Jackson looked at his watch. About 15 minutes had passed between the redhead’s arrival by cab and, now, Rachel’s departure. Were the comings and goings related?

Rachel stood on the sidewalk wearing a skin-tight dress that left everything to the imagination. Where was she going so early in the morning? Where was she going, period? She rarely left the apartment. Maybe Manny would know.

The doorman walked to the curb, where he raised his arm to hail a taxi. Several raced down Fifth Avenue toward him. Damn NASCAR. Manny leaned over to talk to the winning cabbie, then gestured for Rachel to slip inside. She offered Manny a tip, but he waved her off. He closed the car door and watched her cab zip off. He lit a cigarette.

Jackson crossed the street. “Not good for your health,” he said.

Manny didn’t seem surprised to see him. “Nothing’s good for your health, Jethro.”

Manny liked making fun of Jackson’s Southern accent. Jackson let it pass. It was too early to break someone’s jaw.

“So where’s Mrs. Warner going so early?” Jackson asked.

“How am I supposed to know?”

Jackson held out a ten. “Refresh your memory.”

“Memory’s not too good these. Must be the economy.”

“How so?”

 “Inflation. Double or nothing.”

Jackson whistled. “Quite the hike.”

Manny flicked his cigarette into the gutter. “Not my problem.”

Jackson smiled. “I think it is. All those gambling debts to pay off. Tell you what, though. From here on in, I’ll give you $20 a pop.”

“What’s the catch?”

“I’m instituting a quality control system,” Jackson said. “Good information, you get paid. Bad information, you get fucked.”

“How am I supposed to tell the difference?”

Jackson straightened the gold shoulder braids of Manny’s uniform. “Tricky, but I’ll give you an example. Say I wanted to know the name of the redhead who got out of the cab a few minutes ago. Say I wanted to know which apartment she went to. That would be good information.”

Manny looked around. “I could get fired for this.”

“Not my problem.“

“Her name’s JJ Hyde. She went to see Mrs. Warner.”

“Do you know why?”

Manny frowned. “Hey, man, I don’t stick my nose in other people’s business.”

Jackson laughed. “Right. Let’s try it this way then: Where did Mrs. Warner go?” The doorman looked away. “Quality control, Manny, quality control.”

Manny stamped out his cigarette. “She said she was going to Penn Station.”

“Why Penn Station? Is she catching a train?”

“How should I know?” Manny said. “Tenants need a cab, I get them a cab.”

“Did Mrs. Warner say when she was coming back?“

Manny shrugged. “Why would she tell me? I’m a doorman, not her mother.”

“This JJ Hyde — have you seen her before?”

“No. I would have remembered the red hair, plus she’s a bitch. Got a real attitude problem. Why do you care?”

Jackson stuffed a twenty in Manny’s shirt pocket. “You’ve got my cell number. Call me next time you see Mrs. Warner or the redhead.”

“Asshole,” Manny muttered as Jackson walked away.

Jackson turned and smiled. “Love you too, man.”

Once in the park, Jackson began a slow jog west to Carla’s Riverside Drive apartment. He’d get there late, but no big deal if she were pissed. Angry sex was good sex.   

Central Park was a labyrinth of paths that even at midday made getting from one place to another tricky. Distant buildings that anywhere else served as landmarks were blocked by trees and boulders. But Jackson had come to know the park’s twists and turns. The park after all, was where he spent a lot of his time, most of it under trees. They weren’t the shagbarks and bitternuts of West Virginia, but they had trunks he could lean against and think about how fucked up life was.

Jackson thought about Rachel as he jogged west. Why Penn Station? Was she planning on leaving town? Unlikely, she was carrying just a tote bag. Meeting someone? Doubtful that Ivan allowed that, at least not without his knowledge. And who the hell was JJ Hyde? A friend? Doubtful too. Rachel had no friends; well, maybe that wacko Millicent, but she was now out of the picture. Or so Jackson assumed.

Jackson would call Manny later, press him for information. For now, however, he’d spend the morning fucking Carla into a pleasant mood. He’d wind up feeling pretty damn good himself.

Jackson picked up his pace.