Follow the redhead.
I didn’t bother to look at what he was yammering about; she was getting away. I could spot her head in the crowd without too much trouble. The problem was that she was already across the street, and almost a block’s length up. I put a hand to the brim of my hat, squared my shoulders, and started sprinting.
Within the block, I remembered the real reason I don’t run: I hate it. I hate running through crowds even more; running in a suit, coat, and hat, well, that’s bad enough to make a man spit. But I saved my venom and weaved through the suits and stilettos as best I could. I was never a great athlete, but I haven’t been a good one for two decades, and for the past ten years or so, well, I’ve not been such a pretty sight. But this was not a time for vanity, my girl was getting away. I jostled a few packages on the way, and a few ladies mistook me for a purse snatcher, but by 37th I was just a few yards behind the redhead.
To watch her walk from behind was to see the sea parting: the crowd split around her into two columns of tongue-wagging men and finger-pointing women. I followed in her wake, and Lord, she was a knockout. Sure, a pretty face is worth something, but curves like that were also worth a pretty penny or two. She oozed so much sex appeal I was surprised it didn’t show through on her coat, and her whole body swung in a way that made me think that she was a professional, or had been.
“Excuse me?” I was within reaching distance, so I grabbed, spinning her around by the arm. We both stopped, square in the middle of the sidewalk. People streamed around us. “You never answered my question.”
“Oh, which one? The one about a woman from New Orleans, my height, my hair, goes by Ruby?”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah, I know her.” She dove into her handbag with the pursed lips of a woman that needed a cigarette. I offered her one of mine, and a light. She took a deep drag that turned a half inch to ash. “Thanks.”
“Of course.”
“You said you’re a friend, but you’re no friend of Leonard’s. I know Leonard’s friends, and he sure hasn’t said a thing about anyone like you.” She gave me the once over with a curled lip. “And Sarah—your Ruby, at least the one I think you’re looking for, doesn’t have any friends at all. She’s just a no-good, two bit whore.”
After making me run five blocks, I had half a mind to ask her about her own vocation, but I held my tongue. Seemed like she didn’t like this twin of hers, and I wanted to find out why. “Leonard told her he came up here for some business, but he really came up to New York to get back with me. He was just gonna do this one job, with some Italians downtown, cash out, and we were going to live happily ever after.” A familiar story. And what, I wondered, was this “get back” business? She answered soon enough. Her eyes narrowed. “He was mine first, before that little hussy showed up.” Her cigarette butt fell to the pavement, and she ground it into the slate with the toe of a three-inch pump.
“So if you even don’t know what Sarah looks like, and you’re no friend of Leonard’s, who the hell do you know?” I waited for her to connect the dots, it only took a few seconds...faster than I expected for a broad like her. “Whoa-oh! Another guy’s looking for Sarah? Please, be my guest. She’s staying with her sister and husband-in-law, over on Vinegar Hill. They’re on Hudson Ave, I think.”
“Hudson Avenue? Not Hudson Street, over on the west side?”
“Nope, the Avenue.” She tightened the belt of her coat, and leaned in. “Bundle up, baby, you’re heading to Brooklyn.” She started away, then threw over her shoulder, “And if you’re having any trouble finding a red-headed lady from Louisiana, look for her brother-in-law: the husband’s a giant Irishman, with hair so red it makes me look dull.”
