Shoot the Moon

Chapter Twenty-Six - Man in a Tub

Fred the Dog moved into a convalescence unit at Animal Medical where he was receiving the best treatment. I called TJ and told him that I might have something interesting for him in a day or two. He pressed me for details but I kept it vague in case anything should slip up on Hinchman's end.

Echo returned for good and immediately started a hectic schedule of preparing the Gala Benefit at the Met and her Company's opening at the Joyce Theater.

The calendar turned up Monday and Echo and I were still collecting mail and taking up space on the planet. I felt encouraged about our chances.

Echo called at five. She was in a meeting with her business manager in midtown after which she had to meet two rich friends that she was tapping for contributions to the Metropolitan Museum. She asked me to meet her at Orso. I convinced her to move down the block to Joe Allen's.

I got to the restaurant early and waited at the bar. Thinking I might be doing something constructive to preserve our skins, I ransacked my brain for ideas and came up with cobwebs. Until I had the clear version of the Buddy Cruz laundry operation in hand, all I could do was wait. The cops would be grateful if I could hand them the operation. The question was, how grateful? I would have to wheel and deal with TJ to keep out of the hands of the Federal agents that would gather on the case like flies on honey cake. I prayed that Cruz was so busy with the CPAs from Colombia that I was way down on his list of priorities.

Echo came in at ten-thirty and we took a table. I'd forgotten to eat all day. I had the meat loaf. Very comforting. Just the thing to eat when you want to cry on your mother's shoulder but she's dead. Echo had a salad and ate two leaves of lettuce and a quarter of a tomato.

"Why don't you eat, Echo? You'll get skinny."

"I'm a dancer, Jack, I'm supposed to be skinny."

"Well then I'm going to have the Toll House Cookies and vanilla ice cream for dessert. It's embarrassing taking up this kid's table and not spending money."

Echo looked around the restaurant at the empty tables. "The waiter's very happy for anything he can get at this time of night. You don't have to overeat."

I said, "Yes I do," and defiantly ordered dessert. I couldn't back down now. "And I'll have coffee and a shot of Glenlivet."

"Are you nervous?" said Echo.

"Why?"

"Because you're eating like a pig. It's nearly midnight, for God's sake!"

So I told her about Fred's operation and the Secret of the Pyramids, and that I was sweating out our survival. She remained silent and motionless until I was finished.

"How is it you know people like this?" she asked.

"Misspent youth."

"No. You know people like this because you enjoy all this crap."

"What crap?"

"All men really like to do is beat each other up. And if they can't do it they like to watch movies about it. Why is that?"

"I haven't beaten up anybody."

"What about the Latino guy with the big knife?"

"Self defense."

"Well how about when you stuck his head in the toilet?"

"That was torture to obtain information. Not beating up. Not technically." Echo flipped her hand up and out dismissing me and the whole topic. She hadn't let the busboy - he tried repeatedly - clear her salad. She played with her lettuce for a while, tearing it into shreds.