Unsafe Harbor Read Online Free Page B

into glittering yellow chariots.
    The city’s pulse rippled through the air, and steam rose from beneath the street. It was as if Manhattan’s very soul were being stoked. New York was twenty-three square miles of high-speed energy and nonstop performance art. And at the moment, I was the only actor onstage, with 1.5 million residents comprising my audience.
    An electric current raced beneath my tires, its vibration reaching up into my seat. A low roar announced that I was driving above a subway, and I knew right then and there that New York City was the greatest place on earth.
    I drove the city’s width to the Lower East Side, parked in the municipal garage on Essex, and briskly walked home. Sherlock Holmes could keep London, and Poirot could have Paris. As for me, I’d take Manhattan over either, any day.
    I’d chosen to live where New York first began, and where the term “melting pot” had originally been coined. At one time, this spot had been deemed the most crowded place on earth. It was a neighborhood that had seen countless waves of immigrants come and go. In that sense, little had changed. People continued to move in and out, leaving traces of their passage along the way. What had become altered was mainly its exterior.
    Formerly squalid tenements had recently been gentrified, with hefty rents to match. There was still McDonald’s, withits ethnic offering of ranchero bagels, but the fast food chain was being steadily overrun by hip and expensive wine bars. My grandmother had once dreamed of escaping this neighborhood. Little would she believe this was where I had now chosen to live.
    No matter. The area appealed to me with its eclectic mix of ethnic groups that merged into a unique native stew. Jews, Puerto Ricans, Dominicans and Chinese all crowded its streets in a concoction of young and old, hip and frumpy. The aroma of chicken soup from Jewish delis mingled with dumplings from Chinese restaurants, as Eastern European pickle shops vied for space with Turkish bakeries.
    I took a deep whiff and the heady bouquet nearly carried me away. What brought me back to reality were a couple of roosters squaring off in an alley. The two cocks were about to duke it out over a piece of stale pizza crust. The scene managed to nail the Lower East Side’s plucky personality.
    I approached my apartment on Orchard Street. As far as I was concerned, it was in the perfect location. My place was around the corner from El Sombrero Restaurant and Katz’s Deli, with Il Laboratoria de Gelato just down the block. Entering the building, I walked upstairs to the third floor. There was something comforting in knowing that my grandmother and mother had done the same thing before me. Call me crazy, but it made me feel as if I were still surrounded by family.
    I opened the door and walked in to find Santou and Spam stretched out on the couch together watching the news. Jake’s arm rested on the fifty-pound pit bull, while Spam lay with his head nestled on his master’s chest. I took in the scene and quietly chuckled. The two had bonded ever since we’d found the pooch as an abandoned pup in Hawaii.
    “Hey, chere. You’re just in time,” Jake said, gazing up at me from beneath a pair of hooded lids. “Look at this. Did you know that a dead socialite was found at the port today?”
    I followed to where he pointed at the TV. Damn! A reporter was broadcasting from the same exact spot where I’d been standing earlier this morning. Magda could be seen in the background wearing her flowered babushka. But the camera didn’t stop there. It made sure to pan over to her silver tin can of a home, the Kielbasa House, with its name prominently displayed on the side. No wonder she’d been so nervous during our meeting. Why didn’t the news crew just pin a big red bull’s-eye on her?
    “Oh God. Why do they have to do that?” I groaned.
    “What? Show the murder scene?” Santou asked, as I leaned over and gave him a kiss.
    But he wasn’t