With no more time for dawdling, I took a quick shower, then dressed in a festively bright sweater, wool trousers, and warm boots. I put on my coat, scooped up my purse, and left the apartment.
The streets were eerily quiet and somber, almost funereal. The sky was overcast, dull, and drab, and the city looked dreary and tired in this pale gray light. A cold wind whipped down the street, brutally sharp as it cut through my coat and stung my cheeks. I slipped on some ice and narrowly missed falling. I was shivering by the time I reached the subway; and as I descended the steps, this grimy underground world looked particularly bleak today.
But none of this could even touch the buoyant happiness that filled me. Only fear of breaking my neck on the ice had kept me from skipping and dancing down the street like the heroine of an old MGM musical. I restrained myself from bursting into song in the subway car, since I didn't want to frighten the handful of other people who were there; but I kept dissolving into giggles for no reason. It felt as if there was too much effervescence inside me to be contained, and so it kept bubbling out.
I wondered if he felt this giddy today, too.
Then I remembered that he'd gotten out of bed about five hours before I did. Bubbling happiness might have faded into bone-deep exhaustion and sleep-deprived irritability by now.
I should call and cheer him up.
As soon as I emerged from the subway near Max's place, I checked my phone for messages (none), then dialed Lopez's cell. After a few rings, to my disappointment, I got his voicemail.
"Hey, it's me," I said. "I'm awake. I'm on my way to . . . um, an ecumenical meal with friends." If Lopez was feeling irritable, or wrestling with his report about last night, I didn't want to wave Max's name in front of him like a red flag. "I hope you're not feeling too dead on your feet." I smiled in silence for a moment, thinking of him listening to this message later. Then I said, my voice a little breathy with emotion, "I've been thinking about you ever since I woke up." I wanted him to know that. I smiled again. "Well . . . call me when you can. I'll leave my cell on."
I put the phone in my pocket, where I'd be able to reach it easily when it rang. Then, stepping gingerly to avoid ice, I made my way to Max's.
The celebration was already underway in the bookstore. The big walnut table groaned beneath a buffet of carry-out Chinese food which Max was unpacking, Christmas carols were playing on the sound system, and Lucky and Nelli were playing tug-of-war with her new toy, a stuffed pink mastodon. I had a feeling the toy might not be long for this world.
Satsy was also there, having decided that a trip to Connecticut today to see his family was a little too much to pile on top of nearly being eaten by a solstice demon last night. Whoopsy Daisy had decided to join us, too. Whoopsy said he usually observed December 25th with a marathon DVD festival of his favorite movies (which included, to my surprise, The Guns of Navarone and True Grit, as well as more predictable fare); but he'd decided that a Saturnalia feast with friends sounded like a more alluring proposition. I was happy to see Whoopsy, and we enjoyed a good old chin-wagging reunion as we caught up on each other's news.
I left out that I had spent half the night having hot, passionate sex with a man of his acquaintance-one who had once arrested him, come to think of it; but that was before my time. Whoopsy kept commenting on how good I was looking, how my eyes were sparkling and my cheeks glowed. Feeling like I might dissolve into idiotic giggling, I got up to play with Nelli and her mastodon for a while, rather than keep chatting with a friend who was starting to eye me with speculative curiosity. This thing between me and Lopez was too new and too private to talk about yet-even to friends, even in a vague way.
At Max's urging, I picked up a plate and started piling Chinese food on it. That was when I realized I was famished. I ate a small mountain of food, then went back for seconds.
Some time after we finished eating, Whoopsy and Satsy invited us all to join them in going to a gathering of Pony Expressive employees and patrons at a Soho loft; but we declined, too tired for a big party. So we wished them happy holidays and waved them off.
"By the way," Satsy said to me, "I invited Lou to this party. I'll let you know if he shows up."
I wished Satsy lucky with his heartthrob from Fenster's receiving docks.
A little later, as I sat in one of the comfortable chairs by the gas fire, feeling full, warm, and content, a phone rang. My heart leaped with excitement for a moment, until I realized with disappointment that it was Lucky's phone, not mine.
He checked the screen and said, "It's the boss."
"The Don?" I asked.
Lucky nodded as he put the phone to his ear. "Yo, boss. Buon Natale! Come va?" They exchanged some family news, and then Lucky said to us, "The Don sends you both his best wishes. He says, ‘May your Christmas be merry, and may the coming year be sweet and prosperous for you both!' He wants you to know how much he appreciates your help in clearing up this unfortunate matter and removing the suspicion that was so unfairly and unjustly placed on his family. The Gambellos are now twice indebted to you both, and the family doesn't forget who its friends are."
I felt a little ambivalent about being so warmly regarded by a notorious mob boss. But I smiled without reserve, so as not to offend Lucky.
"Please share our warmest solstice and Saturnalia greetings with Mr. Gambello, and our wishes for his good health and happiness in the year to come," said Max.
"Send him our Hanukkah greetings, too," I said. "Shalom."
Their conversation turned to business matters after that, and Max and I chatted casually as we started clearing up the food and plates. We packed away the leftovers in the little fridge, then sat down again with a glass of well-spiked holiday punch, the recipe for which, Max said, was older than he was. I took one sip and promptly started coughing as my eyes watered.
"They liked their punch strong back in the day, didn't they?" I said hoarsely.
Max smiled and admitted, "It's a bit of an acquired taste."
Lucky finished his call and came back to join us. "The boss talked to his lawyer today."
"Today?" I repeated. "It's Christmas Day."
"When you're Victor Gambello's lawyer," said Lucky, "you expect to work all kinds of hours."
"Ah. Yes, I guess so."
"Same for cops, though they don't get nearly the same paycheck," said Lucky. "Guess who Mr. Gambello's lawyer has talked to today?" When my eyes widened, Lucky said, "Yep, your boyfriend. And also an assistant district attorney who wasn't too crazy about being called in on Christmas Day."
"What did they talk about?" I asked.
"Mr. Gambello wants to make sure that justice will be done, the guilty punished, and the innocent left free to return to their perfectly legitimate business interests."
"I see."
"The Fensters had some lawyers working today, too," Lucky added.
So much for the quiet day Lopez had probably been hoping for.
Lucky continued, "And their lawyers agreed to an honest and open exchange of information with Mr. Gambello's lawyer."
"Why?" I asked.
"The Fenster lawyers became convinced that cooperating with Mr. Gambello's lawyer in this matter would be in their own best interest."
"Ah."
Max asked, "So do we have reliable news about the current disposition of the devious villains we assisted in apprehending last night?"
"We do," said Lucky. "Sad to say, things really are different for the rich."
"You mean they're going to get off?" I demanded in outrage.
"No, they ain't that different. But while the Powell kid will get what he deserves, since his family's all outta dough, the Fenster girl will get off easier than she deserves. But that don't mean she's in for a picnic."
"What will happen to Rick?"
"Prison," Lucky said. "For a long time. He's being advised to skip a trial and plead guilty if he ever wants to see the outside again. They got him dead to rights on too many juicy charges. Conspiracy, assault with a deadly weapon, grand larceny, armed robbery, attempted murder . . . And they're just getting warmed up. Plus, the kid pointed a gun at cops. How dumb can you get?" Lucky shook his head in disgust. "And him such an educated boy, too."
"What about Elspeth?" I asked.
Max added with concern, "She is a dangerous person. A mystical talent coupled with an amoral and unstable mind."
"Very unstable," said Lucky. "They're saying the girl had a nervous breakdown overnight and is catalytic today."
"I think you mean catatonic," I said.
"The Fensters will negotiate to have the girl committed to some luxury funny farm for rich people who have an unfortunate tendency to commit felonies."
"Do you think that's sufficient, Max?"
"One can always hope for rehabilitation," he said kindly. "Treatment is more enlightened than punishment, and it may make her less of a danger to herself and others in the long run."
"Either way," Lucky said, "it's what's gonna happen. The Fensters may not stay rich for long, now that old Connie is dead . . . but they're rich now, while that girl's fate is being decided. And the rich usually get their way in these things."
"Elspeth may be a lot less dangerous with Rick out of her life, anyhow," I reflected. "Without his influence and manipulation, I think Elspeth probably would have remained inert and introverted, unlikely to experiment with the things she fantasized about doing. A lot of factors have contributed to her breakdown. But, above all, I suspect that she shattered upon confronting her own evil works; I think she was only cut out to imagine herself confronting them."