The Man of Maybe Half-a-Dozen Faces (21 page)

“Why?”

“You need to wrap this up,” she said. “What if we forgot to tell you something? If that happens and I'm there, I can just fill in the blanks.”

She tried to blind me with her floodlight smile.

“I'm working on another case this morning,” I said.

“There's no time to waste.”

“I'm not wasting time,” I said. “I checked out the address Yuri gave me. It looks like your KGB guy got there first. I'd say he scared Dotes into deep hiding.”

I noticed we were walking toward the market. Since we hadn't resolved anything, I stopped again.

“You can't go,” I said. “I work alone.”

“But you need me today.”

“No way.”

“Way.”

“I can't believe you said that.”

“Isn't that what you're supposed to say?” She looked genuinely confused for a moment, but then she gave me that megawatt smile again, and we were walking
again.
I felt like a horse she'd urged into motion with her heels. Once we were moving she let me have my head. I was the one who knew where we were going this sunny Saturday morning.

We came to Eighth Avenue, and I turned left. The Saturday market was a street fair just down the block. On one side there were the booths and tables of fresh produce that made up the organic farmers' market. I made a note to drop by on my way back and pick up some organic stuff to juice. On the other side of the street was the edge of the little city that was the Saturday market itself. A trip to the market was a trip back to a kinder era maybe—a tie-dyed time, a time of flowers and incense and low-tech solutions and sweat. The twisted labyrinth of alleys between the booths was filled with people. It was not a good place to be if you needed a large sphere of your own space, not a place for people afraid to rub elbows with strangers. I led Prudence into the crowd.

We stopped to look at exquisite ceramic tiles. We strolled past mirrors in handcrafted wooden frames. And tie-dyed shirts and dresses and pants. Walls of tie-dyed sheets—big purple, yellow, green, and red squares moving gently in the breeze. We passed booths where you could get your face painted and booths where you could get a massage and booths where you could have your life decoded with tarot cards.

I glanced at my watch and saw that I didn't have much time before my lunch date with Marvin at the Whisper Café.

I made sure she was looking at me, and then I glanced quickly over my shoulder and then back down at a tray of glittering beaded jewelry. “Oh boy,” I said softly.

She didn't get it. I'd expected her to ask what I'd seen when I looked over my shoulder. I moved on to the next booth, and tried again.

No luck. She was oblivious.

One more time.

Zip.

I pulled her quickly around the booth and hurried over two rows and around a guy juggling painted sticks.

“What are we doing?” she asked.

“We're being followed,” I said. “Look, this could be dangerous. I think we should split up.”

“I want to stay with you,” she said.

“It's too dangerous. Besides how do we know they're following me? Maybe they're following you.”

I could see she was thinking about that. “What will you do if they're following me?”

“Once I see which way the wind blows, I'll either lose them or, if they're following you, I'll start following them, following the both of you, that is.”

“Well, I don't know,” she said.

She stepped back to let a woman with three parrots crawling around on her shoulders and head pass between us.

“It'll be easy.” I grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the center courtyard.

We came to the booths devoted to food. Tofu and rice, Indian food, burritos, noodles, steamed vegetables. The booths were situated on either side of two long rows of tables. Where the tables stopped there was an open area for dancing and beyond that a small stage where a band was playing.

People dancing by themselves. People dancing with babies. Flutes and smoke. Bare feet and jeans and beads and big floppy hats. People dancing without inhibition—not drunken abandon, just joyous jumping around. I had to look away.

“Here's what we do,” I said. “You sit down on the grass here like you're going to listen to the music, and I'll lead them off. If they follow me that's one thing. If they hang around here that's another. Either way, we'll know what's what.”

She scanned the crowd. “I don't see anyone.”

“Don't look around like that,” I said. “You want to tip him off that we're on to him?”

I could tell she was suspicious, but I was pretty sure she'd go along with me, and if things worked out right, she'd still be here listening to the music when I got back from my meeting with Marvin. I didn't want to get rid of her. I just wanted to park her for a while.

I got her settled on the grass, then instead of just walking off, I stepped over to the Smoothie booth and bought her a lemon Smoothie. “Don't look around like you're wise,” I whispered when I leaned down to hand it to her. “I'll be back.”

She took a sip of her Smoothie and made a sour face then smiled up at me, making me feel guilty. I melted back into the crowd.

I stopped before I lost sight of her altogether. I saw her take another sip of her Smoothie and shudder. She leaned over and tapped on the shoulder of a young guy with enough hair for a family of four. She said something to him and he grinned. She handed him the drink. She got up and stood on one foot to take off one of her sandals. Then she stood on the other foot to take off the other one. She dropped the sandals into the hands of the young man still sitting in the grass. She laughed at something he said. When she joined the dancers, I noticed I was not the only one watching her. Everyone seemed to be watching her. It was not so much grace, she wasn't really very graceful, and it was not so much that she was beautiful, and she really was beautiful, no, I think what was attracting attention was the obvious fact that she was so completely enjoying herself. It was as if she knew she didn't know how to dance to such music, but she was willing to learn and was totally trusting that no one would be mean to her about being a beginner.

I could have stood there all afternoon watching her. I glanced at my watch again and saw that I was already going to be fashionably late for lunch with Marvin. I had to force myself to leave.

I'd been so busy trying to stash her somewhere until after lunch that I hadn't been paying much attention to what was really going on around me. It was a surprise when I walked around a couple of booths and came to the street and saw a man duck quickly back into the hubbub as I looked his way.

Someone really was following me!

I crossed the street and doubled back. A moment later the man stepped out of hiding and looked down the street. He was the same guy I'd surprised at GP Ink, the guy who had jumped me in my office. A white bandage held his nose in place and covered the damage I'd done with my Thermos bottle.

My current theory said this was the guy who had shot at J. Dotes—the former KGB agent Yuri had described. Matusoff. It looked like he was wearing the same cheap suit. His hair was thin and graying, but it had once been a very light brown, almost blond. He was older than I would have guessed from the way he punched and moved.

He didn't see me in the direction I'd been walking so he scanned back the other way and saw me standing there looking at him. I got some satisfaction from the look on his face when he realized I was on to him. He put his hand in his coat, probably to make sure his gun was handy, and moved quickly my way. He wasn't shadowing me now. In fact, if I didn't get a move on he would catch me. I turned and ducked back into the confusion of the market.

I was pretty sure I knew where Matusoff fit into the big picture. Yuri had filled in the missing information when he'd told me about the other faction and the KGB. Matusoff was trying to solve the case by killing the killer. He was trying to clean up anything at GP Ink that might point to Evil Empire Software. The effort and attention he'd recently been paying me was troubling, but even as I thought about the problem, a possible solution popped into my head.

Two facts: I was being chased by a bad guy and I was on my way to have lunch with a cop. Put those two together. Bad guy and cop. Maybe it was time Matusoff met Marvin Zivon. I slowed down so I wouldn't lose him altogether, and glanced back to see where he was. He wasn't behind me.

I stopped. It didn't make sense he'd just give up. That probably meant he was trying to get around in front of me so I'd walk right into him.

I felt a hand on my arm. He'd come up between a booth selling all kinds of hats and the traveling headquarters of Hooray for Hemp. The hand that wasn't on my shoulder was in his coat, and he pulled his gun out just enough for me to see.

Instead of jerking away from him, I pushed him back and he had to do some fancy footwork to keep from falling into the hats. When he let go of me I took off through the crowd again.

I could see him keeping pace with me a couple of rows over. I guess you could say my plan was working. We were getting closer to the edge of the market and he was still chasing me. I dodged around a young girl playing a wooden recorder for change. The crowd was slowing him down but soon we'd be in the clear, and I'd be easier to catch.

I got to the edge of the market and looked east down Eighth. I turned and looked west and saw a troop of power walkers in purple workout clothes approaching on the sidewalk. I slipped out of the city of arts and crafts, food and music, and fell in with them.

“We don't mind,” a sweating woman huffed at me, “but you've got to pick up the pace. This is not just fast walking. Here. Like this.”

So I did my best to imitate the way you pretend you've got a stick up your ass and pump your arms when you're power walking, a practice that was once again sweeping through the city as the latest fitness craze. Matusoff (if that was his real name) stood for a moment looking absolutely baffled, but then he hurried after us.

The power walkers left the market behind and turned onto the downtown mall. I got deeper into their midst. Just a block or so more and we'd be pumping by the Whisper Café. I hoped Marvin was already there. Matusoff was losing patience. He moved in on us, but then since he couldn't reach me, he fell back again. He tried again, reaching across a woman who swatted at his hand. The other walkers were grumbling and giving him dirty looks. I knew that wouldn't be enough to stop him. He was probably already calculating the risks and rewards of just busting into the middle of things and grabbing or shooting me.

The Whisper Café was coming up on the right. There were several people sitting at the sidewalk tables, but I didn't see Marvin. There was a man with a newspaper in front of his face. Marvin? I didn't know, but I had no choice now. Even if Marvin hadn't arrived yet, there simply wasn't any way to call off my plan.

As we came even with the café, I stopped walking and let the power walkers flow around me. When they'd passed, Matusoff and I were standing almost toe to toe and nose to nose.

I yelled for help and leaped onto him.

On my way down to the ground, I glanced over at the café. The newspaper reader had lowered his paper. He was not Marvin Zivon.

So Matusoff and I mixed it up.

I was doing generally okay. I was younger, and I'd been drinking a lot of juice lately, but I'd never been what you would call an expert at this hand-to-hand stuff. I'd once thought of developing a black belt disguise, but I had never gotten around to devoting the years of study and training it would have taken to actually do it, so while I was not being totally vanquished, I was also losing ground. I was, in fact, on the bottom, and the guy on top banged my head down on the sidewalk, once, twice, and I saw clouds of fuzzy black balls, swarms of colored foil stars, paisley bits and tie-dyed pieces.

Then there was the distinctive sound of a gun being cocked. Matusoff froze. There may have been a conversation. My ears were ringing. Matusoff got off me. I rolled over and climbed to my hands and knees and looked up to see Marvin Zivon and his gun. Matusoff put his hands where Marvin could see them.

“Watch out, Marvin,” I said. “He's got a gun. In his coat.”

Marvin patted him down and disarmed him. I climbed to my feet.

Sirens. Marvin must have already called it in. I wondered how long he'd let Matusoff beat on me before he decided enough was enough.

I put my hand on the back of my head, looked at it. No blood, but there would be a bump, definitely a bump, maybe a couple of bumps, and a championship headache.

“This is the guy who broke into my office,” I said. I could have told him about surprising the guy at GP Ink, too, but then I would have had to admit that I'd bowled Marvin and Frank over in the hallway and fled the scene. “You might want to check him against what you've got on that south-side apartment shooting, too.”

Marvin gave me a look that told me to quit screwing around and let him do his job.

I wobbled over to one of the sidewalk tables and collapsed into a chair.

A police car pulled up and a couple of uniforms hurried over to help Marvin. It didn't take them long to bundle up the bad guy and leave. Marvin came over and sat down opposite me.

“Do you ever get the feeling we're all on TV?” I asked him.

“Never,” he said.

“So, what's for lunch?” I leaned back to look through the windows into the restaurant itself and nearly toppled myself in surprise. Everyone inside was looking out at me. Mrs. Zivon herself stood just behind the glass. I smiled at her and waved.

I had what you would call mixed feelings about Marvin's mom. On the one hand, I had always liked her. She had always been nice to me when we were kids. But on the other hand, she had always been my mother's biggest rival, and now that my mother couldn't fight back, it was like my duty to take up the slack. Not to mention the fact that I'd always been able to get Marvin steamed by making cracks about her.