After drying off, Kurtz took out his razor, squeezed lather into his palm, and looked at the mirror for the first time.
"Jesus Christ," he said disgustedly.
The face looking back at him was unshaven and not quite human. The bandages looked bloody again and he could see the shaved patch around them. Blood had drained beneath the skin of his temple and forehead down under his eyes until he had a bright purple raccoon mask. The eyes themselves were almost as bright a red as the soaked-through bandages and he had scrapes and road rash on his left cheek and chin where he must have done a face-plant onto the concrete garage floor. His left eye didn't look rightas if it weren't dilating properly.
"Christ," he muttered again. He wouldn't be delivering any love letters for SweetheartSearch-dot-com again anytime soon.
Shaved and showered now, somehow feeling lousier and more exhausted for it, he dressed in clean jeans, a black t-shirt, new running shoes, and a leather A-2 jacket he'd once given to his old wino-addict informant and acquaintance, Pruno, but which Pruno had given back, saying that it wasn't really his style. The jacket was still in pristine condition, obviously never worn by the homeless man.
Kurtz gingerly pulled on the fedora and went into the unfurnished bedroom that adjoined his own. The plaster hadn't been repaired here and part of the ceiling was falling down. Kurtz reached above the woodwork of the adjoining door, clicked open a panel covered with the same mildewed wallpaper as the rest of the wall, and pulled a.38 S&W from the metal box set in the hole there. The gun was wrapped in a clean rag and smelled of oil. There was a wad of cash in the metal box and Kurtz counted out five hundred dollars from it and set the rest back, pulling the weapon free of the oily rag.
Kurtz checked that all six chambers were loaded, spun the cylinder, tucked the revolver in his waistband, grabbed a handful of cartridges from the box, stuck them in his jacket pocket, and put away the metal container and oily rag, carefully clicking the panel back into place.
He walked back to the triangular front room on the second floor and looked in all directions. It was still a beautiful blue-sky autumn day; Ohio and Chicago Streets were empty of traffic. Nothing but weeds stood in the hundreds of yards of fields between him and the abandoned silos and mills to the southwest.
Kurtz flipped on a video monitor that was part of a surveillance system he and Arlene had used in their former office in the basement of an X-rated-video store. The two cameras mounted at the rear of the Harbor Inn building showed the overgrown yards and streets and cracked sidewalks there empty.
Kurtz grabbed his spare cell phone from a shelf by the speed bag and punched in a private number. He talked briefly, said "Fifteen minutes," broke the connection, and then redialed for a cab.
The public basketball courts in Delaware Park showcased some
of the finest athletic talent in Western New York, and even though this was a Thursday morning, a school day, the courts were busy with black men and boys playing impressive basketball.
Kurtz saw Angelina Farino Ferrara as soon as he stepped out of the cab. She was wearing a tailored sweatsuit, but not so tailored that he could make out the.45 Compact Witness that he guessed she still carried in a quick-release holster under her sweatshirt. The woman looked fit enough to be on the courts herselfbut she was too short and too white, even with her dark hair and olive complexion, to be invited by those playing there now.
Kurtz immediately picked out her bodyguards and could have even if they hadn't been the only other white guys in this part of the park. One of the men was ten yards to her left, studiously studying squirrel activity, and the other was strolling fifteen yards to her right, almost to the courts. Her bodyguards from the previous winter had been lumpish and proletarian, from Jersey, but these two were as thin, well-dressed, and blow-dried as California male models. One of them started crossing toward Kurtz as if to intercept and frisk him, but Angelina Farino Ferrara waved the man off.
As he got closer, Kurtz opened his arms as if to hug her, but really to show that his hands and jacket pockets were free of weapons.
"Holy fuck, Kurtz," she said when he got to within four feet and stopped.
"Nice to see you, too."
"You look sort of like The Spirit ."
"Who?"
"A comic strip character from the forties. He wore a fedora and a blue mask, too. He used to have his own comics page in the Herald Tribune . My father used to collect them in a big leather scrapbook during the war."
"Uh-huh," said Kurtz. "Interesting." Meaningcan we cut the crap?
Angelina Farino Ferrara shook her head, chuckled, and began walking east toward the zoo. White mothers were herding their preschoolers toward the zoo gates, casting nervous glances toward the oblivious blacks playing basketball. Most of the males on the courts were stripped to shorts even on this chilly autumn day and their flesh looked oiled with sweat.