Read Online Red Rag Blues by Derek Robinson - Free Book Online

good luck once in a while. Fisk phoned Immigration at Hoboken, got the contact address which Luis had given: an apartment on East 84th Street. “I want a black bag job on that apartment as soon as possible,” Prendergast said. If the money was there, the case was closed. That kind of search wasn’t legal, but this was the Bureau. Who gave a shit about the law?
    *
    They took a taxi to Central Park South, to a hotel she knew. The foyer was a cool and lofty place with an ambitious fountain. Bronze statues of naked youths danced in a circle through the spray. Their streaming, glistening skin made them look as if theywere on the spree. “I come here a lot,” she said. “Just to look around. It’s free. I want to be like them. Run in the rain.”
    â€œSomething I’d buy a ticket to see,” he said, and regretted it. Too flip. Her silence made it worse. “Sorry,” he said. She walked away. For the first time since he arrived, he thought perhaps she disliked him. That raised a flutter of panic. Without Julie he would be alone in New York, alone everywhere, in fact. Spending money had kept him busy in Venezuela; but it hadn’t created a different person.
    They went into the restaurant. He ordered a bottle of Blanc de Blanc, a plate of
hors d’oeuvres,
some breadsticks. Spending money helped the little panic to fade.
    â€œHerb Kizsco came by the apartment,” she said. Luis had to work his memory: Kizsco, academic, head like a melon, got fired, drove a taxi. “He heard Enrico was let out of jail. Seems the church hired an attorney to put the squeeze on Immigration.”
    â€œThat’s good.”
    â€œYeah. Except, those nice folks from Internal Revenue were waiting. They want to audit his tax returns for the last seven years.” She ate an olive.
    â€œIf Enrico charged a dollar a meal, he couldn’t have made any profit.”
    â€œForget profit. They’ll find mistakes, irregularities. Anything they want to look for, they’ll find, they always do. They’ll put him out of business. He might as well quit.”
    â€œThat’s persecution. Surely the government—”
    â€œThe government’s running scared, just like the rest of us. The whole country’s scared shitless.”
    Luis looked around. The place was calm, quiet, prosperous, unhurried. This wasn’t York Avenue, where people lived on the sidewalk in their undershirts. This America was as solid as Fort Knox. He wanted to know why Julie had been fired, but instinct said this was not a good time to ask. So he smiled instead. Back in the old days, his smile had worked like sunlight on flowers. Not now, though.
    â€œI hope you can pay for the booze,” she said. He nodded, and kept the smile burning. “This morning you were flat broke,” she said. “Now suddenly it’s taxis and frocks and imported wine.”
    â€œBusy day. My associates negotiated profitable deals with several banks.” He forked an anchovy.
    She thought about that. He gave her more wine. “Luis, I know you better than anyone in the world. I know your beautiful body,every square inch of it.” Hope lurched in his loins. “I know your shabby soul,” she said, “and I know your cock-eyed mind. Whenever you sound pleased with yourself, you’re lying.”
    â€œI have five thousand dollars and change.”
    â€œGood. Tomorrow you can get an apartment of your own.”
    For a few seconds they looked each other in the eye. Both were afraid. Julie was afraid that she would fall back in love with a man who could only be trouble. Luis was afraid he would lose the only woman he could be honest with. Also dishonest with.
    The moment passed. They talked about harmless things: Manhattan, what to see, what to avoid.
    Time to leave. He signaled for the bill. The waiter looked young enough to be his son. “Suppose I told you I was a Russian spy,” Luis