Chapter 19 Chapter Eighteen

Omg I feel great.The blood pulses and the adrenaline is secreted.Excitement accompanied me all the way to Columbus Circle.But after that feeling faded, I started to feel like a big fool. And a lucky fool.Thank goodness of luck for being kind to me and sending me a downright bad guy, even though he was taller and younger than me.When facing this brutal and unreasonable opponent, my heart was filled with a high sense of justice, which inspired my potential chivalry.Fate even arranged a plot of a hero saving the beauty to help me complete this mission with vigor. In fact, it's downright scary.I almost killed that kid.I beat him up so badly that a court might decide it was an unprovoked malicious attack.I could have badly wounded him, probably snapped his windpipe, kicked his guts out, maybe even actually killed him.If the police had seen what I was doing, I would have been escorted to the city precinct by now, and ended up in jail, and that is what I deserved.

Still, I can't sympathize with the guy with the crew cut.No matter how you look at it, he is definitely a super big jerk.If he does break his throat or have other serious internal injuries, that's cheap for him too.But what qualifications do I have to be an avenging angel?His behavior is none of my business, and it is not my turn to punish him. The woman with the swollen ankle didn't really need me to protect her with medieval chivalry.If she really hates heavy metal, she can choose to leave, and so do I. To be honest, I just took out my anger on that kid because there was nothing I could do with Motley.I couldn't stand Motley's provocation, so I broke the kid's radio.I couldn't stand against Motley when we were face to face on Yateney Street, so I had to kick the kid for balance.There was nothing I could do about the status quo that really mattered, so I could only pretend that I had it all under my control by demonstrating violently over such insignificant matters.

Worse, I know all of this very well myself.That high-pitched anger couldn't suppress my rational voice, which repeatedly warned me not to do these violent and immature behaviors. Reason also dissuaded me when I went to buy alcohol.Some people never hear the voice of their inner mind. Maybe these people have been doing things on the spur of the moment all their lives.However, this time, although I clearly heard the dissuasion of reason, I deliberately turned a deaf ear to it. Luckily I restrained myself in time to drink or kick the kid in the head.If this is the fruit of victory over emotional impulse, I really can't get a sense of accomplishment from it.

I'm not proud of myself at all. I called Elaine from the hotel and had nothing to say, so I hung up after a while.I went into the bathroom to shave, and the wound on my face was almost healed, and I should be able to ditch the electric razor and use disposable blades.I was careful not to hurt myself. While shaving, I kept smelling alcohol from the gutter.It's actually impossible for the smell to last that long.I also understand that this should be imagined out of thin air, but it seems that I can smell it at any time. While I was drying my face, the phone rang and it was Danny "Boy". "There's someone you should talk to," he said. "Would you come over at twelve or one?"

"no problem." "Then go to Mother Goose House. Do you know the place, Matthew?" "You seem to have said it was on Amsterdam Street before." "At the intersection of Amsterdam Street and Eighty-first Street, the third one from the corner, on the east side of the road, the light music there is good, you can enjoy it." "They don't have heavy metal, do they?" "What's the problem? We agreed to ask the waiter to bring you to my table at half past twelve." "no problem." "And Matthew, you'd better bring some money."

I watched the news on TV for a while in my room, then went out to dinner.I had a sudden craving for some hot food, and for the first time since my ambushes in Yateney Street I had an appetite, so I decided to have a good meal.I originally planned to go to the Thai restaurant, but I changed my mind halfway and switched to Armstrong's.I ordered a large plate of Chipotle Chipotle and added lots of crushed red peppers in addition to the hot sauce on the plate.Such an enjoyable seasoning, it feels no worse than breaking the radio in the park.The difference is that this time there will be no regrets.

I went to the bathroom and there was still blood in the urine, but it was not that serious, and the kidneys have rarely felt uncomfortable lately.I went back to the table, drank some more coffee, and read the Marcus Aurelius book I had brought with me on the way out.I read the book very slowly, and there is a paragraph in it that reads: These words also seem to be valid advice for detectives, but I'm not sure I agree with the implication.What Marcus Aurelius meant was that people should be alert at all times and be on high alert not to make judgments about what they see or hear.I mulled over those words, then decided to give up and enjoy my coffee and music.I don't know what kind of music it is, but it's classical music played by a certain symphony orchestra.

I arrived a few minutes before the party was scheduled, and Jim was already there.We stood by the coffee pot and chatted without mentioning to each other what had happened on the phone in the afternoon.Then I chatted with other people, and then we all sat down for a meeting.The speaker was an Irishman who lived in the Bronx and belonged to the Verham Street chapter.He looked good, and his experience was not quite the story of most alcoholics.He was a butcher in a nearby market and had been doing the same job for a long time, with the same wife and never moved.Drinking didn't cause any misfortune in his life until three years ago, when he had to be checked into rehab with nerve and liver problems.

"I've been a devout Catholic all my life," he said, "but I never actually prayed sincerely until I stopped drinking. Now I pray twice a day, reverently asking in the morning and sincerely thanking the day at night , and no more nightcaps." During the discussion, an elderly Mr. Frank, who had never been an alcoholic, said that he had found a prayer that he had found very useful for years. "I always pray: 'God, thank you for making everything happen the way it is,'" he said. it works." I raised my hand for an opinion, confessing that I almost started drinking again that afternoon, and that my confidence had never been shaken so much since I quit drinking.I eschewed the details, admitting that I had done absolutely nothing in the afternoon other than not drinking.Someone also responded that quitting drinking is indeed the right choice that our group should definitely make.

The meeting concluded with the announcement that Toni's farewell mass would be held at three o'clock on Saturday afternoon in the conference room of Roosevelt Hospital.Some people started talking about Toni, speculating about why she killed herself, and comparing her condition to their own. Everyone was talking about Toni until the end of the party.Even when we gathered at the Flame Restaurant after the meeting, this topic continued to be the theme.It made me uncomfortable - I knew some truths that they didn't, but didn't want them to know.Although people mistakenly think that Toni died by suicide, it seems to be sorry for her.But I really don't know how to clarify the truth without causing unnecessary commotion, or making myself the center of attention.Everyone has been going around this topic and it makes me want to leave. Fortunately, someone finally changed the subject, and I suddenly felt a lot easier.

The party ends at ten.I stayed at the Flame for another hour of coffee, then made a detour back to the hotel and asked the front desk if there was a message for me on the phone.Instead of going upstairs to my room, I went back to the road. It was still early for an appointment with "Boy" Danny, and I walked slowly towards the residential area, occasionally stopping to look at shop windows, or waiting for traffic lights on the road with no traffic.Despite killing time, I arrived at the corner of Eighty-first and Amsterdam earlier than I had planned.I walked past the store door and down the street to the next intersection.I crossed the road to the eaves of the house opposite Mother Goose House, and stood there watching the people coming and going, as well as observing the activities of other people in the street.There were three people gathered at the intersection on the southwest side, definitely heroin addicts waiting for drug dealers, I don't think they should have anything to do with Mother Goose House, and certainly have nothing to do with me. At 12:28, I crossed the road and entered the club. There was a bar on the left wall of the long, narrow room, and a cloakroom to the right of the door.I handed over my coat to an Asian-African waitress, took the number plate she gave me, and walked to the end of the bar.The interior at the end of the bar is much more spacious, with dimly lit brick walls and a red and black checkerboard floor.On a small stage, three black men were playing the piano, bass and drums.All three have short hair and neat beards.Wearing a dark suit, a white shirt and a striped tie, it seems to be the "modern jazz quartet" of the year, except for Mir Jackson who was absent because he went to the corner to buy milk. I stood at the end of the bar, surveying the place.The foreman came to me, he was dressed the same as the three on the stage.My eyes can't get used to the light here, I can't find Danny "Boy" and ask the head waiter to take me to Danny "Boy"'s table.The tables were arranged in a rather crowded arrangement, and the aisles running through them were narrow and tortuous. Danny "Boy" had a table next to the stage, with a wooden ice bucket containing a bottle of Russian vodka.He was wearing an exaggerated yellow-and-black striped vest, but for this vest, his outfit was almost in harmony with the band and the foreman.There was a glass of vodka in front of him, and a blond girl sat on his right.The girl has an extreme punk hairstyle, with long hair on one side and a short bald head on the other side. The black top reveals many hollow parts.She had the face of a ravenous feral fox, and one that grew up on a lawn where three or four dead cars were permanently parked. I looked at her, then turned to "Boy" Danny.He shook his head, looked at his watch and motioned for me to sit down.So I sit down.I understand what he means, this girl is not the one I want to meet, the main character will appear later. The performance lasted for nearly twenty minutes, and none of the three of us said a word, and there was not even any conversation from the surrounding tables.According to my observation, the guests here are about half black and half white.I saw an old acquaintance who was a pimp who, after his so-called mid-life crisis, switched to reselling African art and antiques. He opened a shop on Madison Avenue and was said to be doing well.I do believe that, after all, this job is similar in nature to pimping, and he should be handy. After the trio stepped down for a break, the waitress brought Danny the Boy's companion a drink in a goblet decorated with fruit and a paper umbrella.I ordered a cup of coffee, "only instant." The waitress said sheepishly.I said it was all right and she left to get some coffee. "Boy" Danny said, "Matthew, this is Crystal. Crystal, say hello to Matthew." We greet each other, and Crystal looks happy to see me. Danny "Boy" asked me how the band was, and I said it was fine. "The one on the piano was special," he said, "a little Randy Winston, a little Cedar Walton. Especially when the other two players stopped and asked him When playing solo, I can feel it especially. He played all the solos in the past few days, which is very special and very elegant.” I let him continue. "Our friend will be here in about five minutes," he said. "I thought you might want to come over early and enjoy the atmosphere. It's a really nice place, don't you think?" "indeed." "Their service is pretty good. You know, Matthew, I'm a standard creature of habit. If I like a place, I stay there. Now I come almost every night." After the waiter delivered the coffee, he hurried to deliver the drinks ordered by other customers.They don't provide service while the music is playing, so every intermission they have to hustle and greet all the guests.Some ordered two or three drinks at a time, others, like Danny "Boy", ordered whole bottles.It used to be illegal to do so, and probably still isn't allowed, but it's a petty crime that doesn't carry serious penalties. I stirred the coffee, and Danny "Boy" added some vodka to the cup.I asked him what he knew about the man we were waiting for. "Meet him first," he said, "listen to what he has to say, and see how plausible it is." Around one o'clock, the head waiter came towards our table, ushering in a guest.I knew right away that he was the one we were waiting for because he looked different from the rest of the club.He is a tall, thin white man in a blazer and a blue corduroy shirt.There are a lot of black people in this club, all dressed like bank vice presidents, and this man's outfit is completely out of tune.He obviously also felt that he was out of place, and he looked uncomfortable, standing still with one hand on the back of the chair.It wasn't until "Boy" Danny asked him to sit down for the second time that he pulled out the chair and sat down. As soon as he sat down, Crystal stood up, obviously knowing in advance that it was time to leave.Smiling, she walked around the zigzagging tables.The waitress appeared at the table immediately, I ordered more coffee, and the newcomer ordered beer.There were six different brands of beer in the bar, and he looked rather confused as to which one to choose, so he asked, "Red streak? What's that?" The waitress told him it was a Jamaican beer, and he said, "Okay , just give me a bottle." "Boy" Danny introduced us, but only gave his first name, not his last name.The other party's name was Brian.He rested his forearms on the table and stared down at his hands, as if checking his nails for cleanliness.He was about thirty-two years old, with a round, pockmarked face that seemed to express the vicissitudes of the past, and dark brown hair that was showing a tendency to go bald. It was evident that he had spent some time in prison.I don't get it right every time, but some people just have that message written all over their faces. The waiter brought his beer and my coffee.Frowning, Brian picked up the tall neck bottle and studied the ingredients carefully.Although the waitress brought him a glass, he drank from the bottle and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He said, "Jamaica." Danny "Boy" asked him how it tasted. "Not bad," he said. "All beers taste the same." He put down the bottle, looked at me and said, "You're looking for Motley." "Do you know where he is?" He nodded, "I've seen him." "Where did you know him?" "Where else? In jail, of course. We were all living in the Fifth Ward then, and he spent about thirty days in solitary confinement before being transferred elsewhere." "Why was he imprisoned?" "Because someone was killed." "Boy" Danny said, "Is that counted as punishment for murder? Thirty days in confinement?!" "Because they have no evidence, no eyewitnesses, but everyone knows who did it." His eyes met mine, then looked away. "I know who you are, he mentioned you to me before." "Hopefully he has a good word to say." "He said he was going to kill you." "When did you get out of prison, Brian?" "Two years ago, two years and one month." "What have you been doing since you got out of prison?" "Well, do this and that, you know." "certainly." "I had to do something because I came out and started doing drugs again. But now I'm in a rehab program and I got a job at a job center, otherwise I wouldn't have a dime." "I understand. When did you see Motley?" "About a month ago, maybe a little longer." "Have you talked to him?" "Why are you talking to him? No, I just saw him on the street, and he happened to come out of a house, and then a few days later, I saw him walk into that house again. It was the same house." "This was a month ago?" "almost." "You haven't seen him since then?" "Of course I did. I saw him a few times in the streets around here. Then I heard that someone was looking for this guy, so I just wandered around. I watched from the intersection so I could keep an eye on the house. Sometimes I was there Drinking coffee in the shop next door to the house, watching people go in and out. He lives there all the time.” He smiled coyly, “I even asked around. He lived with a prostitute and she owned the apartment. You don't know, I even found out which apartment it is." "Where is the address?" He glanced at Danny the Boy, who nodded.He picked up the beer bottle and took another sip, "It's best not to let him know who is the informer." I didn't speak. "Well," he said, "two hundred and eighty-eight East Twenty-fifth Street, near the corner of Second Street, there's a coffee shop on the corner, and the food is pretty good, Polish." "which room?" "The last room on the fourth floor. The name written on the doorbell is Lepcot. I don't know if it's the whore's name." I wrote down all these information.Closing the notebook, I assured Brian that Motley would not know about this conversation. He replied, "Don't fuck it up, man. I haven't spoken to him since he moved out of Fifth Ward, and I don't want to now." "Haven't you spoken to him yet?" "Is there a need to speak? I recognized him immediately. His hairstyle is really ridiculous, and his face is so long. Anyone who sees him once will never forget it in his life. Unlike my face, after seeing him I don’t remember it anymore. He, Motley, saw me on the street a few days ago. He didn’t pay attention at all, and couldn’t recognize me.” He smiled shyly again, “After tonight, a week later Then you won't recognize me either." He seemed proud of it.I saw "Boy" Danny pointing two fingers at me, so I took out my wallet and took out four fifty-dollar bills, folded them in my palms, and pushed them into Brian's hands.He took the money, put it under the table, counted the banknotes on his lap, and looked up with a smile after counting: "Generous, really generous." "One more question," I said. "Say it." "Why did you betray him?" He looked at me, "Why not? We've never been friends, why don't you make money if you have money? You understand?" "certainly." "And," he said, "he's a real jerk, you know that, don't you? You know that too." "I know." "That whore with him, I bet he'd kill her. Man, maybe he already did." "why?" "I think he seems to have this kind of habit. I remember hearing him once say that women don't last long, they are useless all at once, and after a while, you have to kill her and replace her with a new one. I will never forget it , not just what he said, but the way he said it. I haven't heard anything, but I just haven't seen a guy like him." He took another sip from the bottle, put it down and said, "I've got to Let's go, will I pay for this bottle of beer, or you?" "It's been paid," Danny "Boy" replied. "I only drank half of the bottle, but it's okay, if anyone wants the rest of the bottle, just take it." He stood up and said, "I hope you can catch him, that kind of guy doesn't fit in the street mix." "That's right." "The thing is," he said, "he doesn't fit in prison either." I said, "What do you think?" "I think? Matthew, I think he's a born aristocrat, very generous. You don't want to drink his beer, do you?" "Do not want." "Well, I'll keep drinking my vodka. I don't think he's lying. Your friend may not live on Twenty-fifth Street anymore, but it's not Brian who tipped off." "I think he's scared of Motley." "I think so." "But a few days ago, that other woman also showed that she was very afraid of him, and she set a trap for me to fall in." I told him what happened on Artney Street.He refills his drink as he ponders the possibility. "You fell into the trap voluntarily," he said. "I know." "I have no foreboding about this lead this time. But then again, there's nothing really to rely on about this Brian, so you'd better proceed with caution." "Recover the decline." "That's right. Even if it wasn't premeditated, I don't think he would betray you. I don't think he wants to get too close to Motley." He took a sip of his wine, "What's more, the price you paid him is very good .” "More than he expected." "I know. I've found that it always pays to give someone more than he expects." While he wasn't hinting at me, he did remind me.So I opened my wallet, took out two hundred yuan, and handed it to him.He just smiles. "As Brian said, generous. But you don't have to pay me now, why don't you wait until the tip is proven to be true? Because if the lead is false, then you don't owe me anything. " "You take it," I suggested. "Anyway, if this clue is too old, I can ask for the money at any time." "True, but—" "If the lead is true," I said, "there's probably no chance of paying you later, so you'd better take it now." "What's that?" he said. "You'd better keep the money." "I can't guarantee how long this money will last. Crystal is very good at spending money. Do you want to listen to the next concert, Matthew? If not, can you go to the bar and talk to my little girl, now It's safe and you can come back. Also, take your money back, and I'll pay for the coffee. God, what a virtue you and Brian are." "I only drank half of this cup of coffee," I told him. "It's not bad for instant coffee. You're welcome to finish the rest." "You are very generous," he said, "really generous."