of the tiny tables. She sat and, in between sandwich orders, he brought her cappuccino and cheesecake without being asked. The young man certainly had star potential. If justice prevailed, he'd own his own string of franchises one day.
"Nice to see you again. You just sit here and relax," he told her. "Stay a little while and you can meet my daughter."
Auntie Lil nodded back. She was in no mood for children, she never was, but she'd stay. The things she had to endure just to weasel a little information out of people…
There was a temporary lull in business and Billy rested his elbows on the counter. "Hey, you remember that old lady you were asking me about?" he said to Auntie Lil.
"Yes. Do you have something new on her?" Her cheesecake was immediately forgotten.
"No. But the cops are in on it now. They got a tip on where she lived."
"What happened?" Auntie Lil asked eagerly.
"My buddy, George, went to check it out personally and it turned out that someone was pulling his leg. Some young blonde actress was living at the address instead. Never heard of the old lady. Said she'd been living there for over three years herself. George was pretty steamed. He doesn't usually follow up on civilian tips, you know. He made an exception because the guy taking the message bungled it, said it was my wife who had called. George was pretty burned about it. Wouldn't even stay for his usual free coffee. Why? What did you find out about her?"
Auntie Lil stared bleakly at her half-eaten cheesecake. "Nothing," she admitted glumly and that was exactly as much as she was going to admit. She didn't believe it. They must have gone to the wrong address. She would call Det. George Santos back. "You know the detective on the case?" she asked Billy.
"Sure, I know everyone. Can you believe someone poisoned that old lady? Who'd do a thing like that?"
"Is this George Santos a good detective?" she asked.
"Well… he's a good guy." That was as far as Billy would go.
"Does he live in the neighborhood?"
"Sort of. He spends all of his time at the precinct or down at the Westsider."
"Is that a hotel?" Auntie Lil wanted to know. Perhaps she could talk to him there.
Billy laughed. It was not a happy sound. "Some people seem to think it is," he finally said. "Including George. But it's really just a crummy dive bar across from the Forty-Fifth Street Pier."
Robert's had a small lunch crowd and a slightly larger group of regular daytime drinkers parked at the bar. T.S. didn't recognize the bartender. He checked out the two waiters carefully. One looked familiar—a finely sculptured, well-built young man with a broad, handsome face and short brown hair cut closely against his head. He was leaning against one end of the bar, morosely staring out the picture window in lieu of staring at his mostly empty tables. He hardly moved when T.S. tapped him on the shoulder. But then, he was probably used to getting tapped on the shoulder by guys at bars. T.S. would set him straight. Quickly.
"Excuse me, I was in here the other night with a lady friend of mine," T.S. began.
"Congratulations," the waiter interrupted, still glumly staring out the window.
"You were here, too," T.S. continued.
The waiter shifted his stare to T.S. "What night?"
"Tuesday. A woman came in for a moment and the bartender bounced her right back out," T.S. explained patiently. "She was very tall. Dark skinned. With high-piled hair and lots of makeup. I'm interested in finding out who she was."
The waiter didn't answer and T.S. was forced to launch into a fashion forecast. "She was wearing spike heels and a silver sequined tube dress with long gloves..." His voice trailed off as embarrassment overtook him at last.
"What color?" the waiter inquired.
"What color what?"
"What color were the gloves?" He stared at T.S., waiting for an answer.
"White. What difference does it…" T.S. stopped. He was almost certain he was being teased. But in New York City, you never knew for sure. "Do you know who I'm talking about or not?" he demanded with reclaimed dignity.
"Sure, I know who you're talking about. But I'd get a different hobby if I was you."
"I just need her name. Forget the cute stuff." That sounded good. Tough. Very James Cagneyish.
The waiter looked T.S. over with amusement and held out a hand. T.S. sighed and handed him a five-dollar bill. Considering the name could be worthless to their investigation,