Manhattan Is My Beat (Rune 1)

Rune was thinking. "I saw this movie on Dillinger. You know John Dillinger?"

"Not personally."

"Ha. He robbed banks. Which is, like, a federal offense--so it wasn't the city cops who were after him. It was the G-men."

"G-men?"

"Federal agents. You know, government men. Like the FBI. Like U.S. Marshals."

"Oh, wait, you're not thinking he's investigating that bank robbery you were telling me about. The one fifty years ago?"

Rune shrugged. "He didn't say anything but it's kind of a coincidence, don't you think? He seemed real interested when I said something to him about it."

Stephanie turned back to Variety. "Little far-fetched."

But what's far-fetched in the whole scheme of things--as Richard might have asked.

Rune found the Brooklyn Yellow Pages. She opened it to Churches. Seemed funny you could find escort services, Roto-Rooter companies, and churches in the same directory.

She flipped through the pages. Man, there were a lot of pages.

She started to make calls.

A half hour later Stephanie asked Rune, "You think I'll get the part?"

"What part?" Rune asked absently, phone tucked between her ear and her shoulder. She was on hold. (It also seemed weird to call a church and be put on hold.) "Didn't I tell you? I'm auditioning next week. It's only a commercial. But still ... They pay great. I've got to get it. It's totally important."

Rune stiffened suddenly as the minister came on the line.

"Hello?"

"Reverend, Father, sir ... I'm trying to find some information about my grandfather? Robert Kelly? About seventy. Do you know if he spent any time at your parish?"

"Robert Kelly? No, miss, I sure don't."

"Okay, Father. Thank you. Oh, and have a nice day." She set the receiver in the cradle, pushed aside the Yellow Pages, and asked Stephanie, "Do you say that to priests?"

"What?"

"'Have a nice day?' I mean, shouldn't you say something more meaningful? More spiritual?"

"Say whatever you want." Stephanie put Variety away, began reshelving cassettes in the stacks. She said, "If I don't get the job I'll just die. It's a whole commercial. Thirty seconds. I'd play a young wife with PMS and I can't enjoy my anniversary dinner until I take some pills."

"What pills?"

"I don't know. 'Cramp-Away.' "

"What?"

"Well, something like that. Then I take them and my husband and I waltz off happily. I get to wear a long white dress. That's so disgusting when they do that, wear white in menstrual commercials. I'm also worried 'cause I can't waltz. Dancing isn't exactly my strong suit. And I can't--just between you and me--I can't sing too good either. It's a real pain in the ass getting jobs when you can't sing and dance."

"You've got a great body and great hair."

And you're tall, Goddammit.

Flipping through more pages, ignoring the synagogues and mosques. "Amanda's calling too.... I feel sorry for her. Poor woman. Imagine--her friend's killed and they're kicking her out of the country."

"By the way, I don't think they're all parishes," Stephanie said.