| We drove back to Cafe Lalo. After a few brief words, we shook hands and parted company. I walked around the corner to my car, a Porsche 911 (hey, it's used... OK?). First thing I did was pick up the phone and dial the office. "Yeah?" "Hey, is that the way you answer a phone Vic?" "Yo Cee Tee, whaddup!" "Got my first case!" sounding like a schoolboy who finally got laid... "And quess what?" "Tell me already!" "I have to find Aihona." Damned if that wasn't the longest Victor was ever quiet. "Hey Vic, you still there?" "Huh... oh yeah, I'm here. Whadda ya mean you have to find Aihnoa, isn't she in South America?" "That's what I thought! I ran into her uncle at the coffee shop and he thinks she's missing. He's paying me to find her." I continued to explain what happened. Funny thing is, the more I talked about it, the more puzzled I became. I dunno... maybe it was just Victor's response, but something did seem strange. Cassandra Vicario. I know her. It took a few seconds... "Vic, Aihnoa lived somewhere on W.75th St., 360 something. I need you to send Norm to find out exactly where she lived. I think Cassandra might be Sandy, her roommate. If so, she probably still lives there. In fact, I'm sure of it." "Done deal Chaz, later..." as he hung up. I looked at my watch. Damn, 4:35pm already. Taking out her pictureagain, she looked different to me for some reason. I can't put mt finger on it, but it's as if she's changed... more like she knows. Yeah... like she knew eventually that I would come looking for her. Only thing is, she doesn't seem to happy about it.Me thinks this might be a big mistake. After driving around for nearly 2 hours, I reached my home (my office... same thing). I own a brownstone in the Bed-Sty section of Brooklyn (actually it's Prospect Heights). The ride normally takes me less than an hour, but... Inside I went straight for the fridge and got me a bottle of Perrier. Behind my desk, I reached for a cigerette (my first for the day... not bad). I kept running the events of the day through my mind when... "Charlie, I got it!" as that was Norman. Knowing what he was talking about, I asked him where Victor was... "He just went to the store for something to eat." That was a surprise. He only carries 280 pounds on his 5'7" frame. I shouldn't talk, but at least I'm 6'. taking another drag, I smelled something familiar... "Norm, you smokin trees (weed) ain't ya?" "Ya know it mon! Ey, me work 'ard today, ya want the 411?" "Not yet. Wait 'til Victor gets back and we'll re-hash everything." The worst part is that I really wanted some of that joint. We both turned as we heard Victor. I was hoping for chinese, but settled for cheeseburgers and fries. "Did you get me a shake?" i just love vanilla shakes. "Forgot... want me to go back?" "Skip it." As we ate, I wrote down all the events of the day. Throwing things around, we can to the conclusion that things didn't add up, but couldn't figure out why. First, 2 guys (one I've seen before - Carlos) have an open discussion in an open place about a missing woman, the one I love! second, they hire me on the spot after I bullshit them and finally, I've got 20G's in an attache case on the table in front of us. Carlos was either independently wealthy or connected. we chose the latter. Though it didn't add up, one thing was for sure... this case was mine, for better or worse. 11:45pm. Vic and Norm went upstairs to bed already. Norm did a gret job and got the address. He tried under Aihnoa's name, but the lease was changed and put under Sandy's. 366 W.75th St., apartment 3B. I stared at the half a joint in the ashtray. It's been a while, but... I lit it and took a couple of drags (I admit it, I did inhale), hoping it would make me drowsy. It didn't work, I put it down knowing I'd be awake until I went to see Sandy first thing in the morning. still trying to make heads or tails of this case, I let my mind wander... was it a chance meeting between Carlos and myself? Who was he connected to? And why was I hired without having been checked out?... Or ws I? Spain. Never been there, but I probably will before the weekend was over. There was one thing that bothered me. It seemed that everyone who worked at Cafe Lalo were Spaniards. It's as if a little piece of Spain landed on the West Side of Manhattan. Resource Page Poetry Dream Home A View |