"Eeeow," yelled the boy and felt himself turn over and head for the rubble below him, skull first, until he was caught like a parachute harness an eyelash away from ground collision and righted.
"Money's good," he said. "What can I do for you, friend?"
"I've got a problem," said Remo. "I'm looking for some people who are mad about something."
"I feel for those mothers, man," said the boy honestly.
"These people are mad over something you wrote 'Joey 172' on. Like the mob back there at the 'wall of respect.' "
"That's a mean group back there."
"This group is meaner," said Remo.
"Here's your money back, man," said the boy wisely.
"Wait. If I don't get them, sooner or later they're gonna get you."
"You're not gonna hand me over to them?"
"No," said Remo.
"Why not?" asked the boy. He cocked his head.
"Because they have, pretty stiff penalties for defacing property."
"Like what?"
"Like they cut your heart out."
The boy whistled. "They the ones that offed the politician and the rich lady?"
Remo nodded.
The boy whistled again.
"I've got to know what you defaced."
"Improved," said the boy.
"All right, improved."
"Let's see. Bathrooms at school."
Remo shook his head.
"Two cars on an A train."
"I don't think so," said Remo.
"A bridge."
"Where?"
"Near Tremont Avenue. That's real uptown," said the boy.
"Any church or religious monument nearby?"
The boy shook his head.
"Did you do it on a painting or something?"
"I don't mess over someone else's work," said the boy. "Just things. Not works. Rocks and stuff."
"Any rocks?"
"Sure. I practice on rocks."
"Where?" asked Remo.
"Central Park once. Prospect Park a lot. Rocks are nothing, man."
"Any place else?"
"A museum. I did one on the big museum off Central Park. With the guy on the horse out front."
"What did the rock look like?" asked Remo.
"Big. Square like. With some circles and birds on it and stuff. A real old rock. The birds were shitty like some real little kid carved them."
"Thanks," said Remo.
CHAPTER SIX
Off Central Park Remo found the Museum of Natural History, a massive stone building with wide steps and a bronze statue of Teddy Roosevelt on a horse, facing fearlessly the onslaught of the wilds, namely Fifth Avenue on the other side of the park. The bronze Roosevelt presided over two bronze Indians standing at his side, equally fearless in their unchanging stare across the park.
Remo made a contribution at the entrance and asked for the exhibit of stones. The clerk, drowsy from the mind-smothering passing out of buttons, which labeled the donor as one of those keenly aware of the importance of nature and of the Museum of Natural History, said the museum had a lot of stones. Which one did he want?
"A big one," said Remo. "One that has some graffiti on it."
"We don't feature graffiti, sir," said the clerk.
"Well, do you have any stones? Large ones?" asked Remo. He felt heat rising in his body, not because the afternoon was muggy but because if the organization was still operating, they could probably have had this whole thing worked out in an afternoon and just given him the name of whoever or whatever he was supposed to connect with, and that would be that. Now he was looking for rocks in a museum. If he were right, he would have this whole little mess wrapped up in a day. Give him the sacred rock and the killers would have to come to him.
"We don't just collect rocks, sir," said the clerk.
"This is a special rock. It's got engraving on it."