“There is no key,” Manny said. “But you will not need one. You will see.” Ted and Lester followed him into a dark hallway. “Please to keep your voices down. Most of my tenants work nights and are sleeping now. They are mostly cooks, waiters, sous-chefs. In Manhattan.”

They passed a room with sagging couches grouped around a silent television. A soccer game was in progress, but no one was watching. Heavy rugs hung from the walls and covered the two windows, allowing only a thin ray of sunlight to hit the floor.

“This is the community room,” Singh said. “Anyone can use it. No food in here, please.” He continued toward the rear of the apartment, passing a spotless bathroom on one side and a large and similarly spotless kitchen on the other. An ankle-height night-light was the only illumination in the hall, and it took Ted a moment to see that they were facing two doors.

“I don’t know who is here right now, but there are a few beds available. Take your pick.” Singh cracked open the door to the right.

The bedroom was lit with more night-lights. Four two-tiered bunk beds filled the walls. There was a low coffee table in the center of the room surrounded by brocaded pillows. Most of the beds were hidden behind hanging blankets suspended from the bed frame above or from curtain rods on the ceiling. Light snoring could be heard from behind one of the blankets.

“The rules are simple. Respect your neighbors. They are almost all Afghan, but you will find them very accepting and welcoming. No women allowed. No drugs. Tobacco and alcohol are allowed, but drunkenness is not.” He looked sharply at Lester, who nodded in reply. “You pay weekly. In advance.”

Ted took out two more of the hundred-dollar bills. The envelope was getting thin. “Is there any place to stow our things? I mean if we go out for a while.”

Singh smiled with barely concealed disdain. “No one will steal from you here. Leave your things on your bunk. They will be there when you return.”

Ted laid his jacket on a top bunk. Lester took a lower bunk on the other side of the room.

“What do you think?” Ted said, keeping his voice low.

“I wouldn’t mind having a lock on the door,” Lester said. “But somebody would have to be stark raving mad to bust in on a dozen or so guys who handle knives for a living.”

-52-

-52-

Lester swallowed another mini bottle of medicinal Smirnoff and crawled into his bunk. Ted went out to the community room. He had calls to make.

The first was to the NYPD detectives. Ted wanted to know why Kenzie had been left with no protection—and what the NYPD was prepared to do about it. He took out Kasabian’s card and dialed.