Night Fall

I walked to Kate’s workstation, and she looked up from her computer, then exited from whatever she was reading, which must have been something I wasn’t cleared to read, or an e-mail from her boyfriend.

I said to her, “I’ve got to meet someone.”

Most wives would ask, “Who?” but in this business, we don’t ask that question, and she asked, “How long?”

“Less than an hour. If you’re free, I’ll meet you for lunch at Ecco. One o’clock.”

She smiled. “It’s a date. I’ll make a reservation.”

Public displays of affection are not encouraged here in the Ministry of Love, so I saluted her and left.

I exited the building and bought theDaily News at a newsstand and walked the few blocks north into Chinatown.

A lot of cops as well as FBI agents had meets in Chinatown. Why? Because it was easier to spot people who might be following you around, unless of course those people were Chinese. Also, it was cheap. I had no idea where the CIA had their off-site meetings, but I suspected the Yale Club. In any case, I seemed not to have been followed from 26 Fed.

I walked past, then doubled back into this little Chinese restaurant called Dim Sum Go, which the NYPD had affectionately renamed One Hung Low, and took a seat in an empty booth in the rear, facing the door.

The restaurant looked like it might once have been the hallway of the tenement in which it was housed. This was a strictly local place, devoid of even the most clueless tourists or uptown trendoids looking for an urban dining adventure. More important, it was probably the only Chinese restaurant in New York that served coffee, thanks to the NYPD clientele. Donuts next.

It was not yet noon, and the place was fairly empty, except for a few locals drinking what smelled like So Long tea out of bowls and chattering away in Cantonese, though the couple at the next booth was speaking Mandarin.

I’m making this up.

There was an exquisitely beautiful young Chinese woman waiting tables, and I watched her moving around as if she were floating on air.

She floated toward me, we smiled, and she floated away to be replaced by an old crone wearing bedroom slippers. God, I think, plays cruel jokes on married men. I ordered coffee.

The old lady shuffled off, and I read the sports section of theDaily News. The Yankees had beaten the Phillies last night four to one in the twelfth i

They were prepping the day’s mystery dishes in the kitchen, and I thought I heard a cat, a dog, and a duck, followed by chopping sounds, then silence. Smelled good, though.

I read the paper, sipped my coffee, and waited for Dick Kearns.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Dick Kearns came through the door, spotted me, and we shook hands as he slid into the booth facing me.

I said, “Thanks for coming.”

“No problem. But I need to be Midtown at one.”

Dick was about sixty, had all his hair and teeth, was always a sharp dresser, and today was no exception.

I asked him, “You see the Yankees game last night?”

“Yeah. Great game. You see it?”

“I was working.” I asked him, “How’s Mo?”

“She’s good. She used to bitch about my hours on homicide, then about my hours with the ATTF. Now that I’m working at home, she has something new to bitch about. She told me, ‘I said for better or worse, Dick, but I never said for lunch.’”

I smiled.

He asked, “How’s married life treating you?”

“Great. It helps that we’re in the same business. And I get free legal advice.”

He smiled and said, “You could do worse. She’s a doll.”

“I thank God every day.”

“Speaking of legal advice, you hear from Robin?”

“Now and then. She flies past my balcony on her broom and waves.”

He laughed.

The prelims out of the way, I changed the subject and asked him, “You enjoy what you do?”

He thought a moment, then replied, “No heavy lifting. I miss the people I worked with, but basically I make my own hours, and the pay is good. Sometimes, though, it gets slow. You know, we should be doing more background checks on more people. You get these bozos at airport security, for instance, and they have an important job, but they get paid shit, and half of them are potential security risks.”

I replied, “Spoken like a true civilian contract agent who’s looking for more hours to bill.”

He smiled and said, “I bill by the case, not the hour. And seriously, things have to tighten up in this country.”

I informed him, “We’re living in a country that has been blessed by a lot of good luck and two oceans.”

“I got news for you. The luck is ru

“You may be right.”

The little old lady came over, and Dick ordered coffee and an ashtray.

He lit a cigarette and said, “So, what can I do for you? You looking to get into this kind of work? I can put you in touch with the right guy.”

We both knew that I didn’t ask him to meet me on short notice to talk about a job, but it was a good story if it ever came up later. I replied, “Yeah. Sounds like something I’d like to do.”

His coffee came. He sipped, smoked, and gave me a quick description of his work so I could sound intelligent if someone asked me about it while I was attached to a polygraph machine.

Under the category of “What else did you talk about?” I said to him, “Let me get to the point. I need some information about TWA 800.”

He didn’t reply.

I continued, “I’m not on the case, and as you know, I never was. Kate, as you do know, was on the case, but she’s not talking to me. No one who’s in the ATTF is going to talk to me, and I don’t want to talk to them. You’re an old friend and a civilian, so I want you to talk to me.”

He stayed silent awhile, then replied, “I depend on the Federal government for my bread and butter.”

“Yeah, me, too. So, let’s talk ex-cop to ex-cop.”

“John, don’t do this to me. Or to yourself.”

“Let me worry about myself, Dick. As for you, you know I’d never give you up.”

“I know that. But… I signed a statement-”

“Fuck the statement. They closed the case. You can talk.”

He didn’t reply.

“Look, Dick, we go back a long way. Let’s make believe we never heard of the FBI or the Anti-Terrorist Task Force. I’m working a case on my own time, and I need your help.” Actually, I was on government time today, but it all balances out.

He stared into his coffee awhile, then asked, “What do you care about this case?”

“I went to the memorial service yesterday. I was very moved. Also, a guy introduced himself to me-Liam Griffith. You know him?”

He nodded.

“He asked too many questions about why I was there. So, I got curious.”

“That’s not a good reason to stick your nose into this. Look, this case has fucked up more people in more government agencies than you know. The veterans who got out alive don’t want to go back there. Some FNGs-fucking new guys-like you, think they want to see what it’s all about. You don’t want to do that. Leave it alone.”

“I’ve already decided not to leave it alone. I’m at the next stage where I’m asking questions.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve got about a week before the guys on the twenty-eighth floor start askingyou questions.”

“I understand that. Not a problem. But thanks for your concern. Okay, I just thought you’d give me a little help. I understand.” I glanced at my watch. “I need to meet Kate for lunch.”

He also glanced at his watch and lit another cigarette.

Neither of us spoke for a minute, then Dick said, “First, let me say this-I donot believe a missile was fired at that aircraft, and I donot believe there was an official cover-up or conspiracy. But what did happen is that the case got off on the wrong foot. It was politically charged from the begi