AROUND SIX, A BREAD delivery van rattles by, followed by a couple of cars. A door opens at the top of a set of steps and a woman in cleaner’s overalls comes out. I interrupt her. “Excuse, me. I’m looking for Martina. She lives around here somewhere.”
She gives me an odd look... “Sorry, don’t know her...” and trots on.
Another five minutes and a man in a blue boiler suit comes up from a basement apartment. As he unlocks a van, “Sorry to bother you, but I’m trying to find a woman called Marty who lives here somewhere. Or you might know her as Lily.”
He pauses, ponders, then, “No, doesn’t ring a bell. What’s she look like?”
“Tall, dark. Hispanic type. Very pretty.”
He swings his head. “No. Don’t think so.” Then, suspicion lurking under beetled brows. “How come you’re looking for her if y
