answer—a big relief—so I left him a message and let him know I’d be in by early afternoon. I’m praying I’m not actually suspended because I didn’t meet with the counselor after the Cutter Shark case—or the Jack Durham case.
Maybe Zaworski was just lighting a fire under me to make sure I got the point. Or maybe not.
I called Mom to check on her and she sounded fine. She reminded me that I had promised to call Blackshear and let him know about the mystery man that had been visiting Nancy Keltto. I found Blackshear in my contact list, hit the number, and he picked up. I gave him the skinny on what Mom saw as quick as I could so I could follow up on some other callbacks. But he was in the mood to talk and I couldn’t get off. We talked about Keltto’s death and whether it might just be an accident. That’s his initial suspicion but he takes down the license plate number my mom supplied. Then we end up swapping updates on other cases and office politics, including the return of Zaworski.
I wanted to catch Don who called a seventh time and Klarissa to let her know she’s stuck with me as roommate one more night, but I couldn’t get off the call with Blackshear and now the cab is pulling up to the doors of the Sheraton. I swipe my card and punch in a fifteen percent tip. The driver looks at his screen in the front seat and scowls. I guess driving on icy streets calls for a higher percentage. This trip has gone way over my budget. Rice and beans and bumming meals at Mom’s and Kaylen’s the rest of January.
The doorman out front offers to have my bags carried in, but I’m out of cash and have done all the tipping I plan to do in New York City.
I sling my backpack over a shoulder and pull my roller board behind me. I snag it on the rounded corner of the revolving doors and for a nanosecond fear I’m going to jam the motors.
There’s a long line of tired, irritable travelers in the reception desk line that snakes through a maze of velvet ropes. I wonder how many are here for the same reason as me; cancelled travel plans.
I weave through the mob to get where I can fish out my phone to call Klarissa. Hopefully she’s in the room. I didn’t keep a key and it’s going to take an hour to get to the front of the line and ask for one.
It’s late enough in the day that there is a guy in a fancy uniform in front of the corridor to the elevators who won’t let anyone pass without a key. Klarissa is on the club floor and you need a key to access it anyway. I’d have to get lucky someone else was going to the top floor or ride up and down until someone did.
I look to the left at the open bar. A cozy couple is laughing and clinking martini glasses together.
My lungs don’t ask my permission and gulp in a big breath of air and let it out slowly. They do it of their own volition. I’m suddenly tired. I might even feel faint. I need to sit down.
The cozy couple is Austin and Klarissa. They look good together.
You are right Austin. We gotta talk.
PART TWO
We have to distrust each other.
It is our only defense against betrayal.
T ENNESSEE W ILLIAMS
15
MEDVED WOKE FROM a nightmare. He was in the woods outside of Vologda, the grimy, crumbling, industrial city he grew up in until his mom moved he and his three sisters to Moscow.
It had started so pleasantly. He was walking with his mom, hunting for mushrooms. But then his mom was no longer there and he was with Ilsa. Then he was with his roommate from Riker Island. Bobby.
Even when he was awake, Med could never remember his last name. Bobby was from Highpoint, North Carolina. He got into a bar fight on his first and only trip to New York City. He swore he killed the man in self-defense. He stabbed and slashed the man with a hunting knife he kept strapped to his lower right leg. Fifteen times. The judge and jury decided the last fourteen stabs and slashes put into question his plea of self-defense.
Then it was suddenly dark and Med was alone. He was lost.
Maybe Zaworski was just lighting a fire under me to make sure I got the point. Or maybe not.
I called Mom to check on her and she sounded fine. She reminded me that I had promised to call Blackshear and let him know about the mystery man that had been visiting Nancy Keltto. I found Blackshear in my contact list, hit the number, and he picked up. I gave him the skinny on what Mom saw as quick as I could so I could follow up on some other callbacks. But he was in the mood to talk and I couldn’t get off. We talked about Keltto’s death and whether it might just be an accident. That’s his initial suspicion but he takes down the license plate number my mom supplied. Then we end up swapping updates on other cases and office politics, including the return of Zaworski.
I wanted to catch Don who called a seventh time and Klarissa to let her know she’s stuck with me as roommate one more night, but I couldn’t get off the call with Blackshear and now the cab is pulling up to the doors of the Sheraton. I swipe my card and punch in a fifteen percent tip. The driver looks at his screen in the front seat and scowls. I guess driving on icy streets calls for a higher percentage. This trip has gone way over my budget. Rice and beans and bumming meals at Mom’s and Kaylen’s the rest of January.
The doorman out front offers to have my bags carried in, but I’m out of cash and have done all the tipping I plan to do in New York City.
I sling my backpack over a shoulder and pull my roller board behind me. I snag it on the rounded corner of the revolving doors and for a nanosecond fear I’m going to jam the motors.
There’s a long line of tired, irritable travelers in the reception desk line that snakes through a maze of velvet ropes. I wonder how many are here for the same reason as me; cancelled travel plans.
I weave through the mob to get where I can fish out my phone to call Klarissa. Hopefully she’s in the room. I didn’t keep a key and it’s going to take an hour to get to the front of the line and ask for one.
It’s late enough in the day that there is a guy in a fancy uniform in front of the corridor to the elevators who won’t let anyone pass without a key. Klarissa is on the club floor and you need a key to access it anyway. I’d have to get lucky someone else was going to the top floor or ride up and down until someone did.
I look to the left at the open bar. A cozy couple is laughing and clinking martini glasses together.
My lungs don’t ask my permission and gulp in a big breath of air and let it out slowly. They do it of their own volition. I’m suddenly tired. I might even feel faint. I need to sit down.
The cozy couple is Austin and Klarissa. They look good together.
You are right Austin. We gotta talk.
PART TWO
We have to distrust each other.
It is our only defense against betrayal.
T ENNESSEE W ILLIAMS
15
MEDVED WOKE FROM a nightmare. He was in the woods outside of Vologda, the grimy, crumbling, industrial city he grew up in until his mom moved he and his three sisters to Moscow.
It had started so pleasantly. He was walking with his mom, hunting for mushrooms. But then his mom was no longer there and he was with Ilsa. Then he was with his roommate from Riker Island. Bobby.
Even when he was awake, Med could never remember his last name. Bobby was from Highpoint, North Carolina. He got into a bar fight on his first and only trip to New York City. He swore he killed the man in self-defense. He stabbed and slashed the man with a hunting knife he kept strapped to his lower right leg. Fifteen times. The judge and jury decided the last fourteen stabs and slashes put into question his plea of self-defense.
Then it was suddenly dark and Med was alone. He was lost.
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