Hell's Kitchen

“Now we come to the crux of it, right, Newton?”

The toupee was adjusted to quell an itching scalp. “Mr. McKe

McKe

The ad agency employees, however, were upset about their move from midtown and were concerned that commuting through the streets of Hell’s Kitchen would be dangerous. RAS would sign the lease only if McKe

The deal was signed and, like a piranha, McKe

“Odd coincidence,” Bailey explained wryly. “The land was bought by someone just three days before McKe

“So, somebody had inside information that McKe

“Jimmy Corcoran,” Bailey said. “How ’bout that?”

“Corcoran?” Pellam remembered Jacko Drugh’s telling him that Jimmy and his brother were pla

Corcoran doing a deal with Roger McKe

Bailey continued. “And Jimmy’s basically extorting McKe

“Here’s what the deal is,” Clarke said, finally displaying some animation. “Corcoran owns the land Mr. McKe

“That psychotic punk is going to wind up with one point two million a year,” Bailey said.

Clarke continued. “Mr. McKe

Pellam considered this. He said, “Ettie’s building – the one that burned – was right in between the Tower and Corcoran’s property.”

“Right,” Bailey confirmed.

“So McKe

“So it seems,” the lawyer said.

“What about this?” Pellam mused. “He cuts a deal with the owner – the St. Augustus foundation – so they let him build the tu

Clarke shrugged. “All I can say is what I said before. I’ve never seen him this desperate.”

Pellam asked, “What exactly happens if the Tower fails?”

“A dozen banks’ll call Mr. McKe

“Hate it when that happens,” Pellam said.

Bailey asked Clarke, “You find anything at the office about granting underground rights to the property that burned?”

“Nothing, no. But McKe

Bailey grimaced. “Never easy, is it? Well, all right, Newton, back you go to the salt mines.”

Clarke hesitated then, eyes on the dusty, scuffed floor.

“What?” Pellam asked him.

But when he spoke it was to Bailey. He said, “He hurts people, Mr. McKe

Cloaked as a warning, the man’s words meant something else. They meant: Forget the name Newton Clarke.

He stood and left hurriedly, his disco boots making virtually no noise on the linoleum.

“So, we’ve got a motive,” Pellam said.

“Greed. The Old Faithful of motives. One of the best.” Bailey refilled his glass. He lifted the shade, looked out at the construction site.

Pellam said, “We’ve got to find out if McKe

“No, he didn’t.”

“Let’s try him again.”

But Bailey was shaking his head. “I don’t think we should trust him. But I can find out.”

“Cleg?” Pellam asked. The ski

“No,” Bailey said, reflecting. “I’ll do this one myself. We should meet back here at, say, eight?”

“Sure.”

Bailey looked up and found Pellam’s eyes on him. “Thought I treated him a little harshly? Newton?”

Pellam shrugged. “I’ve finally nailed down your secret. How you clog up gears, Louis.”

“Have you now?”

“You cultivate debts.”

The lawyer sipped wine and chuckled, nodding. “I learned a long time ago about the power of debt. What’s the one thing that makes a man powerful, a president, a king, a corporate executive? That people owe him – their lives, their jobs, their freedom. That’s the secret. A man who knows how to milk debt is the man who can keep power the longest of anyone.”

The dull ice cubes clinked on the surface of the lemon-colored wine.

“And what does Clarke owe you?”

“Newton? Oh, in crass terms, about thirty-thousand dollars. He used to be a broker. He came to me with a real estate investment partnership idea a few years ago and I plunked down a chunk of my life savings. I found out later it was all phoney. The U.S. Attorney and the SEC caught him and I lost the money.”

“And this is how he’s paying you off?”

“As far as I’m concerned, information is negotiable tender. Tough luck that none of his other creditors feel that way.”

“How long till he pays you off?”

Bailey laughed. “Oh, he probably has. Ages ago. But he doesn’t believe it, of course. And he never will. That’s the marvelous thing about debts. Even after you repay them, they never really go away.”

No one paid any attention to the young worker as he wheeled the 55-gallon drum of cleaning fluid up the ramp to the apartment building. It was seven-thirty, dusk, but Thirty-sixth Street was lit up like a carnival, workers scurrying to get McKe

Wearing white overalls, So

So