The Book of Air and Shadows - Michael Gruber [144]
When she came back from her lunch she seemed less interested in being friendly than previously, seemed a little frightened of him in fact, which suited Crosetti very well. He spent the rest of the afternoon calling people he knew about places to stay, and trolled the Web sites with the same intent. After work, he went by the likeliest place he had found, a room in a loft near the Brooklyn Navy Yard occupied by a friend from college, a freelance sound engineer, and his girlfriend, a singer. The tenant list was rich in media wannabes and the friend said the Navy Yard was destined to be the next Williamsburg. The building stank of old toxins but was full of pale ocher light from the huge, filthy industrial windows and so reminded him painfully of Carolyn’s place. As he was a sucking-on-a-bad-tooth sort of fellow, this alone was enough to make the sale, and Crosetti walked down the splintery stairs eight hundred dollars poorer and with a date to move in after Thanksgiving. He then followed a difficult multiple bus route back to the A line and the train to 104th Street, Ozone Park.
As he turned off Liberty Avenue onto 106th Street, where he lived, he passed a black SUV with tinted windows. It was not the kind of neighborhood that ran to new, shiny, $40K vehicles, and since he knew every car native to his street, and since Klim’s warning of the previous night instantly sprang to mind upon observing it, Crosetti was, if not exactly ready, not completely astounded by what happened next. As he hurried past it, he heard two car doors pop open and the sound of feet on pavement. He turned and saw two men in black leather coats moving toward him. Both were larger than he was and one was a whole lot larger. They had sweatshirt hoods drawn tight around their faces and their eyes were obscured by large dark glasses, which he thought was an indication of bad intent. Without much thought, Crosetti pulled out his father’s .38 and shot in the general direction of the larger man. The bullet went through this person’s leather jacket and shattered the windshield of the SUV. Both men stopped. Crosetti raised the pistol and pointed it at the head of the larger man. Both men backed up slowly and reentered their vehicle, which flew from the curb with screaming tires.
Crosetti sat down on the curb and put his head down below his knees until the feeling of wanting to faint and to vomit passed. He stared at the pistol, as at an artifact of an alien civilization, and dropped it into his briefcase.
“Albert! What happened?”
Crosetti swiveled around and saw a small gray-haired woman in a pink tracksuit and a heavy pale blue cardigan standing just outside the front door of her bungalow.
“It’s nothing, Mrs. Conti. Some guys tried to kidnap me and I shot one of them and they went away. It’s all over.”
Pause. “You want me to call 911?”
“No, thanks, Mrs. Conti. I’ll call it in myself.”
“Madonna! This used to be a nice neighborhood,” said Mrs. Conti and returned to her kitchen.
Crosetti picked himself up and walked on wobbly legs to his house. An elderly Cadillac hearse shone at the curb, and he regarded it sourly as he walked up the driveway to the back door. He wanted to slip through the kitchen, maybe pour himself a tumbler full of red wine and then up to his room for a nice rest, but no, Mary Peg was there twenty seconds after he had eased the door shut.
“Allie! There you are. I’ve been trying to get you all day. Don’t you respond to messages anymore?”
“Sorry, Ma, I was on the cell a lot.” He took a breath. “Actually, I was looking for dwellings. I think I found a place in Brooklyn, with Beck, you know, from school?”
Mary Peg blinked, nodded, and said, “Well, it’s your life, dear. But the thing I wanted to talk to you about, Bulstrode’s lawyer called here.”
“Bulstrode is dead,” he replied stupidly.
“Yes, but dead people have lawyers too. It’s the estate.” She gave him a closer look. “Albert, is there something