space in his gullet. There was no more room at the inn.
Until the dessert arrived.
“Racuchy,” Liliana said. “Apple pancakes.” Thick and hearty and dusted with powdered sugar. Jack dipped each savory bite into a ramekin spilling over with raspberry-and-cream sauce.
Jack forked the last bite into his mouth and lifted his white napkin in surrender. He did a quick calculation. He would need to do approximately thirty thousand crunches to match the caloric content of this meal.
And it would be worth it.
“Check, please.”
* * *
—
How do you do it?” Jack asked, standing on the sidewalk of the narrow, tree-lined street outside the restaurant.
“Do what?”
“Eat what you eat and look like you do.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Jack felt the heat rush to his face. “I mean, you must have one heck of a metabolism.”
“The trick is to not eat like that every meal, like most Americans do. And exercise, of course.”
“I could use a gym right about now.”
“How about a walk instead? Two of Stapinsky’s properties are within twenty minutes of here.”
“Let’s do it.”
“Good. It will be a chance to show you some of the Old Town.”
* * *
—
Liliana led them north toward the center of Old Town. The air was damp and cool but pleasant. Jack was grateful to stretch his legs. He’d spent the better part of the last sixteen hours on his rear end.
“The part of the city you’re in now is called Kazimierz. It’s the old Jewish Quarter. King Kazimierz the Great reigned in the fourteenth century during another time in Europe when Jews were being persecuted. He offered them sanctuary in Poland, where they prospered for centuries, until the Second World War. Sadly, there are few Jews here now. In recent years, Kazimierz has revitalized. There are many art galleries, restaurants, craft beer brewers, and hipsters. It’s my favorite part of the city.”
The streets became more crowded with pedestrians and especially tourists the closer they got to old city center. When they finally reached the Main Square, one of the largest medieval squares in Europe, the place was packed with milling tourists admiring the soaring steeple of St. Mary’s Basilica dominating the center, and across from it, the Cloth Hall, a hub of international trade since the time of the Renaissance, Liliana informed him.
“Promise me you’ll hire a local guide next time you’re here, Jack—Wawel Castle is a short distance away, but it is the heart of Poland, our Westminster Cathedral, where our great kings and queens are buried.”
Colorful horse-drawn carriages stood in line, waiting for passengers near the cathedral, and the cafés and coffeehouses surrounding the square were packed with gawking tourists, many of them Chinese, judging by the conversations Jack heard walking past them.
Ten minutes later, they stood on a narrow side street north of the Main Square, facing a small two-story building. The first floor was gray and was occupied by a grocery store; the second floor was beige.
“Stapinsky owns the entire building, according to the property tax records. He collects rent from two residential units on the second level, and from the grocery on the first, according to his income tax statements.”
“He doesn’t own the grocery?”
“No.”
“Is the rent money substantial?”
“Decent.”
“Enough to buy a brand-new six-figure Mercedes? That G-class still had paper plates on the bumper.”
“Perhaps he is frugal in other areas of his life.”
“Like coffee and dessert?”
Liliana snorted. “You are too funny.”
Jack stepped inside the modest grocery. Its plain white tile floors, bare fluorescent bulbs, and two cash registers didn’t impress. It was minuscule by American standards. A few aisles, a half-dozen patrons. The two long walls were well stocked with a wide variety of local and imported beers and wine, as well as vodkas and whiskeys.
“Anything else you need to see, Jack?”
“No. Let’s check out the next place.”
39
From the grocery store, Jack and Liliana headed east on foot, crossing through a narrow band of urban park and walkways that circled most of the Old Town. They headed south down a busy four-lane street, Westerplatte, passing, among other things, a Dominican convent. They eventually arrived in front of a formal neoclassical four-story residential building on a very quiet and pleasant tree-lined street. An electronic passkey was required to gain entrance, but an elderly couple exited and took no notice of Jack and Liliana passing through the half-open door.
The building was quiet, save for the sound of an energetic but well-played violin on one of the top floors and the happy laughter of small children behind the nearest of two doors on the