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and nodded at Ben Marcus. Marcus nodded back, an almost imperceptible shift in expression, and yet it seemed to grant Papal indulgence to whatever Neumann was thinking. ‘See to it Henry,’ Neumann said. ‘Send some people out and bring McCaffrey in. We can’t have this asshole running around all over the city, okay?’
    Kossoff nodded, didn’t speak.
    ‘The other thing,’ Marcus said matter-of-factly, the first words he’d spoken since the meeting began.
    ‘I don’t know if it was something. Maybe it was something, maybe it was nothing. I had Karl Merrett over at St Vincent’skeeping an eye on the show. Freiberg was there with the girl, and they had some other guy with them—’
    Sol Neumann uncrossed his legs and leaned forward slightly. ‘What other guy?’
    Kossoff shook his head. ‘Fuck knows, Sol . . . never seen him before. Karl said he looked just like Lenny—’
    Neumann laughed drily. ‘Don’t pay any mind to what Karl Merrett has to say. I know Merrett better than anyone . . . I was down in Five Points with the guy for more than a year. He has his uses, but reliability of information isn’t fuckin’ one of them.’
    Marcus raised his hand. Neumann fell silent. ‘Find out who he is,’ he told Kossoff. ‘Find out who he is, and have some people on this McCaffrey as well. I need McCaffrey as a priority. Find out if he has family. Go speak to them. Go shake some favors up and see if we can’t get this matter tidied up in the next twenty-four hours. We got a busy time ahead of us and I don’t want things interfering. I also don’t want any grievances with the blacks.’ Marcus shook his head. ‘The whole thing is falling apart, what with the blacks and the Eastern Europeans. These are things I don’t want to get involved in. When I’m gone I’ll be pleased to leave what’s left of New York to these people.’
    ‘Yes, Mr Marcus. It will be taken care of.’ Kossoff rose from the chair. He buttoned his jacket and started towards the door. He was on edge, evidently nervous.
    ‘And Henry?’ Sol Neumann called after him.
    Kossoff turned.
    ‘Call Reiff and tell him Mr Marcus needs him over at the warehouse in the morning. Tell him ten a.m.’
    Kossoff nodded and made his way out the door.
    There was silence for some while.
    Eventually Ben Marcus turned towards Sol Neumann. He smiled, but without humor; a smile befitting Cesare Borgia. ‘He will not lie down.’
    Neumann raised an eyebrow.
    ‘Freiberg . . . he will not stand by and watch the territory taken from Bernstein. Seems to me we may have a bloodier fight on our hands.’
    Neumann shrugged his shoulders. He reached for a cigarette and lit it. ‘Whatever,’ he said, his voice almost a whisper. He drew on the cigarette and exhaled smoke from his nostrils. Thegrey cloud half-obscured his face. Everything was flat-toned and chiaroscuro, almost monochromatic. ‘He wants a fight he’s going to get one.’
    ‘We change nothing . . . we run it the way we agreed. There will be ample opportunity to take these things apart either on the day or soon afterwards.’
    ‘Makes sense,’ Neumann replied. ‘Seems to me we miss the chance for some good returns if we just go to war . . . and like you said, we start a war and we have no idea who’s going to get involved.’
    Marcus acknowledged the comment without speaking; stayed silent for a time. He rose from his chair after a few minutes. ‘I have made my decision,’ he said, almost to himself. He turned to Neumann. ‘You come tomorrow as well . . . we will go through some of the details again with Reiff. With Lenny Bernstein laid up in St Vincent’s we have to make busy. I believe the kingmaker intends to become the king.’
    ‘Of course, Ben. Sure thing.’
    Ben Marcus left the room. Sol Neumann, close behind him, turned out the light as he left, and through the window the faint indigo-blue pulse of the external neon sign haunted the glass and made faces on the wall.

EIGHT
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