Shoot the Moon

Chapter Seventeen - Pathfinder In The Lower Depths

I was up before dawn the next day. Pit bull sedated, I cleaned up the area around him as well as I could, shoving his hindquarters out of the way with a foot. Nothing could get rid of the stink. Maybe Echo would buy a story about a toilet backing up.

The radio predicted cool fall weather. I put on a gray wool suit that had a nice dignified shine of use to it, white shirt and a knit tie. I looked exactly like a government clerk. If a government clerk had a tailor. I called down to the doorman to hail me a cab.

Once downtown, I took up station with two cups of coffee inside the wrought iron fence of Stuyvesant Park. Across Second Avenue I had a perfect vantage on the small town house where Charley Royce and Veeva Stackpoole lived.

I almost missed Veeva. I just caught a glimpse of her as she crossed the Avenue to my side, and headed downtown. I hurried out of the park and followed her to work.

A subway ride and...

Veeva worked on Wall Street just past the Stock Exchange in a modern office building. I checked the building directory. Under Pepperdyne Discount Brokers there was a Vivien Stackpoole listed.

Genius. Call me tracker of stockbrokers. I went off to get some breakfast.

Veeva didn't take a lunch hour that day. But at five-thirty she pushed through the revolving door, walked up Wall Street to Broadway and headed north. She walked leisurely uptown smoking cigarettes one after another, getting her nicotine levels up. She reached City Hall Park and started looking around. It was the first time all day she seemed to be concerned about being followed. I stayed out on the sidewalks surrounding the park, and managed to keep her in sight.

She sat down on a bench in the little vest pocket park across from the New York County Court. She watched the people hurrying away from continuances and verdicts, renewing driver's licenses, marriages.

A bum came dawdling around picking through the bits and pieces in the trash cans and on the ground. He was wearing several layers of clothing topped by a very large overcoat that looked like a lice hatchery. He wore a strangely folded felt bag on his head, like the thing you see on Afghan rebels.

He stopped in front of Veeva and said a few things, waving his arms a little. Veeva answered him calmly and gave him a dollar. She didn't seem disturbed by the encounter with the Unwashed. In fact it was as if she was waiting for him. She got up and walked away. A cop came into the park and motioned with his nightstick and the bum in his ten layers of clothing took off.

I followed Veeva until she jumped into a cab.

I'd had enough. I went home to curl up with a good book.

Well.

A book.