A Cast of Killers by Katy Munger Page B

pair of pink tennis shoes with
Auntie Lil's initials etched on the side in gold glitter that
protruded from the center of a forgotten bowl of fruit.
    It was enough to make him drop to his knees
and begin scrubbing, straightening, alphabetizing and bringing
order into the utter chaos that was Auntie Lil's home.
    Chaos to him, at least. With irritation, he
noticed that she sailed directly through the debris to a large
cabinet where she quickly found a thick volume with the physician's
staff symbol on its spine. "You run along, Theodore," she told him
absently, flipping through the pages with purpose. "Have a good
time and I'll see you in the morning."
    Have a good time? Doing what? Talking about
murder? Not his idea of a romantic date. But definitely Auntie
Lil's idea of a good time. She was already hard at work, flipping
through pages and scribbling theories in her notebook. A pool of
light from a nearby lamp cast a halo around her sturdy head, giving
her a deceptively angelic look. He gave her an affectionate glance,
then shut the door behind him, carefully locking both locks. He'd
hate for a burglar to stumble in on Auntie Lil. The poor guy
wouldn't stand a chance.
    By the time he and Lilah reached Times Square
again, it was past eight o'clock and the well-dressed crowds of
theatergoers were safely ensconced in their plush cushioned seats.
A momentary lull had descended on the busy streets. Neon lights
blinked off and on brightly in the new twilight. The early evening
slasher-and-action shows had already started at the many movie
theaters nearby. It would be an hour or more before those audiences
were disgorged onto the sidewalks, blinking in the artificial glow
of New York night and—all pumped up with images of car chases and
knife fights— anxious to spill their excitement onto the crowded
sidewalks.
    "I always find Times Square so overwhelming
at night," Lilah admitted.
    "I like it best from the back seat of your
limo," T.S. replied firmly. They were slowing down in front of the
twenty-four-hour photo store and several disreputable characters
skulked around the nearby corner, passing off small packages and
conferring in their nightly ballet of illicit drugs and small-time
scams.
    "You wait here. I'll only be a moment." T.S.
scurried inside the brightly lit storefront and hurriedly left his
order with a bored cashier. After extracting a promise of quick
service (at least ninety minutes, never mind the one-hour promise
on the sign), he dashed back out to the limo. Already, the hounds
were sniffing out the fox. Three young men, nearly identically
dressed in absurdly baggy pants, baseball hats and torn tee shirts,
were eyeing the rear bumper of the limousine. T.S. saw a "you
backed into me and now you're going to pay" scam coming and
practically dove into the back seat, slamming the door behind
him.
    He could have stopped and challenged them,
but why show off for Lilah? Restraint was the better part of
valor.
    Grady knew the score and pulled quickly away
without incident. Which was exactly what life was like for
Lilah—people protected her from the changing state of her world. It
would have been a shame not to.
    "That's that," T.S. announced. "The photos
will be ready in a couple of hours."
    "About that drink," Lilah murmured tactfully
in reply.
    "Yes? Shall we?" T.S. wondered where they
might find a cozy spot nearby. He could not go to his usual haunt,
Harvey's, because his every move would find its way back to Auntie
Lil—courtesy of Frederick, the bartender there.
    "I have a suggestion," Grady volunteered. "A
friend of mine owns a nice little place over on Tenth Avenue called
Robert's."
    The limousine glided smoothly over an
unexpected area of newly resurfaced avenues. The streets were the
only new things in the whole neighborhood, however. As they drew
further west toward the docks, shadows began to step from the
darkness in eager anticipation of a wealthy customer. Women of all
shapes and colors packed tightly into