supposed to take, they’d know the guy sitting behind the wheel was in on it, too.”
“I know the guy?”
“I already said—Oh, you mean the wheelman? Yeah. Sure. Everybody knows Buddha.”
“He’d wait.”
“Exactly! That’s what Ken knew. So he opened up on the squad car. By the time they had him down, probably twenty slugs in him, everybody else was long gone.”
“That’s a man.”
“You think everyone don’t know that? His daughter, she got his share. To this day, she’s got no idea where it came from. Ken didn’t leave a will. He didn’t have a straight-life cover like me; he was outlaw all the way. So, the way she got paid, different guys, they’d drop around, leave me the money they owed Ken. Just paying off a loan. They knew I’d take care of it.
“Must have been hard for the girl at first. She was still in high school. Private school, no less. But nobody could come around and explain until after the cops stopped nosing into the kid’s life. They must’ve thought Ken was as dumb as they are—like he was ever gonna leave his work stuff where he lived!
“Ken had a little house. Out on the Island, I think. Or close to it, anyway. The cops practically tore it apart, but there was nothing for them to find. His daughter, Grace, that is her name, she never knew a thing about her father’s business … and he never brought any of it home.”
“She got his whole share, though, right?”
“Of course,” he said, giving me one of those “What are you, stupid?” looks. “But not all at once. I mean, it had to be in cash; what was she going to do, throw it all into a bank somewhere? I handled it for her.
“Anyway, she’s in college now. Or maybe she’s already finished—I don’t know how long it takes to be one of those social workers.”
“Me, either.”
“That’s okay. See, Grace, she’s my maid. Comes in once a week. I never stay here, so there’s really nothing for her to do. Plus, this is a quiet place to study, right?”
“Sure.”
“Only, being Ken’s daughter, she has to vacuum the place, do some dusting. I told her, by me, I don’t care—all I want is that cover story. I have a maid in once a week, why wouldn’t the place look all neat and perfect if anyone took a look? She says, sure, she understands. But she doesn’t actually listen to a damn word I say. When I come back here—I try to do that, every couple, three weeks—the envelopes I leave for her are gone. And there’s always new stuff in the refrigerator.
“See how smart this girl is? It’s always this health-food crap. That’s what she eats, not me. So she can have her meals in here, and, anyone looks, it’s like I’m living here, get it?”
“Yeah, I get it. But you’d do it anyway, right?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Take care of the girl. Even if the job went bad. Even if there was no share to hold for him.”
“Oh. Well, see, that was always part of Ken’s deal. Anything happens to him, I do that, sure.”
“He trusted you.”
“Ken? Hard to tell with a man like him. He just … believed in things. Catholic, he was. Wouldn’t spit on a priest, fucking hated nuns, but … Ah, who knows? Maybe he thought he could come back and haunt me or something.”
“Like a ghost?”
“A golem, more likely. But what am I, a mind reader now?”
I wasn’t going to ask Solly what a golem is—the last thing I wanted was for him to start going sideways before I got my money. “I was just … okay, why do you think she takes the money, Solly?”
“You mean, being Ken’s daughter? Oh, I told her a good story about that, believe me. I leave her five hundred a week. Paying off a loan. With what I told her I owed her father, I’ll be dead ten years and it still won’t be paid off. Grace, she knows: first week there’s no envelope, that means I’m not coming back. Then she won’t, either. But she knows where her bank account is, see?”
“That’s slick.”
“That’s me, kid. Mr. Angles. Now let’s go get your money.”
Solly hit “PG” on the elevator pad. When it stopped, it opened into an underground garage. A young black guy in some kind of uniform was waiting. Soon as he saw Solly, he stepped back.
“Mistah Vee!” a much older black man called out from the beat-up