Patrick - The Pope of Greenwich Village

"VINCENT PATRICK, LIKE GEORGE V. HIGGINS, MARY GORDONAND JOHN GREGORY DUNNE, MINES TERRITORY RARELY ENCOUNTERED INFICTION and, in the vernacular of his tough street-wise characters,delivers A SWEETHEART OF A BOOK. The strength of this novel is theauthor's ear for dialogue, talk so good that IT EVOKES THE CLINK OFGLASSES, THE DEAD HOURS OF EARLY MORNING, SMOKE IN THE AIR ANDSTRAINS OF THE JUKEBOX." THE NEW YORK TIMESBOOK REVIEW

"WARNING: don't pick up this book unless you've gotthe next few hours available, BECAUSE IT'S IMPOSSIBLE TO PUT DOWN." PLAYBOY

"GRITTY, IMMEDIATE AND COMPELLING Patrick's toughcaper reveals what we have long suspected - Wambaugh and Puzo areromantic sentimentalists." JOHN D.MacDONALD

"QUITE EXTRAORDINARY. Besides an alert ear and asharp eye the author has the priceless gift of unpredictabilityVITAL STORY-TELLING. " NEWSWEEK

"TREMENDOUSLY EFFECTIVE There isn't a moment's letupin the action Ladylike this isn't and I absolutely loved it!" LIBRARY JOURNAL

"EARTHY AND OUTRAGEOUS IRRESISTIBLE READING" COSMOPOLITAN

"The dialogue alone makes The Pope of GreenwichVillage worth the price of admission A GREAT FIRST NOVEL." MINNEAPOLIS TRIBUNE

"A BOOK SO GOOD YOU NEVER WANT IT TO END Patrick'sear for dialogue is perfect." MIAMIHERALD

"Wildly funny one moment and genuinely menacing thenext THIS IS GOING TO MAKE A TERRIFIC MOVIE." PUBLISHERS WEEKLY

"If one stirs the novel's surface slightly, whatbecomes apparent is A COMPLEX

INQUIRY INTO ISSUES OF LOYALTY, TRUST AND ALTRUISM. " THE CHICAGO TRIBUNE

VINCENT PATRICK

Copyright 1979-2014 by Vincent Patrick

All rights reserved.

This edition published in 2014 by Vincent Patrick

All text is identical to the 1979 edition

All rights reserved. No part of this book may bereproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any formby an electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording means orotherwise, without prior written permission of the author.Manufactured in the United States of America.

Cover Design by Ann-MarieWalsh

Author Photo by MyronMiller

This novel is a work of fiction.Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product ofthe author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblanceto actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirelycoincidental.

Books by Vincent Patrick

THE POPE OF GREENWICH VILLAGE

FAMILY BUSINESS

SMOKE SCREEN

For Tess Forrest

Table of Contents

Charlie looked toward the door, thinking he couldslam it closed behind him just hard enough to tilt the little printhanging beside it, then call her from work later and apologize. Shewould stay angry for an extra few hours, but it would cut short theheadache that was just starting and was going to dog him throughhis whole shift. He decided against it, and walked to the windowinstead, to watch the line of cars below feel their way past theyellow barricades of a Con Ed excavation. They crawled throughsingle file, bumper-to-bumper, with several drivers pressing downon their horns as cars in front hesitated. The horn blowing hadbeen constant all afternoon maybe that was causing hisheadache.

"You don't even bother to lie to mecarefully, Charlie," she said. "It's insulting to be lied to soobviously."

He answered without turning. "I'll liebetter, Diane. I promise. A new leaf gets turned over tomorrow. Allmy lies will be first-rate. You'll feel a lot better."

She turned on the faucet in the smallbathroom sink and splashed water on her face. That was to let himknow that she was crying, or about to, Charlie thought.

"Why don't we fight over at your place,Diane? We can walk it in a few minutes and it won't be so goddamneddepressing. Four hours awake in this room is like doing time."

"Where does this leave us, Charlie? I don'twant to sit like a fool worrying that you might be dead somewhere,while you're having a good time in some after-hours bar and don'thave the decency to call."

He turned from the window. "That's thebeginning of the cassette again. You have an automatic rewind onit, Diane?" He took his coat from the closet. "It's half past five.I don't want to be late for work, Ronnie can't leave until I getthere."

Pulling the hanger off the rod reminded him the hat chick from the Honey Bee had promised to stop by for adrink if she got off before midnight. If she did, Charlie wouldwant to stay out late. He should go out the door and slam it, hethought. Make the picture move. Stay angry. It would give him aneasy way to come home late after work.

He decided not to, and called back that hewould talk to her later. If he was going to have to fake beingangry to get out for a few hours, he might as well be married.

*

Halfway across the lobby he paused, andcalled, "Any mail?"

The desk clerk shook his head without takinghis eyes off the tiny Sony screen. Charlie looked past him and sawthat the cubbyhole was empty, then continued through the overheatedvestibule onto the street. He turned toward Third Avenue andadjusted his scarf higher on his neck. It wasn't too cold to walkif the air remained still. He would make his stop at Twenty-fifth,try to squeeze two hundred out of Edelweiss on the ring, and havetwenty minutes for a scotch at the Forge before starting work. Itwould be a bad night he could sense it. For half a block hethought about calling in sick, then forced himself to keep going.The shylocks would think he was avoiding them, and he would onlywind up bouncing all over the Upper East Side, then goingafter-hours, dropping their payments over the bar and hung over inthe morning. Even with the scarf, he felt his shoulders hunch upagainst the cold. He walked quickly, relieved that there had beenno mail.

The old man was behind the window. Charliecursed to himself the son always looked more generous. He waitedwhile a skinny Puerto Rican kid ahead of him held up a cameracase.

"What do you have there?" the old manasked.

"Camera."

It wouldn't fit through the narrow openingunder the glass. The old man motioned toward the doors on his left,then pressed a buzzer that allowed the kid to open the outer door.The kid placed the camera on the floor and came back out, closingthe door behind him. After the door latched shut, the old manopened the inner door and carried the camera to the window. Heexamined it distastefully through a pair of bifocals for half aminute, then shook his head slowly.

"There's a company business card pasted inthe case. I'm going to pass on this one."

He placed it between the double doors andbuzzed. The kid shrugged and picked up the case. "Cheap Jewbastard." He said it loudly, but with no malice.

The old man ignored him. "What have you got?"he asked.

Charlie slid the ring off his pinkie andpushed it through the opening. The old man slipped a jeweler'sloupe into his eye socket and rotated the ring beneath it.

"What do you want on it?"

"Two hundred."

"A hundred fifty."

"The ring's worth a thousand. Better than athousand. There's over a carat of perfect diamond in there."

Edelweiss shrugged. "What it's worth or notworth I'm not saying. What I'll give on it is one fifty."

Charlie started to protest, then looked intothe old man's face. He slipped his watch off and slid it under theglass. "Give me fifty on the watch."

The old man glanced at it and nodded. "Someidentification," he said, and stamped two tickets. He copied offthe driver's license, then slipped four fifties under the glasswith the tickets.

Charlie added them to the two fives folded inhis money clip. Suddenly annoyed at being without the watch, hesaid, "Fuck you, Edelweiss," as he left the store. Behind him, theold man stared through the glass.