The sink stacked with dishes, pots, and silverware irritated me.
A lush white towel wrapped my hair, matching robe from the Lincoln almost reached the floor, leaning against the refrigerator, I worked on baked beans right from the can, not that I had an accomplishment worth celebrating. Through the doorway, the apartment was visible beyond the fake La-Z-Boy to the window.
I say the apartment, not my apartment. Fake La-Z-Boy. The image of Antoinette at the window played across the dreamscape, her turning, coming to me on the recliner, kissing me. “What is real? What is a dream?”
April Mathers saw Antoinette, Mathers coming up the walk.
The door, unseen from where I leaned, opened.
“Toby!” Michael greeted at the kitchen entrance louder than he needed to. “I didn’t think you’d be here.”
“Michael,” I greeted back, my tone weighted down with five hundred and fifty miles of judgment, the stench of beer wafting over me. Anxiety came and went like a meteor flash in the night sky, relaxing in the knowledge my fork could sink into his neck, dropping him dead to the floor.
“Hi,” Lenette Decker said, winter straw hair to her shoulders, pleasing round face, soft blue eyes, blue jeans too tight to be comfortable, and a babydoll yellow cotton blouse, coming under Michael’s arm.
I offered a sharp nod.
“Is that your dinner?” Michael asked.
“I’m a growing girl.”
“I mean is that all you’re having for dinner?”
With an eye roll, my sarcasm died a quick death on the pale green linoleum floor, a floor screaming for the attention of a thorough scrubbing.
“We’re coming from my house. Cookout, first of the summer,” Michael said. “If I’d known you’d be here, I’d brought you one of Dad’s famous burgers.”
I swallowed summer is a week away with a forkful of beans.
“Mike’s told me all about you!” Lenette said.
“I didn’t think you’d be here.”
“You said.”
“Michelle said you guys would be out for the night, and we could use her room.”
My shrug could have choked me. “I’m on my way out as soon as I get dressed.”
“It’s after midnight,” Lenette said, her eyes going wide.
“I’m a vampire.”
Her eyes went wider.
“Toby’s kidding.”
“When you see Michelle, tell her to clean the kitchen.”
“She’s been busy, you know, with work and all.”
“I don’t give a fuck.”
“Oh, you’re in a mood.”
We need to talk was swallowed, my can and fork found a home atop the dirty dishes. I pushed my way past the two.
“Nice meeting you,” Lenette called to my back.
“Yeah, a real bowl of cherries,” I muttered to myself.
Officer Oliver Lafferty presented a man in his early forties, pleasant demeanor, rich brown eyes, and walnut hair in a flattop, filling his uniform. “Where you off to,” he greeted, rolling up on me.
I pointed. “1 Bread, next to the motor shop.”
“You’re a girl.”
Denim coveralls, orange work boots, dark hooded sweatshirt hood pulled up I could understand the mistake, him coming up behind me in his police car.
“Yes, I am that.”
“1 Bread?”
“Next to the motor shop.”
“I mean, well, this time of night.”
“Paperwork doesn’t care what time it is.”
He produced his notepad. “Who are you?”
“I’m assuming you’re asking because you wish to have a record of who’s wandering the streets this time of night in the event of vandalism, mugger murders, houses getting toilet papered, and other high crimes and mischiefmeanors.
He snickered. “Yes, and the ever-popular—”
“Much, much more.”
“Not your first rodeo.”
“It is not. Toby. That’s all you need to know.”
He flipped his notepad shut without writing. “Sorry to bother you.”
“Am I one of the usual suspects?”
“Eh, no. You are a known person in town.”
“Meaning?”
“Well. It’s like having a universal hall pass. Would you like a ride up?”
“It’s only five blocks.”
“I guess it is.” Like a magic trick, he presented a business card between his fingers.
“Cool trick.” I took the card.
“I never miss sarcasm. Most people are at least amused.”
“I could fake something for you.” Eyeing the card, I added, “Home address and number, too?”
“Martin says I should be on your list.”
“Lawn care?”
“You have other lists?”
“You’d be surprised.”
“I doubt it. Yes, lawn care. I hate mowing the grass.”
“That’s what keeps me in shoes.”
“Don’t start with that this makes no sense business,” Richard Serling said, closing the door to the safe room behind him.
“Bill Locke wasn’t on my mind. Until now. Door locked, light off?”
“Aye.” He placed a stack of folders on the rickety table.
Coming under him, I loosened his blue with red strip tie, unbuttoned his top button, and flipped his brown fedora off his head. “You can loosen up a little.”
“Toby?”
“I wanted to see if you smell like bourbon without coming off creepy just smelling you.”
“You could just ask. I know I can’t lie to you.” He held my eyes. “Knowing your distaste for men who drink, I’ve shelved that habit.”
“People who drink.”
He rolled his eyes. “That, too. As for being comfortable, I like the uniform.”
“I know exactly what you mean.” With a token three-sixty-degree pan of the walls, my eyes rolled back. “I don’t know where to start.”
“Pamala?”
“She’ll be out of the hospital in time for graduation. No palanquin required.”
“Palanquin?”
“A litter for carrying people, real fancy, though.”
“Oh, I know what you mean.”
I retrieved and opened the top file. “Old Time Dance Club. Davis Penn. What’s his kink?”
“He did not attend Cambridge.”
“That’s a plus.”
“That’s the first thing I look for now. Couple of years ago, he dumped his life savings into the building.”
“More dreamer than businessman?”
“That would be my guess.”
“Who holds the paper?”
“Union Bank. He’s got a partner. I can’t find anything on her so far. I think she’s the money person keeping things afloat.”
I flipped a page. “Jannet Warring. I’ll talk to her.”
“Huh. You know her?”
“Not yet. Another this makes no sense. I suspect Warring has a rich girlfriend. Incidental. Never had me curious until now.”
“A triangle. Right in my wheelhouse.”
“Let’s not upset this applecart right now. Warring's girlfriend, which is conjecture, being a girlfriend, is not only an asset, but she could become a friend.”
“A friend? That’s high praise.”
“Mocking me is not healthy.”
“I wasn’t, really, well, maybe a little.”
I wrote Jannet Warring on an index card with a black marking pen, using tape to affix the card under Chase Hastings’ photo. “Chase is the daughter of Mark Hastings, who killed Sierra Bradshaw.”
“What?”
“I have a file from Dixon here somewhere. It’s conjecture, but good conjecture. Enough to convince me. I want to talk to the Bradshaw family.”
Serling continued with the what face.
I indicated the far wall. “The Cambridge rapists—which I recently confirmed with County as being an actual thing—any investigation getting bought or stonewalled. Like with Jody Demarko, sometimes things went from terrible to fucking terrible. I have articles connecting three of the fucking terrible, Judy Baker, Katrina Snelling, and Sierra Bradshaw, with Cambridge.
“Anthony Dixon was hired by the Bradshaw family to determine who killed Sierra. He’s a bottom feeder, produced little work, taking a monthly check for time and I’m sure overinflated expenses. I want to talk to the Bradshaw family,” I repeated.
“Baker and Snelling?”
“The Bradshaw family hired Dixon. They’ll greet me with open arms. I don’t know about the other two. They could have been in on it.”
“In on it?”
“Linda Tyler. Gangster dinner. Hanging pathetically on Jake Simone’s arm. His virgin he said, she didn’t blink. I know she’s in on it. I wonder about the rest of her family.”
Serling sat, rifling through his files. “Ah, here it is. Linda is Jeremiah Tyler’s daughter. Jeremiah’s an old Cambridge man.”
“Of course, he is.”
“Jeremiah is married to—”
“Should I sit and beat my fingers on the table?”
“Eh, no. Doing that was cute in my head, not in reality.”
“Agreed.”
“Jeremiah is married to Audrey, maiden name Hightower.”
“Audrey’s father is Cameron?”
“Brother.”
“Linda is Cameron’s niece?”
“Yes.”
I dropped hard to a chair. “I already killed two of his nephews. Maybe I should just burn through the entire gene branch.”
“He could have valuable insight into—”
“Would you be comfortable putting someone in the box?”
“Huh?”
“Kidnap under pretense, small dark room, single overhead light.”
“Eh, that sounds—”
“We recently put George Davis in the box. Not only did I gain information, but I was able to give George an important assignment.”
“Why do you need me?”
“I’d rather not use the person I was using.”
“Keep things in-house.”
“Kind of like that.”
“Me and you?”
“I’ll get you help.”
“Sure.”
“You must be sure. You’ll have to pull the trigger this time.”
“I understand.”
“Be very sure. Any doubt, tell me.”
Retrieving a random file, I paged through newspaper clippings. “Grimes and Serling.”
“I thought we decided on Serling and Grimes.”
“I meant you and me doing interviews together.”
“Oh, Jane Wilkins. That’s a great idea. I bet we’d be great.”
“I’m sure we can expose the first gang of rapists. The attack was planned. Good citizens are going to want to gossip; men are going to want to brag. I want the leader. Maybe a public execution of some kind.”
“Toby.”
“A girl can dream.”
“I’m working on a list. Have some leads. Local street gang, I think. Something’s behind the stories. I think it was personal.”
I displayed the articles. “How do you do this?”
“Do what?”
“Get so much so fast.”
“A girl’s got to keep her secrets.”
“I swear I lost two and a half geological ages microficheing the few articles I could find on the second assault.”
“I have a source who works in the morgue at the Philadelphia Courier. Not the largest paper in the region, but large enough. Huge next to the Herald. Harry Spellman. Likes to show off so he works for peanuts.”
“Pay him more.”
“Why?”
“We pay people what they’re worth. You should know that.”
“Understood.”
I squinted. “Records in a newspaper, eh—”
“Morgue.”
“Morgue—are going to be limited to previous news stories.”
“Well—”
“I use the library.”
“Collecting the news stories is just the beginning, background for where to look next and who to talk to.”
“Understood.”
“The assault in the lot you mentioned.”
“I want the first gang, particularly the leader. Maybe put him in the box and get him to confess and name names.”
“That wouldn’t be admissible in court.”
“Not the point.”
“What’s the point then?”
“Confession is good for the soul.”
“You can’t believe that.”
“Not his soul. Jane’s. I like to bring that sneer up on her lips.”
Serling blinked three times. “Not you’re kidding face.”
“Correct. As for the boys in the vacant lot. I think when we get some of this busy work behind us, we can post fliers in the neighborhood. $500 for each name given.”
“You could go as little as fifty dollars.”
“I want to scare the fuck out of the rapists, have them crying for their mothers, begging for forgiveness, and looking to make restitution.”
“I’ll assemble a list of the first group; names, addresses. Next week?”
“Hold off for now. I’m expecting the original police files with notes on the case.”
“Really?”
“The files have been buried in the not worth pursuing drawer, which works for us. I’m betting the ringleader is connected to Cambridge. After all, rape club leader Randy Hastings, who tried to rape me twice, once a gang rape in school, has a father who raped and murdered Sierra Bradshaw.” I nodded to the wall to my right.
“Burn Cambridge to the ground?”
“I’ve considered it. Windows locked, doors chained.”
My eyes rolled again, hand indicating to my left. “Seven houses. One night next week. Get them all done for no other reason than to make sure no children are being held in any basements.”
Serling produced two plastic-coated identification cards from his inside pocket. “You and Shawn. Won’t need a flashlight.”
“State Safety Home Inspector. Nice and great idea.”
“Keep in mind—”
“Won’t get me a job in the White House.”
Serling accepted a file from me.
“How the fuck did you get this?”
“Girl’s got to keep her secrets. Grimes and Serling.”
He flipped pages, his face twisted. “Clearly tortured and murdered.”
“Yet the official file says she died of exposure.”
“How the fuck did you get this?” he asked again.
“You are one of four people, one being me, who know I have it.”
“This is a bombshell. It’ll blow up the official story.”
“People believe it’s been destroyed. We have to keep it that way.”
“If we wish to stay alive.”
I shrugged. “I'm already dead. I want to talk to those so-called witnesses.”
“I cannot find them. The Philadelphia Courier has a couple stories, more fluff than substance. Spellman suggested they could only go to press with what they were told, the official reports, what they could prove, and obviously they were told a fairy tale. The two frolicking in The Pines witnesses have evaporated, though their statements appear in the police reports. Brace yourself for a surprise.”
“Bracing.”
“The two witnesses are related to your old pal Michael Borrows. Jason Borrows, Lisa Abner.”
“Abner as in Reginald Abner?”
“Eh, I’d not made that connection. They don’t seem to exist.”
“I’ll ask Reggie when he finds me. I have his necklace.”
“That's right.”
“Jason Borrows is a ghost?”
“Good guess.”
“In the wide, wide, world of this makes no sense, I’m thinking now that Michael Borrows fabricates people.”
“Bill Locke.”
“Exactly.”
“That would neatly explain why I have conflicting profiles of who he is.”
“Michael Borrows is the lawyer for the Herald Post, Chris Ferretti publisher.”
“Which is why people can’t know you have the Demarko file. Speaking of fabricated people. Vienna Rhodes. My God, Toby. Are you blushing?”
“If I were a mere mortal, I’d be under her spell.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Eh, well, I guess maybe she’s the closest thing to me I’ve ever met.”
Serling sat back, pulling on his chin with his right hand. “I can see that. I cannot see you. I mean, like that first day in my office, haloed by the sun, I was looking right at you, and all I saw was what I wanted to see.
“Now, I’m looking right at you, a child of sixteen—”
“Fifteen.”
“Okay. A child of fifteen talking about putting grown men in the box, chaining doors of buildings, burning the building to the ground. You killed your brother—”
“That was an accident perpetrated by Shawn only because Shawn got down the to-do list before I did.”
“Shawn presented you with an offering.”
“Don’t go creepy now, and yes, she did.”
“You are smoke. You are substance. I can only see what I wish to see.”
“Just like Vienna Rhodes.”
“Yes, her, too. Nothing. A better fabrication than Locke.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “You know.”
I answered with a coy shrug. “Tell me a Halloween story.”
“Oh, the house fire back in 42 you asked about?”
“Yes.”
“I suspect you’ve already heard it.”
“I heard a version.”
“From Rhodes?”
“Okay, I’ve heard two versions.”
“It’s an urban legend, Toby.”
“So am I.”
“Really? Vienna?”
“There are now three people who know that.” I produced a folded sheet of white bond paper from my hip pocket.
“What’s this?”
“It’s a guesstimation of the men who are always in the room on Saturday who were not in the room on Saturday night.”
Serling chuckled. “Cambridge College alumni, I bet. I see some familiar names. Greg Brown jumps out. Oh, your father.”
“I’ve taken a liking to Karen and Jack.”
“You can console them when they lose their father.”
“Given my take on the family dynamic, his death will be received as a bitter blessing. Want to see Antoinette Blanc’s medical file?”
“Let’s keep that need-to-know.”
“So kept. The file confirmed what I know already.”
“What do you know?”
“You don’t need to know.”
“Okay, then.”
“I’m keeping nothing from Shawn. If I get hit by a meteor rock, you may carry on the work with her.”
“He murdered her, didn’t he?”
“Yes, he did.”
“Why?”
“Richard. I can’t even speculate. I will ask for an explanation as he begs for his life.”
“Confession being good for the soul.” He nodded, watching the table. “Welcome Home Charity.”
“Stephany Locke’s baby.”
“Two o’clock Sunday. Riders Clubhouse. Charity event. Two tickets for Artemis at the door.”
“Nice work. Not cheap?”
“$2,000 for both. I took the cash from the poker winnings you threw at me.”
“I’m so excited to see what menagerie gathers at such an event.”
“You do know a menagerie refers to animals.”
“Yes. I know.”
“You and me?”
“As much as I like you in a tuxedo, I’d rather Shawn on my arm than me on yours.”
“If I were you, I’d do the same. I'm glad you’re made of money.”
Another folder came to my hands.
“Gus Avery, Alexander Forde, and Jacob Bancroft pulling on every tit October’s father has. Shocked, Rich. I’m shocked, I tell you. I’ll get with these creditors and loan officials, ask them what the fuck?” I narrowed my eyes. “Looky here. Bancroft is the loan official on many of these. Maybe I’ll run this past Jennifer, see whether there’s some kind of legal action we can bring down on his head.”
“I like Jennifer.”
“Everybody likes Jennifer.”
“She makes me wish I had legal problems so I could engage her.”
“She legals for me under someone else’s license.”
“You investigate privately under my license.”
I shrugged. “Since this is obviously their modus operandi, maybe use some shoe leather, prepare a complete report, and present the evidence to Lucas Casbian.”
“Contrary to how it looks, I hate writing reports.”
“I bet you’re a two-finger typer.”
“I am.”
“Shawn loves writing reports.
“Gus Avery is a dead man for fucking Jane in the taxi deal. Bancroft is dead for hitting Lauren after I told him not to. Forde is dead for calling me a cocky little cunt when he thought I couldn’t hear him and for being generally annoying.”
“So, we’re saving the shoe leather?”
“Yes, Rich, we’re saving the shoe leather. Thomas Stenholm.”
“I could have told you he was an asshole. He only jammed me up when I took on his wife’s sister as a client.”
“I have to tread lightly for now.”
“To protect your money.”
“To protect Jessica’s project. I’d sign the project over and walk away if I could. I feel robbing me was his plan from our first meeting, him and Falcon, which is why I didn’t dump more than I had to in the LLC. I’m looking at the numbers, and it’s obviously conspired, not incidental.
“I trusted Stenholm and Falcon on Jessica’s say-so; they both robbed me, likely in concert.”
“Of stolen money.”
“Payment for fucking services rendered.”
“Fucking services. You made a joke.”
“I did, kind of. Almost a rape joke. What did the sister-in-law have you investigating?”
“Oh, they, that’s to say Emma and Jasmine, suspected Tommy had a side squeeze.”
“I’ll confirm that, which is why he needs my money. You can confirm my confirmation. With photos. Be sure to get his good side.”
“Eh, last time I came at him—”
“Be more careful this time.”
I stood. “When I say I trust you, Rich, the statement means something. Breakfast at the Nook?”
He glanced his watch. “Where did the night go?”
“Time flights when you’re plotting murder.”
“I don't think that’s how the saying goes.”
Ellen Viceroy liked people. Half a head under me, she appeared younger, though I knew we were the same age. Her brown eyes sparkled, eyes the color of her abundant hair, which was in a loose ponytail.
More hair than girl.
Pink A-line dress to her knee, button front, white collar, and sneakers to match; she looked the role. “Did I thank you?” she greeted as I entered The Nook.
“Yes, you did.”
“Dad was like, I’m not driving across the river twice a day, and I was like, the Speedline is right there!” She squared to me. “Sorry. Welcome to Collings Nook.”
I chuckled. “Good morning, Ellen.”
At the rear table by the kitchen, my back to the wall, I set the newspaper aside when my the usual arrived with Bartholomew Peters.
“Toby.” He dropped on the chair to my right, back to the kitchen.
“Bartholomew.”
“Eh, Ellen,” he said. “I’ll have what Toby’s having; triple it, please.”
“Add Mr. Peters’ order to my check.”
“Toby.”
“I insist.”
Ellen hurried off.
“Was there anything particular?”
Peters panned the room. “Red Corvette.”
“I noticed. That’s him across the street, gray trench coat, black fedora, trying to see in the window.”
“A bit warm for a trench coat. Good eye. He’s like a cardboard cutout.”
“Cliché.”
“That, too.”
“Looking all conspicuous, trying hard not to look conspicuous.”
“Conversation?”
“I’d rather you didn’t. Looks like I’m going to be killing him.”
With a twisted smirk and head tilt, he said, “Don’t want him to know you’re coming.”
“I like when people get me.”
“Jessia. Beautiful woman.”
“And much, much more.”
“You work for her.”
“Bartholomew. A gentleman fishing is so ungentlemanly like.”
He sat back, Ellen delivering his breakfast.
“I feel safe to assume he’s the man who hit Jesscia in the face. Just for that alone, I should smack him around.”
“Yet, you punched me in the face.”
“You were business, this’d be pleasure.”
I snickered. “I do understand the difference.”
“I admit. I’m enamored.”
“Enamored?”
“I didn’t wish to say schoolboy crush.”
“Far less creepy.”
“It’s the way you stood tall against me. No one stands against me, tall or otherwise.”
“Simple negotiation. We needed to find common ground. Agree on things.”
“Good eggs.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying. How do you feel about capture and interrogate?”
He leaned back, right hand flat to the table, narrowing his eyes.
“We pick someone up off the street and put him in the box.”
“The box is—”
“Exactly what you think it is.”
“Toby, Bat,” Shawn said, sitting across from me, her tan attaché case set on the table to her right.
“Shawn. I didn’t recognize you,” Peters greeted.
“Oh, meetings today.”
Shawn wore a red blazer with a skirt to match just above the knee, a white button-down shirt, and black pumps with a two-inch heel, hair tight to her head like Lauren sculpts hers.
“Do tell.”
Shawn glanced Peters.
I shrugged.
“Let me get going.”
“Finish your breakfast. Shawn?”
“All but two of our limousine reservations for the next two weeks canceled.”
“Jane’s limos?” Peters asked.
“They’re Toby’s limos, but yes.”
“Cliff notes. Jane got swindled. I bought the business to keep Jane from getting thrown out on the street.”
Peters stared at me as a glacier in the Midwest encroached two inches.
“We had a guy pushing limousine business our way. Toby pissed him off.”
“It’s a gift.” I shrugged.
Shawn caught my eyes. “I have a list.”
“Good records are essential.”
“Right? I’m going to cold call each of our clients, see if I can trump Falcon. I have twenty-one stops today, most in the city.”
Peters extended his arm, snapping his fingers. “The list.”
I nodded.
Shawn released the clasp of her leather attaché, opened the flap, and retrieved a brilliant white bond.
Peters clicked his black ink ballpoint pen, made cross-outs, and handed the paper back to Shawn. “Now you have nine stops to make, and you owe me dinner.”
I smirked again. Because that’s the way the universe works sometimes.
“What?” Peters asked Shawn’s blank stare. “Oh, Butch Falcon and I don’t move in the same circle, but we have a lot of overlap.”
“Adversary?” I asked.
“We certainly aren’t colleagues.” He held my eyes. “Is Falcon a problem?”
“He got his grubby little paws in my till. I slammed the drawer shut on his fingers, asking for my money back, which pissed him off. If he becomes a problem, that’ll be his choice.”
Peters worked up from the table. “Toby,” he nodded at me. “Thank you for breakfast.”
I returned the nod.
“Shawn.” He came close to bowing.
“Do you need this?” She presented the list. “I have copies.”
“I do not. Good memory.” Three paces toward the door, he turned back. “Absolutely yes, Toby, to that question.”
Dishes were cleared and coffee refilled.
“You were awfully open with Bat.”
“Strategic.”
“Oh, I follow that now. What question?”
“We’re going to use Peters and Serling to put people in the box.”
“Great idea. I was concerned using law enforcement. You know, us breaking the law and all.”
“I want to tighten things up.”
“How did you know?”
“Know what?”
“It’s like Ted all over again.”
“Ted? Oh, Theodore Avery.”
“Yes.”
“You mean how did I know The Bat would be an asset, not an asshole?”
“Like Ted all over again. I’d never have guessed.”
“I get a read on people. I can’t really explain it.”
“You missed Falcon.”
“I love Jessica.”
“I know, what does that have—”
“I didn’t read Falcon. I went by Jessica’s recommendation. I should have known, though. He’s only loyal to Jessica because he’s got a vendetta against Manny Flores, Jessica’s father.”
“He’s loyal to the vendetta.”
“Same with Stenholm. Now, Falcon’s just being a petty asshole. He could have just walked away, focused on Jessica’s project taking my generous offer, letting the limo contracts stand, but no. He has to tell his buddies to cancel.”
I slid her State Safety Home Inspector identification across the table.
“Nice. Locke’s houses?”
“We can borrow a couple hard hats from Mr. Katz.”
“I was so looking forward to slinking around at night in a catsuit.”
“So cliché.”
“That’s what I like about it.”
“I have plans for today; shit I really don’t want to do. You can save me from that giving me half the list. I can go see people.”
“We went over this with 1 Bread. We want our clients back, not us blacklisted. What don’t you want to do? I’ll do it.”
“The Newton house.”
“That’s Thursday. You’re stealing Ted and Archie from me.”
“You’re putting Archie on full-time?"
“We had a long talk when he stopped in for the paperwork. I like him so I hired him. We have work piling up already, and the ads haven’t even run yet.”
“I can get the Stiles house done tomorrow by myself.”
“That’s not what I meant. The witch house is on the list. I don’t have any emergencies, though the clients always think they are. I don’t know what we’re doing at the Newton house. You need to make notecards and put shit on the calendar.”
“For now, I plan to live there. You, me, and Pam. That sofa in the apartment is going to cripple you. I can’t have you sleeping with me and Pam because you two can’t keep your hands off each other. All that screaming will keep me awake.”
Shawn bit her lower lip.
“You get your own room. You can use the truck, Ted, and Archie to move all your things from your father’s house.”
“Oh, I love that idea, thank you.”
“Shawn. You’re not saying no?”
“I’d jump up on the table and scream yes, oh my god, yes if not for Allen banning us from The Nook again. What about Michael?”
“Right there in the question is the answer.”
“Oh.”
“Circling around to what I have to do today that I don’t want to is clean the kitchen and the bathroom.”
“I don’t know what you were doing, out gallivanting around all night. I cleaned the kitchen from top to bottom. Even the walls. I didn’t want you to see it like that.”
“That frees up my day.”
“Toby!”
“We talked about Michelle. It’s not just the dishes in the sink. He wasn’t falling down drunk, but he was drunk enough. Michael. Drunk. In my apartment. My apartment. I spent my childhood living with assholes I didn’t like.”
Shawn pursed her lips. “I understand your point, Toby, I really do. We talked about this, you disappearing in the dead of night.”
“Stealthing in a catsuit.”
“I’d like to see that, dancing around the fire under the stars.”
“I thought you liked me naked.”
“Either’s good.”
“The rent is paid until February. Not so high and dry. The problem is the lease is now under Archetype LLC.”
“How’s that a problem?”
“I want to transfer the lease to Michelle.”
“That’s a great idea for so many reasons.”
“Right? Michelle doesn’t exist.”
“With a lease in her name—”
“She can get the phone in her name, gas and electric; I could even get her a checking account.”
“Have you talked to her about all this? Your plans for her?”
“I have no plans for her. I have opportunities. Opportunities for Michelle. Then, here’s drunk Michael with his girlfriend in my apartment.”
“Yeah, all that screaming while I was on my hands and knees with a Brillo pad going at the corners of the kitchen floor.”
“There was screaming?”
“No.”
“Thanks for doing those corners. They’ve been bothering me.”
“You’re welcome. I live there, too, even if the sofa is killing my back. I’ll talk to Michael.”
“I’ll talk to Michelle.”
“Right. I get it and I don’t.”
“I’m not sure Michelle gets it.”
“You accept Michelle. I accept that Michael likes dressing up as Michelle. That’s a huge difference.”
“I’ve read a book or eight from the library. Bill Locke, a local, Robert Edwards—”
“Bob is very cute. I get Bob. His kink. He likes to dress up.”
My face asked the question.
“Over Easter when we got snowed in. Bob doesn’t pretend to be what he’s obviously not.”
“That’s the thing. Michelle is a girl.”
“That’s what I’m saying. You can see it that way; I don’t. Yet I accept what Michael presents. I’ve danced with both. He said he wants to live as a girl, and then here comes Lenette.”
“Given what I’ve seen and read, it’d be great if Michael could be happy living as a man, marry Lenette, live happily ever after.”
“Maybe a version of Bob.”
I pursed my lips. “People, society just isn’t open-minded like that. Bill Locke sneaks off and dresses up in a seedy motel.”
“Right. You talk to Michelle.”
I presented a business card. “I’m going to knock this out this morning, I guess.”
“Officer Lafferty?”
“Met him last night.”
“He works the night shift, always has. Nice guy.”
“That’s the hit I got. Officer Martin told him he needs to be on our list. Seems word gets around.”
The chatter of my lawnmower took me up into a dream, the smell of cut grass intoxicating, my boots tromping in a world far from men who rape and murder children, men who rob crippled women, and men who wantonly violate my trust. The Lafferty lawn suffered from neglectful disinterest.
“I like a well-groomed lawn,” I said, hoisting the lawnmower onto the tailgate, not as well as Shawn, but well enough.
“I can see that.” She handed off one of the two mugs she had. “Ollie said iced tea. You look more like a coffee girl. Coffee with just coffee.”
“Very intuitive.” I sipped, wishing for iced tea. “Thank you.”
“Arianna Lafferty.” She didn’t offer a hand, leaning next to me, her butt against the tailgate, my height, hair the color and length mine used to be loose down her shoulders, soulful dark eyes like rich coffee on a summer morning, a white lacy dress to her ankles, no shoes.
“Toby.”
“I heard, at length. The way he carried on, I thought he’d be running off with you.”
“Or have me tied to a stanchion in your basement.”
Her hand came to my forearm accompanying a giggle. “He did not say he’s old enough to be your grandfather.”
I stood facing her, almost too close to be appropriate. “I do not date men, doubly so older men.”
“Toby!” Her right hand went to her cheek; her blush should have melted the tailgate.
I shrugged. “I did not mean that as a flirt. Since I’m a known person, I’d assume that was known about me. Besides, you’re my mother’s age.”
“I’m not in the known person circle.”
She stood, I didn’t yield. Now, we were inappropriately close.
“I hope to see you around.” Twisting, she retrieved the two mugs, slipping past me as a green Ford Torino pulled up.
Oh, Arianna. Just as I thought I liked you.
“Miss Blanc. You are a difficult person to catch.”
“You mean catch alone, Councilman Casbian.”
“Lucas.”
“Toby, like I said before. You could have made an appointment or just stopped in, Mr. Casbian. I’m no secret, and I’m certainly not a mystery.”
I faced his companion, a woman taller than me, but not enough to matter, with short black hair cut like mine, noon sky blue eyes, subtle makeup, and dressed like Shawn but in deep blue. My gaze froze her in place, blushing, unable to turn away.
“Who are you?”
“Huh?” she asked.
“I don’t like to take meetings alone. Things can be so easily misunderstood,” Casbian said.
Not good to mock me. “Good policy.” I held her eyes. “So, this is a meeting.”
“Eh—yes,” she said.
I stepped back, boosting myself onto the tailgate. “What’s the agenda of this meeting?”
“I don’t want you to feel ambushed—”
“Mr. Casbian, if it walks like a goose, and quacks like a goose, it’s an ambush.” My shrug should have stopped the sun on its journey to the apex. “You’ve been on my to-do list anyway.”
“How so?”
I caught his companion's stare again. “Who are you?”
“Why’s that important?”
“Because at this moment, we don’t have a confidentiality agreement in place. I think we may just be wading chin-deep into a quagmire, the contents of which we don’t wish smeared across the front page of the Philadelphia Courier above the fold, Sunday edition.”
Casbian scoffed, narrowing his eyes, calculating. “Abigail Warring. My legal assistant. I assure you, anything you say today will not be repeated or used against you.”
“Toby?”
“Miss Warring?”
She looked to the house, across the lawn, back to my truck, then to me as if confused, attempting, I was sure, to reconcile what she heard with what she saw. “You said Chief Meyer was on the take.”
“That's not what I said. I asked Mr. Casbian if he knows Chief Meyer is on the take.”
“That implies—”
“I am not responsible for what people infer.”
She nodded.
“I already had my take on Mayor Tillman.”
“That was some sort of test?” Casbian objected.
“Few people are what they seem, Mr. Casbian. If I may.”
Warring floated her hand palm up across herself. “May away.”
“Chief Meyer is an honest cop. Like most human beings, he’ll do favors for friends, family, and people. Not unlike me dressing up Officer Martin’s lawn for Easter, doing Officer Lafferty’s yard—boy, did this yard need attention—today.”
Casbian narrowed his eyes again. “You get paid for that. It’s your job.”
“All the better.”
“Okay. I follow that,” Warring said.
Casbian huffed. I thought he should throw his hands up in the air. “Abby, this is a waste of time. She’s just a child.”
I giggled as Warring counted to ten. I thought one of us should send Casbian to the car, where he could play with the radio.
“What can we do for you, Toby?” Warring asked.
“Huh?” Casbian asked.
“Toby was kind enough to answer your question about the chief.”
I looked from Warring to Casbian and back.
“Don’t hesitate because of who you’re not,” Warring said in the tone a mother might use about the pitfalls of kindergarten, sending her child off on her first day. “We already know you’re masquerading as Antionette Blanc.”
“Which could be a big problem—”
“Lucas.
“The Indian park, 1 Bread. Good projects. I can only guess your involvement in the Royal Taxi and Limousine Service. Chief Meyer, Tom Thomas, and Officer Martin rave about you. Mrs. Kyra Sullivan.” She rolled her eyes. “I would like to know more about Archetype LLC.” She shrugged. “That’s certainly not sinister.”
“As a woman there’s certain services I don’t have access to.”
“Ah. That makes a lot of sense. I understand.”
I glanced Casbian and went back to Warring. “I’m sure you do.”
“So, Toby. What can I do for you?”
I shrugged dismissively. “I was curious who the judge presiding over the Bill Locke grand jury was and, for the opposite reason, the judge who kicked the case.”
“That’s all sealed,” Casbian blurted.
“I read the papers and clip news stories.”
Warring narrowed her eyes, taking the entirety of thirty seconds. “Why?”
“I guess for the same reason people stop and gape at the aftermath of a house fire.”
“Leonardo Borch and Edward Sands.”
“Abigail!”
“Relax, Lou. We’re off the record.”
“Like this meeting never happened.”
Casbian grumbled. “I guess we’re done here.” He turned on his heels, stepping off.
“Toby.”
“Miss Warring?” I slid off the tailgate.
She took a half step, gathering my hands, rolling her eyes behind her. “Have dinner with me. Don’t take that wrong.”
I half smiled. “How could I take that wrong?”
“We need to have a relaxed conversation. Deep background only. Where someone isn’t blurting out objections.”
“Abby! Let’s go!” came from behind her, Casbian leaning on the open car door.
I looked at my wrist even though I had no watch. “Say around eight o’clock. Commodore, Center City?”
“Commodore?”
“I hear they have a good shrimp scampi.”
“I do like a good scampi.”
“Drop your name with the maître d. I’ll make reservations.”
With the sun hidden behind clouds, the drawn curtains dimmed the room more. I squinted at the chart.
“We’re hopeful,” Doctor Jerkin said quietly on my shoulder from behind.
“Is that your official prognosis?”
“Toby.”
“Sarcasm, Doctor Jerkin. I can read a chart.”
“In cases like this—”
“How many?”
“Huh?”
“How many cases like this have you seen?”
“Personally, one. But I’ve consulted the journals—”
“In that one case you’ve seen personally. The outcome?”
“Toby.”
“I can hear you,” Pam said.
“I thought you were asleep.”
“I’ll leave you two alone,” Jerkin said, backing out the door.
I took Pam’s clammy hand, kissing her forehead.
“I warned you my heart was going to swell up and burst out my chest.”
“I remember every time you said that. I remember everything large and small.”
“I’ve been up, walking. They said I can’t go home until I’m up, walking. Two days. In time for graduation. Maria says she has to get back to school soon. She’s staying for the ceremony. I’ll be on her arm.”
“Getting to see you is going to be difficult. I’ll be there, in the back somewhere.”
“Dressed like a custodian, no doubt.”
“No doubt.”
“Mom. She’s lost in crazy town. You can hark about the light breaking my window. They say I shouldn’t go back to work.”
“Ever?”
“Well, they say I can’t go back to work. Mom, well. I’m killing her.”
“I get her, I really do. She wants this perfect little flower. Now, all she can see is crushed petals. You, Pamala, have always seen me as that perfect little flower when what I am is crushed petals.”
Her hand cupped my cheek. “Your damage, October, your pain, those crushed petals are what make you my pretty little flower. I love you not despite who you are, but because of who you are.”
“Forever and true.”
“Forever and true.”
I presented a rolled magazine. “I found a cool story about the Amazon River.”
“Hard pass, Toby. Last time you read from a magazine to someone in the hospital, they died.”
Quiet sobbing reached out from the far dark corner behind me.
“Dad?” Pamala asked, working up on an elbow.
“Sorry,” Bob Edwards said. “I didn’t wish to intrude.”
“Bob.” I gave him a sharp nod.
“Toby. You shouldn’t be here. If Taylor ever found out—”
“I need to talk with her.”
“She might kill you.”
“She could try.”
“Toby!” Pamala said.
“I’ve warned you, Bob. Don’t put Pamala in the position she has to choose. You’re not going to like the choice.”
“Taylor would, though she wouldn’t say as much.”
“Make sense.”
“Pamala is an invalid, who is only going to get worse. Though no decision has been made, Taylor has said more than once she can’t care for an invalid.”
“Fuck,” Pamala said through her teeth. “What was it you told Michelle about parents and kids?”
“A parent’s love is not inherent.”
“We love our daughters unconditionally.”
“You threw Maria aside like green beans at the end of the day when she got ruined.”
“Not knowing how to love someone isn’t the same as not loving someone.”
“If it quacks like a fucking goose, Bob.”
He deflated. “Too late for that.”
“I don’t follow.”
“What you said about protecting Maria. You were right. Those words have haunted me even since you said them.” He hung like a rag doll. “You were right.
“I know you didn’t do this, cause this. I know this came from Tammy. Maybe if I’d acted sooner. Maybe if I’d gotten her kicked out of the mall.”
“I hit her,” Pamala said. “She was hitting back.”
“Tammy was looking for any excuse to score one for the heterosexual world. What we did do or didn’t do, short of killing her, wouldn’t have made any difference. Lightning has to strike somewhere.”
“Can I add her to the list?” Bob asked.
“The wheels, as they say, are already turning.”
“Toby?”
“Pamala?”
“What list? What wheels?”
“If you live another day or another one-hundred years, you shall never know. That’s how much I love you.”
“I’ve failed, haven’t I?” Bob asked, I think rhetorically.
“Yes,” I answered anyway.
He wilted under the crushing weight of despair, hand to his chest, lumbering out the doorway, pushing past Doctor Phil Kerney
“Toby,” Kerney said, coming beside me. “Pamala.”
“Doctor Kerney.”
“She’s caught a tough break.” He nodded to the bed.
“That’s just the way this fucking universe works sometimes.”
“I can hear you,” Pamala said.
“The world would be a whole lot better off if everyone could face death with the same attitude and dignity as you,” Kerney said. He turned to me. “When I learned Pamala’s connection to you, I put myself on her case.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I know who you are.”
“Doubtful.”
“That first day we met. I saw you. You’ve got that something. I was sure you were the person who would bring Locke and his empire down. Then, oh, the stories they tell about you around the hospital. Some of those stories refer to you as an angel, you know. One witness says she saw you take Benjamin Woodrow over. Toby. Artemis Grimes.” He casually pronounced my entire birth name. “Rachel. Who is she to you anyway?”
“Eh—”
He waved the question aside. “Vienna Rhodes. You could have just walked away. She would have been dead in five, maybe eight minutes. Yes, October, I know who you are maybe better than anyone other than Pamala.”
“Maybe better than me,” Pamala said. “Toby shields me from the darkness.”
“At least I tried.”
“The universe, blah, blah, blah.”
“Yeah, that.”
Out in the hallway, Doctor Kerney said, “Her parents are demanding a miracle. Her mother grabbed me by the collar, insisting I was incompetent.”
I sighed deeply. “I can see Taylor doing that.”
“You aren’t going to ask if the valves can be repaired?”
“I limit my rhetorical questions to five a day,” Doctor Kerney. “I had to get a book brought into my local library. I know what acute bacterial endocarditis is, and I know exactly what to expect. Weeks. Maybe months.”
“Maybe months.”
We paused at the elevator facing each other. “Michael.”
“Michael?” I asked.
“He tried to ask a question when I took his blood.”
“I wanted to ask you about the Locke empire.”
“As you might imagine, I’m invisible in many rooms. Michael. He half-asked something about becoming a girl; then ranted about killing babies.”
I smirked. “I heard Shawn removed him.”
“I’ve done that.”
“Done what?”
“Sex reassignment surgery. Is he looking for that?”
“How many?”
What? Oh, two.”
“Satisfied customers?”
He shrugged. “Surgery and recovery fine.”
I narrowed my eyes. “No psychological follow-up?”
“Not my wheelhouse.”
“From the available literature, that wheelhouse appears to be empty.”
He shrugged again. “I know people in the community.”
“I heard. Medicine in the shade tree. That’s how I knew to get you when Rhodes got shot.”
“Ah, that makes sense.”
“The cost?”
“Oh, Michael. I’ll give him my time, but we’re going to need to pay for the hospital facilities.”
“Don’t make it cheap. I’ll talk to Michael. I don’t want to make this an easy choice for him.”
“Oh, that’s a good idea.”
“The Locke empire.”
“I knew you’d be the one.”
I held his eyes. “The Cambridge rapists.”
The pause like three beats of a gnat’s wing dropped between us.
“The what?” he asked.
“That’s okay. I have my answer.”
Bob Edwards fell in step beside me as I exited the elevator. “Seeing her may not be a problem,” he said absently.
"What the fuck, Bob?”
“Oh, sorry. I was waiting for you.”
“I can see that.”
“Taylor feels she’d be better off in a long-term care facility. They have liberal visiting hours.”
“Have you told Pamala? Maria?”
“Nothing has been decided yet.”
“If it comes to that, I’ll take her off your hands.”
“You do not understand the extent of her—”
“I understand more than you ever could, Bob.”
He reached for my hand. “I love you, Toby.”
“Don’t go all creepy now.”
“Seriously. I’ve told you before. I for real love you. Let’s say something were to happen to Taylor—”
Oh, such a sweet talker. “Spell it out, Bob.”
“Well, like you said, lightning. I could leave her over this Pamala thing. We could be together. I mean, like your father and Tammy.”
“Oh, the Pamala thing. Something could happen to Taylor. Do people become disposable when your dick gets hard?”
“That’s not what—”
“I’m going to say I’m flattered only because saying so is polite. I don’t like men. I only tolerate men when I have to. I thought I could like you. All that warm and fuzzy extra daughter bullshit, me deluding myself into thinking somehow we could be family with healthy interpersonal relationships. Getting to know Maria, to feel her pain as my own showed me what failures as basic human beings you and Taylor are.
“You and me in that kind of relationship? Creepy as fuck, Bob. Creepy as fuck.”
He wilted like a girl who drops the ice cream from the cone on a hot summer sidewalk. “At least think about it?”
I stepped hard forward.
A stranger blocked my path, wearing a flower-patterned cotton dress below the knee, belted at her waist, with half sleeves and dark hair up in flows, warm, happy, pleading eyes owning me. “May I hug you?” she asked.
Sally, the child Sister Rebecca introduced me to, came next to the woman, waving up to me with a big smile.
The woman held me, forever and true. I held her back. We sobbed together. I think Bob Edwards warned he’d see me later. I couldn’t hear him over my happy.
Moments, rich, full, complete.
“Vienna.”
“Artemis. And it is good to see you.” Rhodes sat at the small table sipping tea, Bryant Anderson hovering.
“I’ll take you at your word. Bryant.”
“Miss Grimes. Always a pleasure. I was just leaving.”
“Everything okay?”
Rhodes rolled her eyes up and to her right. “This one is like a doting hen, which I don’t mind. I never spoil myself.”
“You’ll make an exception, being gut-shot.”
“Bryant, same question.”
“Which was?”
“Is everything okay?”
“Mr. Hudson has your messages. Mr. Reginald Abner is anxious to speak with you.”
“I’ll bet he is. The Grill?”
“We’ve opened the basement; it's quiet for now. Mrs. French has not returned.”
“The list.”
“Which.”
“Well, they’re similar.”
“They are.”
“The second list.”
“Okay.”
“How does an invitation-only night sound?”
“Why, Miss Grimes, that sounds delightful.”
He glanced Rhodes. I nodded.
“What do we do with all the bodies?”
“How many?” Rhodes asked.
“Thirty-seven.”
“I can help with that.”
“I was thinking a gas leak.”
“Accidents do happen. A vent or two gets blocked, asphyxiation. Oops. Thirty-seven bodies and a mess of paperwork.”
“There is that—the paperwork.”
“On the other hand, I own a panel truck, a farm, and an excavator.”
“Is an excavator like a scoop thing?”
“Scoop thing?”
“Front loader. I love a front loader.”
“Oh, an excavator is more like a crane.” She illustrated with her arm.
“Your range of motion is much better.”
“Still awkward washing my hair.”
“I’ll be going.” Bryant offered a slight bow. “Miss Rhodes, Miss Grimes. Anything else for now? Something from the kitchen?”
“I’m good,” I said, dropping across from Rhodes.
Rhodes drew on her tea, waiting for the door to close. “You trust him.”
“I do. They stepped up in the room when they didn’t have to. Not only that. They’ve not said anything to anyone. Outside their small circle, no one knows you’re in the room.
She rolled her eyes. “Johnny.”
“Yes. Johnny.”
“Did he tell you he wants to learn?”
“He did, yes. Do you wish to know who was responsible for burning the house down?”
“Impossible. I couldn’t even find records of who the twenty-five were or why they were burned. One story has them as a coven of witches, another as crime bosses. Stories abound, though I find the most amusing the twenty-five were space aliens exterminated by the CIA to stave off an invasion.”
“The CIA doesn’t operate on American soil.” I shrugged, offering my coy smile. “Wasn’t the question.”
She sat back, grunted, hand to her side, eyes closed. “One less sensational story has the fire as an accident.”
“Windows nailed shut, chains on the doors.”
“I’d not heard that one.”
“Not a story. Newspaper account.”
“How did you—”
“Among other things, I’m a private detective and I’m good at what I do. I’ll ask again. Do you wish to know who was responsible for burning the house down?”
“I absolutely would.”
“Me, too.” I glanced my wrist. “I have a business dinner downstairs this evening. Let me wash your hair, change your bandage for your date with Doctor Kerney tonight, and read you a story.” I offered a book as evidence. “Little Match Girl.”
“You did promise.”
“Maybe we’ll do the whole bath thing while I tell the story.”
“Trust is not easy.”
“Like a balm for the damaged soul when achieved.”
“Exactly that.”
“These stories about the house.”
“Yes?”
“From what I’ve seen to this point, the preponderance of the whole as I know it, the stories are noise to conceal what really happened and by whom.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“We do the same thing. We make up stories about who we are, throw them out there, hiding our authentic selves in the clamor and clutter.”
“Even from ourselves.”
“Sometimes.”
I bit my lip. “I have a place, a place not of objective reality, a place I go when the rain is falling, maybe even snow. Neither are essential. The stars watching down works. In this place in the woods, I’ll kindle a small fire, take my clothes off, and dance ballet in a circle, taking me up into this place, not a place, in a time, not a time.
“A place not of objective reality.
“It’s here, Vienna, I feel most like me. I know my authentic self. A person few have seen, even less have known.”
“If they’d only look up from their dinner table, turn from each other and matters of the flesh, glance at the face looking in the window.”
“Then, she’s gone.”
“I saw her, you know. There, as you launched from your chair, floated in circles, bringing the fire. I’d thought it an illusion, a trick of my senses. Take me sometime to this place in the woods so that I can be one of the few that have seen, maybe get a chance to know.”
“I’d like that.”
I floated effortlessly across the dining room on my three-inch black formal sandals, my favorite black silk dress with red flowing flowers dancing high on my thighs, wide-brimmed weave hat hiding and revealing my face.
Business was brisk, with two-thirds of the tables occupied. Most heads turned. Half the diners knew who I was, the other half wondered. I greeted people as they greeted me, some greeting me by name, most unknown to me. I cast crumbs across the floor, their brush with fame or infamy.
An elderly man sharply dressed in a semiformal tuxedo, no jacket, stepped up beside me as I reached the back of the room. “Miss Grimes.”
“Charley.”
“The usual from the bar?”
“Not here, thank you.”
Removing my dark glasses, I offered almost a bow. “Mrs. French.”
“Artemis. Do join us.”
“Maybe after dinner. Business.”
“Always business. That’s what we’ve been doing.”
“I like the office. Miss Mathers.”
April Mathers nodded, sitting on French’s left. “Artemis.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Oh, Reginald Abner is most anxious to see you.”
“Sculking around in the shadows, no doubt.”
“Unnerving.”
“I’d guess he’s not sure who wants him dead.”
“Yet, he’s looking for you.”
“I think irony would be the word. Mrs. French.”
“Artemis?”
“I feel you may attend your Saturday night card game.”
“I don’t know—”
“It’s the message you send, not sculking around in the shadows. Few know the details of Saturday night, fewer know how and why. Of those plotters, all they know is the plan went terribly wrong, and they assume you are behind that.”
“You don’t feel they’ll be sending someone else?”
“I thought to send a message. I’m sure the message has been received.”
“Speaking of Saturday night,” Mathers said. “I want to tighten up the room.”
Again, the eyebrow.
“No one in the room we don’t know. Application. Background checks. Identification cards, which will serve as passes.”
“That is a great idea, though such wouldn’t have prevented Hightower from getting his nephews into the room.” I held French’s eyes. “I warned you about friends.”
She pursed her lips, fingers drumming on the table. “We’ll see what he has to say Saturday.”
“I want to keep the meeting professional.” I winked. “I pulled a couple tricks to keep him from selling anything off; it puts him in a bind concerning raising cash.”
“To what ends?” French asked.
I offered a cold laugh. “I’m fucking with him. I want to watch him squirm.”
“I didn’t think I’d like you this much,” French said.
“Miss Reeves would like to see you at your earliest convenience,” Mathers said.
“Is she upstairs now?”
“Well, in the other building. That woman is a machine.”
“That’s what I meant.” I glanced my naked wrist.
“She said if you can’t see her right away, to tell you she installed a drain plug, whatever that means.”
“She’s pretty smart, for a girl. Tell her I said to pull it.”
“Jennifer told me if you said that, I should ask whether you’re sure.”
“Oh, April, the timing is perfect and looks like my date is here.”
“Date?”
“Not really. Business dinner.”
“You must have eyes in the back of your head.”
“Seeing the whole room is a gift, a gift I’ve neglected of late.”
Mathers squinted in the direction of the entrance. “That looks like Abigail Warring.”
“You know her?”
“Lucas Casbian’s secretary.”
“Casbian?” French asked.
I locked eyes with her. “Trust, Mrs. French, that we act in your interest; however, as I told you before, I don’t work for anyone. You spent years turning a blind eye to the horrors men do. I’m here to call those men to account.”
French nodded repeatedly. “You certainly earned my trust in the basement of The Grill.”
“Sit back, relax, enjoy the show.” I replaced my dark glasses, securing my red suede bag on my shoulder, and turned.
I sidled up to Abigail Warring as she followed Charley to the booth along the right side of the restaurant. “I’ll have that cocktail now, please.”
“Very good, Miss Grimes. Anything from the bar, Miss Warring?” Charley asked, sliding menus on the table.
We faced each other, my back to the restaurant where I could watch the entrance.
“Old Fashioned, ice?” she asked, her blue eyes watching me. “Who are you?”
“I like the dress,” I answered. “Suits you much better than the business outfit.”
She sat back, narrowing her eyes. “Who are you? I’m meeting—”
“Artemis Grimes. I’d offer my hand, but that’s cliché and across the table would be tacky.”
“Sorry. I’m supposed to be meeting Antionette Blanc.”
“Thank you, Charley,” I said, keeping Warring’s eyes.
“Do you need a little time?”
“Yes, Charley.”
He stepped back three short paces.
“Artemis Grimes,” she repeated, tasting her cocktail. “Hmm. Are you Blanc’s older sister or something?” Another sip. “Let me add, I don’t appreciate being ambushed.”
“Shrimp scampi?” I asked. “Or do you wish to look at the menu?”
“I heard their scampi is good.”
“Two, Charley, please.”
“Very good choice, Miss Grimes.” He gathered menus. “Soup? The minestrone is particularly good today. Perhaps an appetizer?”
My face asked Warring.
“Eh, no.” She illustrated with her hands. “Those fluffy round rolls?”
“Baked throughout the day. You’re such a delight, Miss Warring, I’ll make sure you get a basket right from the oven.”
She blushed.
Oh, you’re easy, I thought.
“Anyway. You’re a fashion model?”
“You can’t believe everything you see in the paper.”
“Like that story putting you as a notorious mob assassin in the center of that recent mob hit, murdering six people?”
“Well, Miss Warring, the story did not say that. The Post carelessly—or should I say intentionally—cropped a picture from their morgue on that story for whatever nefarious reason they would have to do so. If I weren’t so amused, I’d have sicced my lawyer on them.”
She narrowed her eyes, taking measure.
“As you may or may not recall, The Post didn’t follow up. There was no mob hit. No crime scene. They named Redman's Bar and Grill.” I looked at the ceiling. “Twelve blocks north. That way.”
I pointed upward, then reached across, tapping her glass.
“I wasn’t on that case and didn’t follow the story. As I recall, you may be right.”
“The story bootlegged my photo. I followed the story. You’re not the first person to accuse me of being a notorious assassin for the mob, some of those people with pointing fingers and screams.”
“I guess if you were, you would have left town.”
Her second Old Fashioned arrived.
She sighed. “Antionette hit me as too bright for a child her age. What is she? Sixteen?”
“Fifteen.”
“Reminded me of myself as a child. Too smart for my own good.”
“And?”
“Well, and I got the idea she has information I can use. That a private conversation was called for. Is she here? I know she lives in Edgewood.”
“What’s your job, Abigail Warring?” I asked as our dinner arrived.
“Oh, this does look good.”
Charley placed a basket next to Warring. “As promised.”
Her eyes bulged.
“My job?”
“Yes, your job.”
“I was going to ask you the same question.”
“I’m an independent problem solver.”
“What kind of problems?”
“What kind of problems do you have?”
“I’m the secretary and office manager for Lucas Casbian.”
“Councilman Lucas Casbian. A part-time job. I don’t think Councilman John McCarthy’s been in his office more than ten minutes this calendar year.”
“How’d you know that?”
I didn’t until then.
“What’s an Edgewood councilman need an office manager for? Empty the ashtrays, sweep up, and keep track of McCarthy’s hours?”
“That’s not all Lou does.”
“I know. You said you weren’t on the mob assassination case. Not the usual fare for a councilman.”
“I would love to do an interview with you.”
“You mean an interrogation.”
“I do. Razor focus. Miss Blanc does the same thing.”
“Lucas Casbian is your front man because you can’t do what a man can do.”
She blushed.
“Does he know that?”
“Sometimes.” Her eyes bulged again. “This bread melts in my mouth.”
Our attention was drawn by shouts from the exterior, Reginald Abner pushing past Charley, beelining toward my table like a bull elephant, intercepted by first Larry The Grill doorman, and then Vienna Rhodes, wincing, coming close behind him, I’m sure, with suggestions for his continued health.
Rhodes caught my eye, my head subtly motioned left then right. She nodded, moving off with Abner and Larry.
“I’m impressed,” I whispered, having not seen Rhodes or Larry in the room.
“Can I get the Bill Locke et al grand jury filing, maybe the testimony?”
Warring shook her head, clasping her eyes shut. “What? Absolutely not. Why?”
“I’m curious what the charges were and how you fucked up so badly. Racketeering. Money laundering. Tax evasion. Bank fraud.”
She rolled her eyes, watching the ceiling, counting fingers, her lips moving. “Mail fraud.”
“All dead to rights until they weren’t.”
“Are you a reporter, any kind of journalist? This is all off the record.”
“I believe deep background was agreed to.”
“Yes.”
“Two people having a conversation.”
“You have the charges, lacking the detail.”
“Where’d you fuck up so bad?”
“Really, Miss Grimes. Do you have to say it that way?”
“I see no other way to convey what you did.”
“In retrospect, I can see I was led down the garden path. At the time, everything I had looked solid.”
“Until it wasn’t. Michael Borrows.”
“I don’t know that name.”
“He’s a lawyer of record. Casual glance, a nothing and nobody making a living doing as little as possible. Invests in real estate.” I carefully watched her eyes. “He advises the Herald Post on what’s fit to print.”
“Obviously dropped the ball on that assassin story.”
“I mention Borrows because he’s your nemesis. He creates illusions and fabrications. People who don’t exist, evidence that isn’t real.” I leaned back. “Johnny.”
Johnny stacked our plates and silverware. “Miss Grimes, Miss Warring.”
“My God, this place is good.”
Charley reached around Johnny, placing a covered basket in front of Warring. “A little piece of us for you to take home.”
“Really good! Thank you.”
“Another drink?” I offered.
“I’m driving and have to get back tonight, or I’d consider it.”
I wasn’t sure what she’d considered.
“I want to be clear on something.”
“By all means, Miss Grimes. Clear away.”
“Bill Locke doesn’t exist.”
“I’ve met him on a number of occasions. I watched him being fingerprinted.”
“He’s a Michael Borrows fabrication. A frontman for many things. Let me be clear on this, too.”
“Okay.”
“The list of charges. That’s the complete list?”
“Well, he didn’t bring enough gum for everyone.”
“Steer clear of the humor. You’re not good at it.”
She pursed her lips. “Sorry. Yes, that was all the major charges. We piled on a truck load of minor charges.”
“For bargaining leverage.”
“That's how it works.”
“Or doesn’t work, as the case may be.”
As we worked to our feet, I freed a stack of bills from my suede bag.
Charley appeared.
“Are you okay?” I asked. “That was quite a spill.”
“Hardly a spill, Miss Grimes. I had that ape right where I wanted him.” He nodded to his left. “Mrs. French has it.”
“Christeen French?” Warring asked.
I tucked forty dollars in Charley’s shirt pocket. “For the kitchen tonight.
He nodded.”
I placed a twenty in his hand. “Johnny?”
“He’ll be walking Miss Warring to her car.” He looked to Warring. “The neighborhood isn’t bad, but lightning has to strike.”
“I’ll be walking Miss Warring to her car.”
“Very good, then, and thank you.”
“Christeen French?” Warring asked again on the street as we walked among the thinning sea of people.
“Yes.”
“I heard a story recently, coming off like an urban legend. About an attempted assassination of a mob boss, foiled by what sounded more like a superhero than a human being.”
“That’s why they’re called urban legends.”
“Ice and fire, Miss Grimes. You’re right about Chief Meyer. He’s basically a good man who likes five-card draw, feeling important helping friends out, and telling wild tales. He pulled me aside and said we were to protect Toby.”
“He pulled you aside, not Mr. Casbian.”
“Yes.”
Warring put her back to the driver's door of the green Ford Torino, looking up, her eyes hungry. “What did I miss? Bill Locke?”
“Other than he doesn’t exist?”
“Yes. What charges were you looking for? You asked three times.”
“Miss Warring. Abigail. What do you want?”
“I want to bring Bill Locke down.”
“Why?”
“Eh, because he’s the head of a criminal organization with its fingerprints on everything.”
“Is that such a bad thing, if he’s doing no harm?”
“He and his organization steal the lifeblood and opportunities from regular people, corroding the bedrock of society. I’d say that’s a lot of harm.”
“Have you ever heard of the Cambridge rapists?”
“No.”
“Bill Locke doesn’t exist. He’s a fabricated frontman for the organization that has its roots long before either of us were born. More fact than urban legend, they believe they draw their power by spilling the blood of the innocent onto the earth. Literally in the modern day, initiation involves raping a virgin.
“Sometimes that virgin does not survive the ordeal. I have the names of three such victims. I suspect I’ll find many more.”
Minutes leaked by like the moon dropping to the horizon. Warring started breathing again.
“You,” she choked. “You have, eh, evidence?”
“What I have is a mountain of conjecture. I do have one witness.”
“You?”
“No.”
“Would you take me to this mountain so that I may weigh this conjecture?”
“Only if you promise never to get in my way.”
“Sleep is overrated,” I moaned, closing the door into darkness. I wanted to train back to New Jersey. I was four-boys-rape-me tired. I didn’t wish to make my body available to Michael. I didn’t want Shawn to be available.
“Are you okay?” I asked the darkness coming aside the bed, one shoe following the other onto the floor.
“Overdid it,” the darkness moaned.
“Do I need to redo your bandage?” My zipper yielded to my awkward dance, my silk dress dropping to the floor.
“Doctor Kerney was by to scold me and change the bandage.”
“Cop a feel.”
“He’s more talk than pervert. It’s an act for the tourists.”
My bra dropped to the floor, my underwear followed. Sitting on the bed, I rolled my right stocking down and off, my knee to my cheek. I smell. “I figured as much. He obviously knows his shit.” My left stocking followed the first.
Rhodes held the blanket up, inviting me.
“I was going to ask if you mind sharing the bed.”
“Trust, Artemis, is a gift we give ourself.”