"He's a killer. Been around for thirty or forty years-though he looks much younger. He used to work for you, I think. Maybe still does."
The Cardinal smiled. "That's more than most people ever find out." He gazed at his hands and watched his twisted little finger wiggle about. "Paucar Wami was my greatest… creation." He chose the word carefully. "I discovered him, encouraged him, set him on his way. He's a lethal killing machine. Death is his coin of choice.
"I used him in the 70s and 80s to rid myself of troublesome opponents, those who stood in my way, who were stronger than me, too well guarded to be attacked in the usual manner. Wami's unstoppable once he starts. Nothing can deter him. He took out sixteen of the most powerful men in the city in a couple of years. Killed them in their beds, their mansions, at parties for their children." He shook his head admiringly.
"We haven't worked so closely since," he went on. "Wami is too hot for one master to handle. He travels the world, killing for money, for fun. Whatever. He still works for me when I need him, which isn't often these days.
"Now," he changed the subject abruptly, "what about a home? You've been in the Skylight long enough. Time we did right by you. What are you interested in? I'll pay for it. No mansion-not yet-but I'll stretch to a nice top-floor apartment in the business district. Or perhaps you're a riverfront man?"
"Actually, I was hoping you'd let me stay on at the Skylight."
He smiled quizzically. "What's the attraction? Do you like the food, the room service, the fact you don't have to lift a finger? I'm sure you can get a maid when you-"
"It's not that," I blurted. "It's a… a woman."
He laughed snidely. "I see. A femme fatale has her claws in you at last. It had to happen, an eligible bachelor like you. Enjoy her. I hope it works out. But surely she can move with you? Unless you're reluctant to commit?"
After a brief hesitation I decided I might as well tell him about Conchita. "It's not a romance. She's sick. I'm her friend. That's all."
"I didn't think sick people were allowed in the Skylight. I'll have to look into this-don't want people thinking I'm running a health spa."
"Conchita's an exception. She-"
"Conchita? " he barked, then frowned as if racking his memory. "Conchita…" He stirred in his chair and brought one hand up to rub his forehead. "…Kubelik? "
"Kubekik," I corrected him. "You know her?" I was mildly surprised, but then again her husband had been a gangster and The Cardinal was an expert in his field. This might be my chance to learn more about Ferdinand Wain.
"I knew her once, yes." He sounded distracted.
"Her husband was a gangster, right? Ferdinand Wain."
"Yes." He half-turned away from me. He looked confused for a moment, but a second later he faced me and his confusion-if it had existed at all-was a thing of the past. "Yes, I knew Ferdinand and his tragic young wife. Conchita Wain was exceptional. She used to light up a room like women do in trashy novels. Every man bent over backward to please her." He was smiling at the memory.
"Then her disease struck." He grew somber. "A terrible thing. I tried to help. For once I acted selflessly, put Ferdinand in touch with some of the finest doctors in the country, loaned him the money to pay for their services. But they couldn't cure her. When all hope faded, I gave her a room on the top floor of the Skylight, so she could at least suffer where no one could bother her. Not many people have found a soft spot in my heart."
He stopped talking and directed his thoughts inward.
This was an unexpected turn. The Cardinal acting like a human? Maybe he wasn't so terrible after all.
"Was Ferdinand any relation to Neil Wain?" I asked.
"Cousins, I think."
"What happened to him?"
"Dead. Long dead. Killed."
"How?"
"The money I loaned him to cover Conchita's medical bills? He fell behind on the repayments."
He said nothing further and I was too shocked to break the silence. Human? The Cardinal? Not a chance.
"Anyway," he started up again, "back to business. There's an old acquaintance I want you to visit. Cafran Reed. He owns a restaurant not too far north of here. He's an old adversary of mine. Not a foe, you understand-I like Cafran and want no harm to come to him. We're sparring partners. Every so often I send one of my agents out to him with a new insurance offer, and every time he sends it back unsigned. It's a game, an interesting little battle we've been staging for years. He's one of the few men I haven't been able to get on my side, one of the rare birds I haven't tagged."
"Is he wealthy?" I hadn't heard of him before, and by that time I knew most of the major movers and shakers.
"No. I don't want to snare Cafran Reed to make money. I want him because of the challenge. He doesn't want insurance or protection. He believes in taking life as it comes, dealing with crises only as they arise. If you can convince him-by fair means, let me stress again, not foul-that it would be in his benefit to take out one of our policies, I would be most impressed."
"And if I fail?"
He sniffed. "As I said, I've sent my best people to him before. I don't expect you to win him over. I'm more interested in the manner of your failure than the slim possibility of your success. I want to see how you handle a man like Reed, how you try to crack an impenetrable nut. There will be no penalties. Look on it as a trial test, where the experience is more important than the result.
"Now I'm a busy man, Mr. Raimi." He motioned to the door but I stayed in my seat.
"I've a couple of questions, if you don't mind."
"Oh?" He glanced at his watch, considered tossing me out, decided to humor me. "Very well. Ask quickly."
"What sort of deal do you want me to strike with Cafran Reed? Any particular policy?"
"No. The cheapest or most expensive, or any in between. Hook him any way you can, as long as it's legal. Next question?"
I nodded over my shoulder. "The people outside. I wondered who they were, what they were doing here."
"Informants," he said. "My eyes and ears in the city. They come from all over, every walk of life, with all manner of tales. They tell me what their neighbors are eating, what their bosses are wearing. If they see a murder, they come here. If they hear a rumor, they let me know. If their spouses change their hairstyle, I get the lowdown first. I'll listen to anybody who cares to talk. They keep me in touch with the spirit of the city, its mind and emotions. Through them I get to know the people I'm master of, their whims, wishes, fears. I listen, store the information away, let it swirl around inside my head, and occasionally use a byte or two."
"What do they get in return?" I asked.
"Favors. Sometimes money. Mostly just the promise of a good turn. I'm a worthy ally, a generous friend. These people tell me about their lives and in return I help them if they ask. I get their children jobs, make houses available, swing deals their way. The usual carrots one hangs before a human horse."
"How do they know to come? Who tells them?"
"Word spreads, as it always does. I hold court a couple of nights a week. They come. They speak. I listen. You can send the first one in on your way out. Good night, Mr. Raimi." And that was the end of that.
inti maimi
I had breakfast with Y Tse and Leonora in Shankar's the next morning and gave them a full report of the meeting. Y Tse was delighted that I'd been set a test by The Cardinal-more confirmation, if any were needed, that he was genuinely interested in me.
There was still no sign of Adrian. After leaving Shankar's I called my office, told them I'd be late and went to check his apartment. Thomas drove swiftly and silently, disinterested as ever. I rang the bell a few times when I got there, pounded on the door when that failed and ended up shouting through the mail slot. No answer. I tried peering in the windows but there were heavy curtains draped across them. I was giving serious thought to putting a foot through a pane of glass when a voice out of nowhere surprised me. "Hey! You got business around here?"
I looked around but couldn't see anybody. I studied the rooms above Adrian's-he lived on the ground floor of a five-story building-but the windows were shut. Then I noticed a staircase to my left, leading down to a basement. I moved a few feet over and peered into the shadowy recess.
A fat man was glaring up at me. Stubble, unwashed hair, baggy trousers, stringy shirt and suspenders. He spat on the floor-there was a lake of spit down there-and nodded a curt hello. "You got business here?" he repeated.
"Are you the landlord?"