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.
Finally, she said, "Robert's got AIDS."
"No. Shit. When did you find out?"
She shrugged. "I sort of put things together over time. I asked him today and he told me."
"Is he really sick now?"
"No. He's doing great. He's taking the new drugs. He's seeing this holistic guy that people with AIDS go to. They say it helps."
"Sure, maybe it will."
"It's awful, but all I can think about is how it affects me. The company. I had it all planned out and now... I won't replace him easily if he gets sick. I'm awful."
"No."
"Yes I am."
"Okay."
She shrugged again, picked up a leaf of lettuce in her fingers and tore it into smaller and smaller pieces. The waiter delivered the cookies and ice cream. It seemed like a silly thing for a grown man to be eating. I let it melt.
"Did you finish the Woman Inside You book?" she asked.
"Well... No, actually. It got a little weird and I stopped reading it."
"Where was it weird?"
"That part where you grow breasts and shrink your penis."
"It's just an exercise. To help you open your mind. God, you act like something was really going to happen."
"I didn't think anything was going to happen. It just... seemed a little weird."
More destruction of lettuce. "So what are you reading instead?"
"The Sun also Rises."
Echo hooted and threw lettuce shreds into the air. "Hemingway! Of course!"
I defiantly scooped up a spoonful of soupy ice cream and crunched down on a cookie. I felt very mature. Any minute, they would ask if I wanted a bib and a booster seat. I put down my spoon and pushed the plate away. I took the shot of Glenlivet like a dose of medicine and sipped my cold coffee.
"I suppose it could seem a little weird," Echo admitted in a voice suddenly drained energy, "Actually, you can forget about having to come to a session with me. Sharon the shrink has gotten kind of strange herself."
I made an interested noise.
"I think she's into some kind of Earth Mother religion thing."
"Yeah? Human sacrifice? Stuff like that?"
"Earth Mothers, not black magic. It's starting to come out in therapy too. She's giving me all this advice about getting in touch with 'the cycle of life'. You know what she said? She said, 'the field is greater than the farmer.'"
"She said that, huh?"
"She said that. I don't want to think of myself as a furrow for the plow. I want a shrink, not a priestess. I can't go in for this crap. I'm a Presbyterian, for God's sake. I wanted a nice fun Jungian that I could discuss symbolism with. And The Shadow, and synchronicity, and stuff. And instead, I get all this Medieval crap."
"What's synchronicity?"
"It's when things occur that seem more than simple coincidence, but a part of a larger pattern, a plan. It's the feeling you get when "all occasions do inform against" you, as Hamlet says."
"Does he? Does he really?"
"Oh, dry up. It's very interesting if you're an artist."
Echo produced a pack of cigarettes, took one out of the pack and lit it from the candle on the table.
"Why don't you quit smoking again, Echo?"
"I smoke four cigarettes a day. Nobody lives forever."
"Can I have one?"
"No, you're not starting again."
She put the cigarette out after the second drag, before reported her to the mayor.
"Have a bite of this cookie," I said, "See what that does for you."
She took a bite and closed her eyes.
"God! Chocolate. It's better than sex."
"Well..."
"Have you slept with anyone since me that last time?"
"No."
"Good. Neither have I. By the way, why haven't you asked me about that? Don't you care?"
"I've been trying to look at it from my feminine side."
She tossed her napkin over the salad and said, "Let's give these boys a huge tip and go home."
There was an NYPD blue and white in front of our building. TJ and two uniforms were getting into the patrol car when I called out. TJ spoke to the cops and walked over. I introduced him to Echo, and he charmed her for five minutes. He dropped the street slang and spoke to her like James Earl Jones. Then he asked her to excuse us. Echo said she certainly would and shook her head at me as she walked into 77.
"How did you ever find a woman like that?
"This isn't going to take long, is it, TJ?"
"We found that guy you were looking for."
"What guy's that?"
"Cute. Murphy, I'm busy."
"Mickey Dolan?"
"Thaaaat's right. Or maybe you found him days ago?"
I was exhausted with juggling lies so I admitted that I had.
"That's interesting," he said. "Funny you didn't tell me about it. When was the last time you saw him?"
"I know why cops ask that question, TJ. What happened?"
"You didn't call me."
"I was waiting until I had something to give you."
"Give it to me now."
I told him about the records Mickey had stolen. I didn't tell him about Hinchman.
"Well," he said, "Your friend Mickey ain't on the run no more. Want to do me a favor and take a look at his things?"
"What happened?"
"We found a body in the trunk of a car at an auto dump in Jersey. The wallet had ID for Mickey Dolan."
I couldn't form a thought. Just a picture of Mickey Dolan in his ridiculous bum's disguise kept reappearing in my mind. I had known him so long. I couldn't come back from the shock of it. His whole life was a pitiful waste. "You want me to identify the body?"
"If you can. The car was crushed in the compactor. Junkyard guy saw a leg flapping around when the trunk popped open as the car got squeezed. Right now we've got a corpse that's one foot tall and three feet wide. Body doesn't look like anything so much as a bag of pizza parlor garbage."
In the car TJ explained that Mickey had been found on Thursday afternoon. N.Y.P.D. was notified on Friday and Intelligence was informed because Mickey's name had a red flag on it.
"You'll be talking to homicide, too. They haven't exactly squared things with Jersey yet, so we're going over there. I'll just tell them you knew the victim. A concerned citizen, right?"
"I am a very concerned citizen right now."
"I thought you might be. That's good. Now maybe I'll get straight answers and no more bullshit."
I stood as far away as I could. They had damaged Mickey's body even further trying to extract it from the compacted wreck. They wheeled out a large plastic tub covered with a damp white cloth. The stench trailed along behind and filled the room. I breathed through my mouth and inched toward the tub. When I had come close enough to see over the edge, a guy in a white apron threw off the cloth.
I turned away.
"Well?" TJ asked. He was standing on the other side of the room with a couple of New Jersey cops.
"How the hell do I know? Might as well ask me to identify a bucket of goulash. What about fingerprints?"
"Too abraded. We may get a few partials. We'll nail it down somehow. Dental records probably."
"Take a good look at his liver. If it's Mickey Dolan it'll read out like a drugstore inventory."