Chapter 29 Chapter Twenty Nine

The phone wakes me up.I broke out of sleep like a diver struggling to probe his breath. I sat up, blinking and trying to catch my breath.The phone is still ringing and I don't know who is making that hideous noise.It took a while to understand and go to answer the phone. It's Chance. "Just saw the newspaper," he said. "What do you think? Is it the same guy who killed Kim?" "Give me a minute," I said. "Are you sleeping?" "Wake up now." "Then you don't know what I'm talking about. Another homicide, this time in Queens, a street girl who had sex reassignment surgery was chopped up for eight dollars."

"I know." "You haven't woken up yet, how do you know?" "I was there last night." "To Queens?" He sounded awestruck. "To Queen's Road," I told him, "with two policemen. Same killer." "you sure?" "They hadn't sorted out the medical evidence when I was there. But yes, I'm sure." He thought for a moment: "Then Jin was just unlucky." He said, "Wrong time, wrong place." "Maybe." "Just maybe?" —Mammer School·E Book Group— I picked up my watch from the coffee table.It's almost noon.

"People have bad luck," I said. "At least that's what I thought. Last night a cop told me my problem was stubbornness. I only had one case and that's why I stuck with it." "and then?" "He may be right, but something still doesn't make sense. What happened to Kim's ring?" "What ring?" "She has an emerald ring." "The ring," he said, and thought for a moment, "Does that mean Kim has the ring? I suppose so." "What happened to the ring?" "Isn't it in her jewelry box?"

"The one in the box is a commemorative ring, which was issued by a high school in her hometown." "Oh, yes. I remember that ring you were talking about, a big emerald, like a birthstone or something." "Where did she get it?" "From the brightly colored candy box, I suppose. Remember she said she bought it herself. It's just rubbish, man. A piece of green glass." Smash the bottle / At her feet. "Isn't it Emerald?" "What are you kidding, old man? Do you know what emeralds are worth?" "have no idea." "Worth more than diamonds. What's all the fuss about rings?"

"Well, maybe it doesn't matter." "What do you do next?" "I don't know," I said. "If Kim had been hacked to death by a random homicide maniac, the police would have done it better than me. But I was warned not to interfere, and a hotel desk clerk was terrified. bedding, and a ring is missing." "Perhaps none of this is interesting." "Maybe." "Didn't Sunny's note mention that there was a ring that turned someone's finger green? Maybe the ring was too cheap and turned gold fingers green, so she just threw it away."

"I don't think Sunny meant that." "Then what does she mean?" "I don't know." I breathed. "I want to connect Honey Blue and Kim Duckinen," I said. "Hopefully. If I can. Maybe I can find murderer of them." "Maybe. Will you be at Sunny's funeral tomorrow?" "I will go," "Then I can see you. Maybe we can talk after it's over." "it is good." "Well," he said, "Kim and Honey. What can they have in common?" "Hasn't Kim been soliciting on the street before? Didn't she get caught once while soliciting in Long Island City?"

"Many years ago." "She has a pimp named Duffy, right? Honey has a pimp too?" "Possibly. Some warblers do, but most don't, as far as I know. Maybe I can ask." "Maybe you can." "I haven't seen Duffy in months and heard he's dead. I'll ask around, but it's hard to see what a girl like Kim has in common with a little Jew from Long Island." Jew Queen and Milk Queen, I thought, and then Donna. "Maybe they're sisters," I said. "sisters?" "In the bones." I wanted to have breakfast, but the first thing I did when I got to the street was to buy the morning paper, and I immediately saw that there was a big problem with bacon and eggs with it. "Hotel Ripper Kills Again", the headline headline is sensational, accompanied by a large photo caption, transgender warbler slaughtered in Queens.

I folded up the newspaper and tucked it under my arm.I didn't know what I wanted to do next, read the newspaper or eat, but my feet made the decision for me and made the second choice.I walked two blocks before realizing I was heading for the YMCA on West Sixty-third Street, looking to catch the twelve-thirty meeting. Whatever it is, I thought.Their coffee is no worse than anywhere else. I left there in an hour for breakfast at a Greek coffee shop around the corner on Broadway.I read the newspaper while eating, and now I don't seem to care. I probably already know what the newspapers say.The victim was reported to live in the East Village, I somehow assumed she lived across the river in Queens.Garfield did mention Floral Park, just across the state line in Nassau County, where she apparently grew up.Her parents died in a plane crash several years ago, according to the Post.Mark Sarah Sweetheart's only living relative was her brother, Adrian Blaustein, who had a wholesale jewelry business and lived in Forest Hill with an office on West Forty-seventh Street.

He is still abroad, and no one has notified him of the death of his sweetheart, the death of his brother?Or his sister?What to call a transgender relative?What would a successful businessman think of his younger brother who became a younger sister hooking up with several prostitutes in one night?What Does Sweetie Blue's Death Mean For Adrian Blaustein? What does it mean to me? Anyone's death hurts me, because I am connected with all human beings.The death of anyone, the death of any man, woman, transgender.But does their death really hurt me?do i really care I can feel the trigger of the .32 vibrate under my finger.

I ordered another cup of coffee and read another report: A young soldier came home from vacation and had an impromptu bullfight at a Brooklyn roadside basketball court.A pistol fell out of a spectator's pocket, and when it landed it misfired, hitting the young soldier and killing him instantly.I went through the story again and sat there shaking my head. Another way to die.God, there are really eight million ways to die, aren't there? At 8:40 that night I slipped into the basement of a church on Prince Street in Soho.I filled my cup of coffee and looked around the room to see where Jane was sitting as I was looking for a seat.She sits in the front row on the right.I sit in the back, next to the coffee machine.

The woman who gave the speech was in her thirties, a ten-year alcoholic, and spent the last three years wandering the Bowery Street full of cheap taverns and hotels, begging and cleaning car windows to buy alcohol. "Even on the Bowery," she said, "there are people who take good care of themselves. Some carry razors and soap, and I'm drawn right away to another group—those who never shave." , no bathing, no changing. There was a little voice in my head saying, 'Rita, you smell like them.'” During the break, I stopped Jane as she walked towards the coffee machine.She seemed happy to see me. "I happen to be around here," I explained, "and seeing as it's party time, I thought I might see you here." "Oh, I come here regularly for meetings," she said. "We'll have coffee after the meeting, okay?" "Of course." —Mammer School·E Book Group— We ended up with a group of twelve sitting around two tables in a coffee shop on West Broadway.I didn't join the conversation seriously, and I didn't pay attention to what people were saying.In the end, the hospitality was divided into a bill for each person.Jane pays hers, I pay mine, and the two of us head for her downtown apartment. I said, "I don't happen to be around here." "I'm still wondering." "I wanted to talk to you. I wonder if you read today's paper—" "You mean the murder in Queens? Hey. I saw it." "I've been to the scene. I can't relax and feel the need to talk." We went up to her loft and she made a pot of coffee and I sat with a cup of coffee in front of me.When I stop talking about going to drink coffee.It's already cold.I kept her up-to-date, telling her about Kim's fur coat, the drunk child and the broken bottle, the trip to Queens and what we found there.I also told her where I was going that afternoon: I took the subway across the river to roam Long Island City, then went door-to-door at Honey Blue's rental apartment in the East Village, then crossed Long Island to Christopher Street and West Street Find people to chat and ask questions in gay bars. Later, I saw that it was too late, and I should be able to contact Joe Durkin to inquire about the results of the laboratory's judgment. "Same killer," I told Jane, "with the same weapon. He's tall, right-handed, strong, and the machete—or whatever the hell he used it—has been sharpened both times. " Called Arkansas to check, got nowhere.As expected, the street address of Fort Smith was made up, and the license plate number belonged to an orange Volkswagen owned by a nursery school teacher in Faye. "And she only drives that car on Sundays," Jane said. "Basically, he made it all up about Arkansas, just like he made it up about Fort Wayne, Indiana last time. But the license plates are real--or almost fake. Someone thought of looking up the list of stolen cars, Sure enough, it was discovered that a Renault sports car had been stolen from a street in the Jackson residential area two hours before Sweetheart was killed. The license plate number was the same as the one he registered, but two of the numbers were reversed.And of course, that's a New York license plate, not Arkansas. "The car matched the motel staff's description. In addition, when Sweetheart was walking with him, several prostitutes saw the car and they testified that it was indeed the same car. They said that the man drove around the area for a while before making up his mind to choose Sweetheart." . "The car hasn't been found yet, but that doesn't mean he's still driving it. Abandoned cars sometimes take a long time to show up, because the thieves occasionally park illegally, and then the stolen car is naturally towed to the lost car department. Logically speaking It shouldn't be like this, someone should be responsible for checking whether the violating car is listed on the stolen car list. But occasionally there will be mistakes. But it doesn't matter, anyway, the final result of the investigation must be that the murderer lost the car ten minutes after killing Sweetheart, the car Fingerprints are wiped off as well." “Matthew, can’t you just let go?” "The whole case?" She nodded: "From now on, it should enter the police process, right? Filter the evidence and check all the details." "perhaps." "It's impossible for them to put this case in the sidelines. Now it's not like when Jin Jin was killed. Even if they don't want to take care of it, the newspapers will force them to take care of it." "That's true." "Then what reason do you have for not letting go? What you did for your client is already worthy of the money he paid." "yes?" "Thanks for the coffee?" "Thank you for listening to me, I feel better, I need to talk to relax." "Talk is the cure." "Ok." "You never talk at parties, do you?" "Jesus, I can't go out there and talk about this." "Maybe I can't go into details, but you can give me a general idea, and how it affected you. Maybe it will help you more than you expect, Matthew." "I don't think I can. I can't even say that I'm an alcoholic: 'My name is Matthew, and I have nothing to say.' I can just call and say it, without being there." "People change." "Maybe." "How long have you been sober, Matthew?" I have to think about it. "eight days." "Awesome. What's so funny?" "One thing I noticed. Person A asks Person B how long it's been off, no matter what the answer is, the response is always 'Awesome, amazing.' Whether I say eight days or eight years, the response is the same. 'Awesome, awesome.'" "It's great." "I guess so." "It's great that you don't drink at all. Eight years is great, and so are eight days." "uh-huh." "What's wrong?" "Nothing. Sunny's funeral is tomorrow afternoon." "are you going?" "I said I would." "Is there any burden in your heart?" "burden?" "Nervous, anxious." "I don't feel anything, I'm not looking forward to going." I looked into her big gray eyes, and then avoided my eyes, "Eight days is my highest record." I said lightly, "I quit after eight days last time. Quit." "That doesn't mean you have to go tomorrow." "Oh shit, I know that. I won't drink tomorrow." "Take someone with you." "What do you mean?" "Go to the funeral. Ask an A.M. to go with you." "How dare I do that." "Of course you can." "Who can I invite? I don't know anyone well enough to invite." "How close do you have to be before you invite someone to sit next to you at a funeral?" "That--" "Then what?" "Then are you willing to come with me? Forget it, I don't want to embarrass you." "I will go." "real?" "Why not? Of course, I might look too shabby. Sitting next to all those well-dressed whores." "Oh, I don't think so." "Won't it?" "Absolutely not." - Stick School · E Book Group - I lifted her chin and kissed her mouth.I stroked her hair.Her hair was very dark, with hints of gray in it.Gray to match her eyes. "I've been terrified it's going to happen, but I've been terrified it won't happen. Contradictory," she said. "What now?" "Now I just feel scared." "Do you want me to go?" "Do I want you to go? No, I don't want you to go. I want you to kiss me one more time." I kissed her.She wrapped her arms around me, pulling me closer, and I felt her body heat coming through my clothes. "Oh, dear—" she said. Afterwards, I lay on her bed and listened to my own heartbeat. I suddenly felt lonely and depressed like never before.I felt as if I had lifted the lid of a bottomless pit.I reached out to stroke her side, and the physical contact interrupted my thoughts. "Hi," I said. "Hi." "What are you thinking?" She laughs. "It's not romantic at all. I wonder what my counselor will say." "You must tell her?" "I'm nobody, but I'm going to tell her. 'Oh, yes, I'm sleeping with a guy who's been sober for eight days.'" "Is this a felony?" "To put it another way, this is taboo." "Why would she punish you? Recite the Lord's Prayer six times?" She laughed again.She laughed heartily and her voice was loud and joyful.I always love to hear her laugh. "She'd say: 'Well, at least you didn't drink, that's the most important thing.' And she'd say: 'Hope you had a good time.'" "do you have?" "Pleasant experience?" "Ok." "Bah, no. I'm faking an orgasm." "Both times?" "Need to say?" She leaned over and put her hand on my chest, "You want to spend the night here?" "How would your counselor feel?" "She might say that a crisis is an opportunity. Oh, my God, I almost forgot." "Where are you going?" "Need to make a call." "Are you really going to call your counselor?" She shook her head.She had put on her robe and was leafing through a small phone book.She dialed a number and said, "Hi, it's Jane. Are you still up? Look, I know it's a bit of a weird question, but do you know what the word Rivone means?" "What do you mean?" she spelled it back to him. "I thought it might be a dirty word, eh." She listened for a moment, then said, "No, it doesn't. I was just doing a crossword puzzle in Sicilian, That's all. Sleepless nights. You know, there's only so much you can read in the Bible, there's a limit." She finished the conversation and hung up the phone.She said: "Uh, just a thought. I thought, if it's not in the dictionary, maybe it's a dialect or a swear word." "Have you ever thought of what it might be? When did this idea cross your mind?" "It has nothing to do with you, just pretend to be smart." "You're blushing." "I know it. I can feel it. I'll take this lesson to heart when I try to solve a friend's murder in the future." "What goes around comes around." "So it is said. Martin Albert Ricoon, and Charles Otis Jones? Those are the names he wrote?" "Owens. Charles Owens Jones." "You think that means something." "There must be a meaning. Even if he's insane, then the deliberate name must mean something." "Like Fort Wayne and Fort Smith?" "Maybe, but I think he's using a person's name with more meaning than a place's. Rikon's name is so unusual." "Maybe he originally wrote Rico." "I've thought about that too. There's a lot of Rico in the phone book. Or maybe he's from Puerto Rico." "Why not? That's where almost everyone is from. Maybe he's a fan." "Cagney?" "That foreplay. 'Master of Mercy, is this the end of Rico?' Remember?" "I thought it was Edward Robinson." "Possibly. I used to get drunk every time I watched Midnight Show and all those Warner Bros gangsters rolled into one in my head. They were tough guys with big testicles anyway." Holy Mother of Mercy, that's ——'" "What a pair of testicles!" I said. "what?" "God!" "What's wrong?" "He was joking, fucking joking." "what are you saying?" "The murderer. C.0 Jones (CO Jones) and MA Ricone (MARicone), I always thought they were names." "Isn't it?" "cojones. maricon." "It's Spanish." "That's right." "cojones means 'testicles,' right?" "And maricon means 'gay,' though I remember it without an e at the end." "Maybe adding an e at the end feels dirtier." "Or maybe he's just a poor speller." "Hmph, never mind him." She said, "People are not sages, and they can do nothing wrong."