Shoot the Moon

Chapter Six - Numbers

When I finally got out of bed the next day it was four in the afternoon. I was stricken with remorse, and resolved to be the "smart money" (as opposed to a sucker) from that moment on. 

I studied Mickey's notebook over a breakfast of reheated Chinese carry-out. It was from Shun Lee West, so it wasn't at all the sad bachelor experience it sounds. The Dalton Brothers stared at me until I broke down and gave them a taste; they love Shun Lee's Moo Shu duckling. 

It's one of the unclean little pleasures: going through personal effects. Diaries are fun, there's always something to illuminate and edify. Mickey's notebook was a small black overstuffed sandwich of a book with worn bits of paper hanging out like coffee stained slices of turkey. My problems started at the beginning. Mickey wasn't much for words. Page after page were covered with numbers in unending columns. I couldn't see any order to it. But the only thing I understand about math is the odds. Mickey could doodle with numbers the way the rest of us jingle the change in our pockets.  

It wasn't a completely dry hole. At the end of the book were phone numbers, a couple of addresses. Three names were Hispanic which was interesting. And a place called Tropic Enterprises Inc. There was a long international direct dialing number of a bank called Bank of Grand Reef.  

Next on the list was a couple: Charley and Veeva. Their names were underlined and circled so many times that the ball point ink had taken on a thick waxy sheen. I could get a hold of a reverse phone directory and track down the addresses of these people.  

Echo called later that evening. She was out of sorts as always when on tour. I told her about seeing her father but left out Dana Podesta and the Sherry-Netherland. 

Echo knew her father better. "Was he with Dana?" 

"Well...yeah. I kind of promised I wouldn't tell." 

"You did not! " 

"Not in so many words. Significant looks were exchanged." 

She sighed. "Oh, God. Poor Mommy. She is such a lush, though." Then with a quick change of tone, "So, how did Dana look?" 

"I didn't notice." 

"Right. Come on." 

"Gorgeous." 

"Uh-hm. You can't really blame him such a hell of a lot, can you?" 

I stood on my rights and remained silent.