I USED A pay phone off Sutton Place. Not my neighborhood, but the best place to call from. The feds wouldn't tap these phones- they might net somebody they knew. I looked at the slip of paper Mama gave me. Seven numbers, a local call. I pushed the buttons, working backward from the last digit. Mama writes all numbers backwards- she says it's Chinese bookkeeping.
She answered on the third ring. In a throaty low purr sweet enough to kill a diabetic.
"Hello, baby."
"You called me?"
"Burke? Is that really you?"
"It's me."
"You know who this is?"
"Yeah."
"Can I see you?"
"Why?"
"I have something for you."
"Nothing I want."
"You remember me?"
"Yes."
"Then you know I've got something you want."
"Not anymore."
"Yes, yes I do. I got something you want. Love or money. One way or the other."
"No."
"Yes. You wouldn't have called otherwise. I know you. I know you better than anyone."
"You don't know me."
"Come over and listen to me. I won't bite you. Unless you want me to. Friday afternoon."
I didn't say anything.
She gave me an address.
I hung up.