“Um, you’re welcome.”
“Oh man, you’re my hero, you know that? Edward is such a dickweed. Picks on me because he knows I ain’t that tough. Thanks, man. Thanks a lot.”
I said he was welcome again.
“So what’s your deal?” he asked. “You ain’t a cop. I know that. So are you, like, I don’t know, a superhero or something?”
“Superhero?”
“I mean, you hang out and rescue people and stuff. And then you ask about his MM contact?” His face suddenly darkened. “Man, I hope you got a whole Avengers group behind you or something if you’re gonna take him on.”
“That’s what I wanted to ask you,” I said.
“Oh?”
“Edward works for a guy named Danny Zuker, right?”
“You know it.”
“Who is Danny Zuker?”
“Sickest dude ever. He’d kill a puppy because it got in his way. You can’t believe the psycho-crazy in that guy. He makes Edward pee in his pants. For real.”
Terrific. “Who does Danny work for?”
The kid took half a step back. “You don’t know?”
“No. That’s why I’m here.”
“For real?”
“Yes?”
“I was joking, dude—about you being a superhero. I figured, hey, you saw me getting the crap beaten out of me and, I don’t know, you’re a big dude and you hate bullies and stuff. That wasn’t it?”
“No. I need some information.”
“I hope one of your superpowers is that you’re bulletproof. If you mess with those guys . . .”
“I’ll be careful,” I said.
“I don’t want you to get hurt or nothing, just because you did me a solid, you know?”
“I know,” I said, trying my best competent professorial tone. “Just tell me what you know.”
The kid shrugged. “Eddie is my bookie. That’s all. I’m behind, and he enjoys hurting people. But he’s small-time. Like I said, he works for Danny Z. Danny’s way high up in MM.”
“What’s MM?”
“I’d bend my nose with my finger to show you what I mean, but my nose is friggin’ killing me.”
I nodded. “So Danny Z is with the Mafia? Is that what you’re trying to say?”
“I don’t know if they call it that. I mean, I only heard that word in really old movies and whatever. I can only tell you Danny Z works directly for the head of MM. That guy is a legend.”
“What’s his name?”
“You for real? You don’t know? How do you live here and not know?”
“I don’t live here.”
“Oh.”
“Are you going to tell me?”
“I owe you. So sure. Like I said, Danny Z is like the right-hand man for MM.”
“And MM is?”
An elderly woman stepped between us. “Hello, Harold.”
He gave her a big smile. “Hello, Mrs. H. How did those petunias work out for you?”
“You were so right about the placement in the window box. You’re a genius with arrangements.”
“Thank you.”
“If you have time . . .”
“Let me just finish with this gentleman and I’ll be right with you.”
Mrs. H shuffled away. Harold watched her, smiling all the way.
“Harold,” I said, trying to get him back on topic, “who is MM?”
“Come on, man, don’t you read the papers? MM. Danny Z reports directly to the biggest, baddest boy of them all—Maxwell Minor.”
Something clicked. My face must have shown it because Harold said, “Whoa, dude, you okay?”
My pulse raced. My blood started humming in my ears. I could have looked it up on my iPhone, but I really needed a full screen. “I need to use a computer.”
“Owner doesn’t let anyone use the Internet here. It’s all blocked off.”
I thanked him and hurried out. Minor. I had heard that name before in connection to all this. I drove like a madman to Northern Boulevard. I found the same Cybercraft Internet Café. The same yah-dude was behind the desk. If he recognized me, he didn’t show it. There were four terminals open. I grabbed one and quickly typed in the address for the New York local newspapers. Clicking on archives, I asked for May 25 again—the day after the surveillance photograph of Natalie had been taken. The computer seemed to be taking forever to grant my search request.
Come on, come on . . .
And then the headline popped up:
PHILANTHROPIST GUNNED DOWN
Archer Minor Executed in His Office
I wanted to shout “Eureka!” out loud, but I controlled myself. Minor. Oh, that couldn’t be a coincidence. I clicked the article and read:
Archer Minor, son of reputed mob leader Maxwell Minor and victim’s rights advocate, was executed in his high-rise law office on Park Avenue last night, apparently the victim of a hit authorized by his own father. Known as the Minor son who’s gone straight, Archer Minor worked with crime victims, even going so far as to publicly denounce his father in recent weeks and promising the DA’s office to provide proof of his familial wrongdoings.
The article didn’t have too many other details. I went back to the search engine and looked up Archer Minor. There was at least an article a day for the next week. I started sifting through them, looking for some kind of clue, some kind of connection between Archer Minor and Natalie. An article that came out two days after the shooting snagged my attention:
NYPD SEARCHING FOR WITNESS
IN MINOR SLAY
A source inside the NYPD claims that the department is currently looking for a woman who may have witnessed the murder of local gangster’s-kid-turned-hero Archer Minor. The NYPD would not comment directly. “We are actively seeking out many leads,” Anda Olsen, department spokesperson, said. “We expect to have a suspect in custody soon.”
It fit. Or it sort of fit.
I conjured up that surveillance photo of Natalie in what looked like the lobby of an office building. Okay, so now what? Put it together. Somehow, Natalie had been there that night, in Minor’s law office. She saw the murder. That would explain the fear on her face. She ran off, hoping it would go away, but then the NYPD must have gone through the surveillance video and found her walking through the lobby.
There was still something big here, something I was missing. I kept reading:
When asked for a motive for the crime, Olsen said, “We believe that Archer Minor was killed because he wanted to do the right thing.” Today, Mayor Bloomberg called Archer Minor a hero. “He overcame his family name and history to be one of the great New Yorkers. His tireless work on behalf of victims and in bringing those who commit violent crimes to justice will never be forgotten.”