Manhattan Is My Beat

Stephanie eased over to the bookcase. Touched a notebook. "This one?"

"No, the one next to it. On its side."

Stephanie pulled the book off the shelf and flipped it open. "Where do you mention-"

An explosion. The first bullet broke a huge chunk out of the blue-sky wall and sent fragments of cinder block raining through the room.

The second shattered a panel of glass in the ceiling.

The third tore apart a dozen books, which pitched through the air like shot birds.

The fourth caught Stephanie squarely in the chest as she was turning, shocked, mouth open, toward Rune.

There may even have been a fifth shot. And a sixth. Rune wasn't sure. She had no idea how many times she pulled the trigger of the gun-the one that Rune had pulled from the accordion folder she'd thrown away earlier-tossed into the trash can beside her bed.

All Rune saw was the smoke and dust and paper flecks and clouds and blue sky of concrete and broken glass flying through the loft around Stephanie-beautiful, pale Stephanie, who spiraled to the floor.

And all Rune heard was a huge ringing roar from the gun. Which, after a few seconds, as Richard scrambled from the floor and started toward her, was replaced by an animal's mad screaming she didn't even know was coming from her.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Head bowed at the altar, Rune was motionless. Kneeling. She'd thought she could remember all the words. But they wouldn't come to her and all she could do was repeat over and over again, in a mumbling whisper, "We yield thee praise and thanksgiving for our deliverance from those great and apparent dangers wherewith we were compassed."

After a moment she stood and walked slowly up the aisle toward the back of the sanctuary.

Still whispering, she said to the man wearing black minister's robes, "This is a totally radical church, Reverend."

"Thank you, Miss Kelly."

At the door, she turned and curtsied awkwardly toward the altar. The minister of St. Xavier's glanced at her curiously. Maybe curtsying-which Rune had just seen a character do in some old Mafia movie-was only for Catholics. But so what? she decided. Stephanie was right about one thing: short of devil worship and animal sacrifices, ministers and priests probably aren't all that sensitive about technicalities.

They left the sanctuary.

"Your grandfather didn't mention any children when he stayed with us in our residence. He said his only relative was his sister but she'd died a few years ago."

"Really?" she asked.

"But then," the minister continued, "he didn't talk much about himself. He was a bit mysterious in some ways."

Mysterious…

"Yep," she said after a moment. "That was Grandfather. We used to say that about him. 'Wasn't Grandfather quiet.' All of us would say it."

"All of you? I thought you said there were just two of you. You and your sister."

"Oh, well, I mean all the kids in the neighborhood. He was like a grandfather to them too."

Watch it, Rune told herself. It's a minister you're lying to. And a minister with a good memory.

She followed the man through the rectory building. Filled with dark wood, wrought iron. The small yellow lights added a lot of churchy atmosphere to the place, though maybe they used small-wattage bulbs just to save money. It was very… well, religious here. Rune tried to remember a good movie she'd seen about religion and couldn't think of one. They tended not to have happy endings.

They walked into a large dormitory, newer than the church, though the architecture was the same-stained glass, arches, flowery carvings. She looked around. It was some kind of residence hall for senior citizens. Rune glanced into a room as they passed. Two beds, yellow walls, mismatched dressers. Lots of pictures on the walls. Homier than you'd think. There were two elderly men inside the room. As she paused, looking in, one of the men stood up and said, " 'I am a very foolish fond old man, fourscore and upward, not an hour more or less, and, to deal plainly, I fear I am not in my perfect mind.' "

"I'll say you're not in perfect mind," his friend chided. "You've got it all wrong."

"Oh, you think you can do better?"

"Listen to this."

His voice faded as Rune and the minister continued down the corridor.

"How long was Grandfather here?" Rune asked.

"Only four, five weeks. He needed a place to stay until he found an apartment. A friend sent him here."

"Raoul Elliott?" Rune's heart thudded harder.

"Yes. You know Mr. Elliott?"

"We've met once."

So, Elliott had been confused. He hadn't sent Mr. Kelly to the Florence Hotel but here-to the church. Maybe Mr. Kelly was staying in the Florence when he visited the screenwriter and the poor man's mind just confused them.

"Wonderful man," the priest continued. "Oh, he's been very generous to us here at the church. And not only materially… He served on our board too. Until he got sick. A shame what's happened to him, isn't it? That Alzheimer's." The minister shook his head then continued. "But we have so few rooms, Robert didn't want to monopolize one-he wanted to make it available for somebody less fortunate. So he moved into the Hotel Florence for a while. He left the suitcase here, said he'd pick it up when he moved into a safer place. He was worried about break-ins. He said the bag was too important to risk getting stolen."

Rune nodded nonchalantly. Thinking: One million dollars.

She followed him to a storage room. The minister unlocked the door with keys on a janitor's self-winding coil. Rune asked, "Did Grandfather spend much time in the church itself?"

The minister disappeared into the storage room. Rune heard the sound of boxes sliding along the floor. He called, "No. Not much."

"How about the grounds? The cemetery? Did he spend much time there?"

"The cemetery? I don't know. He might have."

Rune was thinking of the scene in Manhattan Is My Beat where the cop, his life ruined, was lying in his prison cell, dreaming about reclaiming his stolen million dollars, buried in a cemetery. She remembered the close-up of the actor's eyes as he wakened and realized that it had just been a dream-the blackness of the dirt he'd been digging up with his fingers becoming the shadows of the bars across his hands as he woke.

The minister emerged with a suitcase. He set it on the floor. "Here you go."

Rune asked. "You want me to sign a receipt or anything?"

"I don't think that'll be necessary, no."

Rune picked it up. It was as heavy as an old leather suitcase containing a million dollars ought to be. She listed against the weight. The minister smiled and took the case from her. He lifted it easily and motioned her toward the side door. She walked ahead of him.

He said, "Your grandfather told me to be careful with this. He said it had his whole life in it."

Rune glanced at the suitcase. Her palms were moist. "Fu

"I feel sorry for people who can carry their homes around with them. That's one of the reasons the church has this residence home. You really feel God at work here."

They walked to his small office. He bent over the cluttered desk and sorted through a thick stack of envelopes. He said. "I wished Robert had stayed longer. I liked him a lot. But then, he was independent. He wanted to live on his own."

Rune decided that she was going to give the church some money. Fifty thousand, she decided. Then, on a whim, upped the ante to a hundred Gs.

He handed her a thick envelope addressed to "Mr. Bobby Kelly."

"Oh, I forgot to mention… this came for him care of the church a day or so ago. Before I got around to forwarding it, I heard that he'd been killed."