Manhattan Is My Beat (Rune 1)

Her anger built. Anger at the two dimensions of the film. The falsity, the illusion. She felt betrayed. Not only by Emily Symington or whoever she was, not only by what had happened in Brooklyn, but by something else. Something more fundamental about how she lived her life, about how the things she believed in had turned on her.

She stood and left the theater. Outside, she bought a pair of thick-rimmed dark glasses from a street vendor and put them on. She turned the corner and walked down University Place to Washington Square Video.

Tony fired her, of course.

His words weren't cute or sarcastic or obnoxious like she'd thought he'd be. He just glanced up and said, "You missed two shifts and you didn't call. You're fired. This time for real."

But she didn't pay him much attention. She was staring at the newspaper on the counter, lying in front of Tony.

The headline: Mafia Witness Hit.

Which didn't get her attention as quickly as the photo did: a grainy flashlit shot of Victor Symington's town house in Brooklyn, the six surviving dwarfs, the shattered window. Rune grabbed the paper.

"Hey," Tony snapped. "I'm reading that." One look at her eyes, though, and he stopped protesting.

A convicted syndicate money launderer who had been a key witness in a series of Racketeering Influenced Corrupt Organizations (RICO) trials of midwest crime leaders earlier this year was shot to death yesterday in a gangland-style hit in Brooklyn.

Vincent Spinello, 70, was killed by gunshots to the chest. A witness, who asked not to be identified, reported that a young woman with short hair fled from the scene and is a primary suspect in the case.

Another witness in the same series of cases, Arnold Gittleman, was murdered, along with two U.S. marshals, in a St. Louis hotel last month.

The paper crumpled in her hands. Me! she thought. That's me, the young woman with short hair.

She used me! Emily. The bitch used me. She knew all along where Symington was and got me out there to make it look like I killed him.

And, hell, my fingerprints're all over the place!

Primary suspect...

Tony snatched the newspaper away from her. "You can pick up your check on Monday."

"Please, Tony," she said. "I need money now. Can't I get cash?"

"No fucking way."

"I've got to get out of town."

"Monday,"

he said. Returned to his paper.

"Look, I've got a check for fifteen hundred bucks. Give me a thousand and I'll sign it over to you."

"Yeah, like you've got a check that's going to clear. I'm sure."

"Tony! It's payable to cash. From a law firm."

"Out."

Frankie Greek stuck his head out of the storeroom and said, "Hey, Rune, like, you got a couple calls. This cop, Manelli. And that U.S. marshal guy. Dixon. Oh, and Stephanie too."

Tony barked, "But don't call 'em from here. Use the pay phone outside."

Stephanie! Rune thought. If they'd been following me, they've seen me with her.

Oh, Jesus Mary, she's in danger too.

She ran back to the counter and swept the phone off the cradle. Tony started to say something but then seemed to decide that it wasn't worth fighting the battle; after all, he'd won the war. He turned on his worn heel and retreated to the other counter, carrying the newspaper.