Shoot the Moon

Chapter Thirty-Two - The Edge Of The World

I sat on a bench in Foley Square watching the lawyers head for home and waited for Teddy Dexter to show up. 

We had been back from Palm Springs for two days during which time we passed the clear copy of the drives to TJ and retrieved Poor Old Fred (Echo's full name for him now) from the hospital. To be safe we stayed in a hotel (dog friendly, but since we had three dogs, we had to lay down some serious deposit money). Echo pampered Fred horribly and so did I. The Animal Medical Center had helped him kick dope and we fed him the special diet prescribed by the vet. He even had an appetite for little bits of brisket delivered to the hotel from the Carnegie Deli. Echo was excited about being "on the lam." I told her that very few fugitives from justice ever hid out at The Waldorf=Astoria. 

Echo said, "Just because we're outlaws doesn't mean we have to abandon our standards." 

We only left the hotel to walk the dogs. Echo and her knack with animals had worked a civilizing influence on the erstwhile killer. He was becoming attached to her. 

Finally I decided to meet with Teddy and I called Tropic to leave a message. I told Echo I was going out to meet TJ to "tie up loose ends".  

Echo had to go back to work on the Gala at the Met. The party was coming up in three days. We kissed goodbye.  

"Wow. That's kissing, mister." 

"I love you," I said. It was unusual for me to say something like that, in that way. Her eyes got big with questions. But finally she just said, "Me too." And kissed me again. 

The last thing she said to me was "Be careful."  

***** 

When I heard Teddy's voice behind me, my neck contracted instinctively, shrinking from the bullet I had been expecting for days. 

"Let's go someplace else," he said. "I know too many people down here."  

That's why I wanted to be there: lots of cops and drug enforcement and FBI. 

I stood and followed him to the street where by the magic that some people in New York seem to have by gift of nature a cab appeared as soon as he raised his hand. Teddy was wearing a very nice cashmere overcoat, but he shivered. He might have looked like a corporate lawyer except that beneath it he wore a silvery blue suit with a pink T-shirt.  

Teddy told the driver to go to the West Side by the river. We stopped across West Street from an old pier that jutted like a decayed tooth into the Hudson. Teddy went to the crosswalk and waited until the light changed. We crossed the street and walked out onto the pier. The sun was going down into New Jersey. 

Teddy didn't have his usual air of psychotic fun. He seemed icy, and alert and I wondered how he had adjusted his drugs to produce this impressive state of purposeful calm. Teddy stopped at the edge of the pier and studied the shore of the United States of America just across the river. 

"I wish we were in California," he said, "It's cold." 

"You'd be warm if you wore socks." 

He grunted. "I don't own socks. Did you find that idiot?" 

"He's dead." 

"Really. Terrific. Did he tell you how to get the computers to talk?" 

"No." I didn't lie. The scroll in the steel pill in the pit bull did that.  

Teddy sighed, shoved his hands into his pockets, and turned his whole body stiffly to me. "Why did you bother me if you haven't got anything to give me?" 

"I owe you something. After all you must have put in a word for me early on, or I would be dead." 

"I told Cruz if he lets you poke around maybe you'd do us some good. You were small stuff. So really, who cared?" Teddy made a face and shrugged his shoulders. "They decided not to kill you."