“Yair? Where?”
“Couldn’t say, sir.”
“Kentucky, maybe?”
He smiled as if he was on some amusing secret. “He does sometimes go there; that’s a fact.”
Chapter twenty-nine:
Case of jitters
I’ve seen the law of averages repealed too often to put much faith in it. All the same, it did seem to apply to Roy Yaker. What the odds would be against there having been another big, blond, ruddy-faced guy of his height and build on the twenty-first floor the previous night, I couldn’t estimate. Million to one wouldn’t have been far off.
Of course, if he’d been with Edie’s cream puffs all the time after leaving the hotel until his Lady Godiva performance on Park Avenue, he couldn’t very well have been the lad who trailed me from Manhasset. Or shot up my bus on Atlantic Avenue.
But there were too many things, besides that key I’d taken from Edie, that he wasn’t able to clear up. Or willing to.
When we left the Gotham, he turned to me in despair.