"The door was practically open."
"Hey, I'm not after any B and E count. I'm just telling you why I didn't walk up to you and introduce myself. Shit. And when we figured out you were an innocent and I tried talking to you, your friend the redhead just about breaks my nose and some fucking bodybuilder closes my throat up."
"How were we supposed to know?"
"Anyway, yeah, they found your prints all over Spinello's safe house in Brooklyn. But we checked you out pretty good and you didn't seem like the sort that Haarte or Zane'd hire. I talked to Manelli about you and we decided you were pretty much who you seemed to be. Just a kid in over her head."
"I'm not a kid."
"Yeah, I wouldn't take points on that one. What the hell were you doing in this mess in the first place?"
Rune told him about Mr. Kelly and the money and the movie.
"A million dollars?" Sal laughed. "Gimme a break. Stick with lotto. Or numbers. Better odds, sweetheart." He nodded. "But, yeah, that's what Manelli was thinking--that Kelly's death was a mistake. Well, whatever ...That woman's going down. It's the prosecutor's game now. Good thing we've got a star witness."
"Who?" Rune asked. Then, when he just gave her a wry look, she said, "Hey, forget it. No way. They'll send another Haarte after me."
"Hey, not to worry," Sal said, finishing the coffee. "The Witness Relocation Program, remember? You'll get a whole new identity. You can be anybody you want. You can even make up your own name."
Sal frowned: he must have been wondering why she was laughing.
"Well, what do you think?" Rune called.
She sat sidesaddle, five feet off the ground, on a huge armature that rose phallic and rusty from a complicated tangle of industrial machinery scrap. They were surrounded by piles of pitted chrome and girders, wire, wrecks of trucks, and turbines and gears.
Richard walked around the corner. "Fantastic."
The junkyard was off Seventieth, in commercial Queens. But it was oddly quiet. They looked west, at the huge slash of orange brilliance behind Manhattan, as the sun eased through strips of dark cloud.
"You come here much?" he asked.
"Only for the sunsets."
The light hit the twisted metal and seemed to make the different shades of rust vibrate. A thousand oil drums became beautiful. Spindles of twisted iron became filaments of light and coils of BX cable were glowing snakes. Rune said, "Come on up!"
She was wearing the Spanish outfit once more. Richard climbed up next to her and they walked along the armature to a platform.
They had a magnificent view of the city.
On the platform was an old picnic basket. A bottle of champagne too.
"Warm," Rune apologized, cradling the bottle. "But it looks classy."
When they'd snuck through the fence a half hour ago, Richard had gazed at the Dobermans uneasily and stood paralyzed when one sniffed his crotch. But Rune knew them well and scratched their smooth heads. They wagged their stubby tails, sniffing at the cold macaroni-and-cheese sandwiches Rune had packed in the basket before prancing away on their springy legs.
Rune and Richard ate until dusk. Then she lit a kerosene lantern. She lay back, using the picnic basket as a pillow.
"I got another application to the New School," she told him. "I kind of threw out the one you gave me."
"You going to apply? For real?"
After a moment she asked, "I guess I'd have to take classes, wouldn't I?"
"It's an important part of going to school."
"That's what I figured. I'm not sure I'm going to do it though. I have to tell you." She snuck a furtive glimpse at his face. "See, this guy at the video store, Frankie Greek, remember him? Anyway, his sister just had a baby and she was a window designer and it turns out I can take her job while she's on leave. Only have to work half-days. Leave me free to do other stuff."
"What kind of stuff?"