like Toller, Rinaldo was carrying a briefcase. But unlike the so-called CFO, the Special Assistant to the City of New York wasn't bringing tuna sandwiches and condoms to work.

For a moment there I imagined Toller going to the eighty-first floor and rutting with Aura on her big metal desk.

"What's wrong, Leonid?" Alphonse asked.

"You came here all by yourself?"

"Yes."

"Then you must know why I look like there's something wrong."

Instead of smiling he took a small photograph from his breast pocket and leaned across the desk, handing it to me.

It was a snapshot of a raven-haired girl, no older than twenty-five, whose look was somehow both reserved and wild. She was facing the lens but not looking into it. The shot was taken when she was unaware.

"Is this the girl you saw last night?"

"I don't get it, Mr. Rinaldo, you could get any of a hundred people to show you the crime-scene photographs. As far as I know, the NYPD is an open book to you."

"I cannot be involved." His eyebrows furrowed one-sixteenth of an inch. It wasn't much, but a man that close to being royalty didn't have to do much.

"The face on the dead girl was pretty destroyed, but she had blond hair and one blue eye."

I could tell by the waver over his lips and the slight puffing of his cheek that he sighed in relief. I couldn't actually hear the exhalation, but it was there.

"What happened to Strange?" I asked.

"I pulled him off the job," Rinaldo said. "Told him that it was over."

"But it's not."

"I need you to find this girl, Leonid. It is very important to me."

In that fight-the one where you had a plan and stuck to it-you could be thrown off balance by any change in your opponent; for instance, if he were to switch from a normal right-handed stance to southpaw. I never expected to see vulnerability in this man who, for all intents and purposes, was beyond the reaches of pain.

"Did Strange tell you my caveats?" I asked, pretending that this was a meeting between equals.

"He records every conversation he has on my behalf."

"So what do you have to say?"

"If you hadn't voiced those restrictions I wouldn't be here."

Our eyes met. Rinaldo's gaze was unwavering. Even in obvious pain and defenseless he wouldn't look away.

"Excuse me," Mardi Bitterman said.

She was carrying a cardboard box that they use for large orders at the Coffee Exchange.

"That was quick," I said.

"I called down. They have a building delivery service," she said. "I didn't ask how you wanted your coffees, so I had them bring a cup of half-and-half, some sugars, and sugar substitutes."

She put the box down in front of Rinaldo, also placing my key ring and change in the center of the desk.

"Thank you," Rinaldo said, and then he touched her elbow.

She flinched, pulling her arm away.

"Excuse me," he said.

"It's okay. I, I just don't like being touched. I'm sorry."

Mardi backed out of the room again, half-smiling and looking as if she were about to cry.

Rinaldo took his coffee black, as I did mine.

"Whatever it costs," he said. "I need to find her and make sure she's safe."

"From who?"

"I don't know. Obviously someone is trying to hurt her. She's been hiding for a few weeks now and I have no idea why."

"That's not much to go on, Mr. Rinaldo."

He brought the briefcase to the desktop and pushed it in my direction, careful not to disturb our coffee cups.

"The information in here was gathered before all the problems started. Some of it might be out of date but a lot will be helpful. There's some money for expenses and special contact information for me. You are not to contact me through regular channels, Leonid. Do not talk to Christian or Sam, and know from me that I will not have them, or anyone else, call you. I will pay you personally."

He reached for his pocket again and I held up a hand.

"That won't be necessary," I said.

"No?"

"This is like any other transaction between us. A favor, that's all."

"That's it, then," he said.

"You don't have anything else to say?"

"I don't want you talking to her, Leonid. Whatever you do should happen in the background of her life. Find out what's wrong and fix it. If that proves too difficult, come to me."

"You wanted me to make contact with her last night. Why the change?"

"I didn't want her to know what you did or that you worked for me. And… and this murder makes things even more difficult. I want her to experience as little trauma as possible."

I didn't like it but his tone left no room for complaints.

"Anything you'll need is in here," he said, tapping the briefcase with the middle finger of his left hand.

"Was the man who killed Wanda Soa after Tara?"

"I honestly don't know. As I said, Tara disappeared three weeks ago-she only showed up at this Soa's apartment yesterday… maybe the day before."

"What's your relationship with the girl?"

"There is none."

I tried to come up with some kind of question that would have opened up a further dialogue but there were no words I could think of.

"So that's all?" I asked.

He nodded.

We both stood. I came around the desk to see him to the door and received my fourth or fifth shock of the day: Alphonse Rinaldo held out a hand to me.

"Thank you," he said.

I had to bite my lower lip not to repeat the words.

I WATCHED HIM WALK down the long aisle of empty cubicles, waiting until he exited through the brown metal door. At least he didn't hesitate and turn to see if I was there-at least that.

When a boxer's game plan is shot he has to come up with something new on the fly. The classic boxer turns into a brawler, the habitually offensive fighter goes into his shell.