the counter, exaggerating his limp. “I’ll have to call information first, because he was in my contacts. But don’t worry, it’s just local. I can’t believe I forgot my phone.”
“Happens to everyone.” She was all flustered, those eyes of hers flipping up to him and shifting away like he was too bright to look at for long. “I’ve got to dial for you, though. You can’t come back here.”
“No problem.” When she passed the receiver over the partition, he gripped it and smiled slowly. “Thanks.”
Even more fluster. To the point where she had to take two tries to get through to information.
Matthias casually turned away and made like he was checking the entrance for his “friend” as a recorded voice hit him with, “City and state, please.”
“In Caldwell, New York.” Pause. Wait for the human to come on. “Yeah, the number of James Heron.”
As he held on for the number, the girl picked up a dishcloth and ran it over the counter, all casual. She was listening, though, those brows with the hoops down low.
“H-E-R-O-N,” Matthias spelled out. “Like the bird. First name James.”
For fuck’s sake, how many ways could you spell the damn—
411 came back on the line: “I’m sorry, but I don’t have anyone by that last name in Caldwell. Is there another name you’d like to search?”
Well, shit. But somehow it didn’t surprise him. Too easy. Not safe enough.
“No, thanks.” Matthias pivoted back to the waitress, returning the receiver. “Out of luck. Unlisted.”
“Did you say ‘Heron’?” the girl asked as she went to hang up. “You mean that guy who died?”
Matthias narrowed his eyes—not that she could tell, thanks to the Ray-Bans. “Kinda. My friend’s his brother, actually. They lived together. Phone was under Jim’s name. Like I said, my buddy and I were going to meet up here and, you know, talk about it all. It’s so hard losing someone like that, and I’ve been worried about what it’s doing to his head.”
“Oh, my God, it was
too
sad.” The girl shifted the dishrag back and forth in her hands. “My uncle worked with him—happened to be there when he was electrocuted at the site. And then to think he got shot, like, days later. I mean, how does that happen? I’m
so
sorry.”
“Your uncle knew Jim?”
“He’s the head of human resources for the construction company he worked for.”
Matthias took a deep breath, like he was choking up. “Jim was an awesome guy—we were in the war together.” He knocked the head of his cane into the partition. “You know how it is.”
Four … three … two … one …
“Look, why don’t I call my uncle for you. Maybe he has the number. Hold on.”
The girl slipped out of the partition, paused, and then nodded, like she was on a mission for good, and determined to Do the Right Thing.
As Matthias waited for her to come back, he listened for his conscience to speak up at the manipulation.
When nothing came, he was disturbed by how easy it was. Like the act of lying was so familiar and insignificant, it didn’t register any more than the blink of the eyes did.
The barista returned about five minutes later with a numberwritten in a girlie script that belied all the I’m-a-hard-ass piercing stuff. “I’ll dial it for you.”
Back behind the counter, she handed him the receiver again, and he listened to the beeping as she pushed the buttons.
Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring
—
No voicemail. No answer.
He gave her back the receiver. “No one’s home.”
Then again, what other response was there: Wake up on the guy’s grave, and he expected Heron to be answering a call? Long reach from six feet under to AT&T.
“Maybe he’s on his way?”
“Maybe.” Matthias stared at the girl for a moment. “Thank you so much. I really mean that.”
“You want some coffee as you wait?”
“I’d better go do a drive-by on the house. People react to tragedy in … funny ways.”
She nodded gravely.
“Happens to everyone.” She was all flustered, those eyes of hers flipping up to him and shifting away like he was too bright to look at for long. “I’ve got to dial for you, though. You can’t come back here.”
“No problem.” When she passed the receiver over the partition, he gripped it and smiled slowly. “Thanks.”
Even more fluster. To the point where she had to take two tries to get through to information.
Matthias casually turned away and made like he was checking the entrance for his “friend” as a recorded voice hit him with, “City and state, please.”
“In Caldwell, New York.” Pause. Wait for the human to come on. “Yeah, the number of James Heron.”
As he held on for the number, the girl picked up a dishcloth and ran it over the counter, all casual. She was listening, though, those brows with the hoops down low.
“H-E-R-O-N,” Matthias spelled out. “Like the bird. First name James.”
For fuck’s sake, how many ways could you spell the damn—
411 came back on the line: “I’m sorry, but I don’t have anyone by that last name in Caldwell. Is there another name you’d like to search?”
Well, shit. But somehow it didn’t surprise him. Too easy. Not safe enough.
“No, thanks.” Matthias pivoted back to the waitress, returning the receiver. “Out of luck. Unlisted.”
“Did you say ‘Heron’?” the girl asked as she went to hang up. “You mean that guy who died?”
Matthias narrowed his eyes—not that she could tell, thanks to the Ray-Bans. “Kinda. My friend’s his brother, actually. They lived together. Phone was under Jim’s name. Like I said, my buddy and I were going to meet up here and, you know, talk about it all. It’s so hard losing someone like that, and I’ve been worried about what it’s doing to his head.”
“Oh, my God, it was
too
sad.” The girl shifted the dishrag back and forth in her hands. “My uncle worked with him—happened to be there when he was electrocuted at the site. And then to think he got shot, like, days later. I mean, how does that happen? I’m
so
sorry.”
“Your uncle knew Jim?”
“He’s the head of human resources for the construction company he worked for.”
Matthias took a deep breath, like he was choking up. “Jim was an awesome guy—we were in the war together.” He knocked the head of his cane into the partition. “You know how it is.”
Four … three … two … one …
“Look, why don’t I call my uncle for you. Maybe he has the number. Hold on.”
The girl slipped out of the partition, paused, and then nodded, like she was on a mission for good, and determined to Do the Right Thing.
As Matthias waited for her to come back, he listened for his conscience to speak up at the manipulation.
When nothing came, he was disturbed by how easy it was. Like the act of lying was so familiar and insignificant, it didn’t register any more than the blink of the eyes did.
The barista returned about five minutes later with a numberwritten in a girlie script that belied all the I’m-a-hard-ass piercing stuff. “I’ll dial it for you.”
Back behind the counter, she handed him the receiver again, and he listened to the beeping as she pushed the buttons.
Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring
—
No voicemail. No answer.
He gave her back the receiver. “No one’s home.”
Then again, what other response was there: Wake up on the guy’s grave, and he expected Heron to be answering a call? Long reach from six feet under to AT&T.
“Maybe he’s on his way?”
“Maybe.” Matthias stared at the girl for a moment. “Thank you so much. I really mean that.”
“You want some coffee as you wait?”
“I’d better go do a drive-by on the house. People react to tragedy in … funny ways.”
She nodded gravely.
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