Mary Higgins Clark by Manhattan Mayhem: New Crime Stories From Mystery Writers of America

Author:Manhattan Mayhem: New Crime Stories From Mystery Writers of America
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Collections & Anthologies, Crime, Mystery & Detective, Anthologies (Multiple Authors), Fiction
ISBN: 9781594747816
Publisher: Quirk Books
Published: 2015-06-02T05:00:00+00:00

The next morning, no obliging hunchback strolled my way. Nor any stray dough, either. I held down a curb in front of a strip club—quiet at this time of the morning—and tried to come up with a new plan. I kept in mind that just possibly, possibly, I still had some luck left over from yesterday.

Just then, whistling from a tortured songbird pierced my sensitive ears—and then I recognized it as some theater production’s theme song. Jamey strode right behind me, lips puckered. His arms were holding a huge cloth bag—his mother’s collected chores for the day, I guessed.

He didn’t stop. Obviously, the dear boy hadn’t seen me. I jumped up, patting dust from the seat of my trousers. “Jamey! I say, Jamey, old son!” He paused, saw me, and then turned around and waited for me to catch up. “Hiya, Slick,” he said.

I took a moment to unclench my teeth. “Dear boy. I’m so sorry Emil never finished his story about the roller-skating lady. Ah, perhaps … perhaps we might try again today?”

“Why? Find some money somewheres?” The wretched boy laughed.

I stood and looked at the kid. He didn’t move. I didn’t move. He looked odd, a peculiar gleam sparkling in his eyes. Still, neither of us moved or even spoke. Finally, he sighed. “Gotta go, Nick. Sorry.” He began backing away from me, tilted his head in a goodbye motion, and then turned and resumed his cheery progress across Forty-Second Street.

Suddenly, he turned and shouted, “Mr. Emil won’t be at Wall Street today.”

“Why not?”

“Just thought I’d save you a useless trip. Mr. Emil found more, uh, interesting places to be, see?”

“No, I don’t see!” I turned my back on the kid and strode off. But I saw, all right.

I heaved a sigh and set off eastward. It’s said to be peaceful by the river. Who’d said that—oh, yes, Emil. There must’ve been a river somewhere near Sing Sing. I might as well try to calm myself. Because I knew Emil, like the Dangerous Bull (take your pick of Bulls), would also no longer be found on Wall Street. I’m no child; everything had become instantly clear to me … well, after seeing Jamey again. The expression on his face had said it all, and I got it, as they say in the crude popular vernacular.

As I sat on the edge of the seawall, legs dangling, watching the gaily painted tiny tugboats push and haul the monstrous barges up and down the East River, I suddenly realized the first clue I’d bungled. That scarlet hair. I’d ignored my own intuition, never wise! The second clue: Bull’s unusually (to me) extensive knowledge of Emil’s daughters. Third clue … well, in no certain order … Emil said if he remembered his family, he’d be compelled to “know” what everyone wanted him to remember. That was a big clue!

The biggest clue of all—Jamey said his ma had said a family must take one back, even if coming home as an ex-con. Remembering

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