FIFTEEN

She was coming out of the D’Agostino’s on 110th, plastic grocery bags dangling from both hands, when her cell began to buzz. She backed into a gated doorway, out of the flow of people on the sidewalk, juggled the bags to get the phone out. Hector. It buzzed again, then went quiet.

When she got home, the cat was curled on the futon. It leaped off as she came in, slunk into the kitchen, watching her over its shoulder. She fed it every day, but it still wouldn’t let her touch it.

She left the bags on the living room floor, called Hector back. He picked up on the second ring.

“Hola,” she said. “I owe you something, I know. I have it.”

“Not why I called. Can we meet?”

“What’s up?”

“Better in person.”

“This about work? If so, I’m not interested.”

“Old work, not new.”

“What’s that mean?”

“I’m midtown right now, I can be up your way in about twenty.”

She didn’t like that, but there was no use asking more over the phone.

“Call me when you get up here,” she said. “I’ll tell you where I’ll be.”

*   *   *

At the Starbucks on 114th, she got a high table by the window, had a clear view up and down Broadway. The rest of the tables were occupied by students, most reading or tapping on laptops. She set the paper Garden of Eden bag at her feet, blew steam from her tea.

She saw him from a block away. He crossed Broadway against the light, came in. She cocked her head at the counter. He nodded and joined the line.

When he carried his cup to the table, she said, “Take a seat. Just relax for a couple minutes. Drink your coffee.”

He nodded, sat across from her, popped the lid from his cup. He blew on it, sipped.

“Cold out there,” he said. “What happened to your jaw?”

“Walked into something. No big deal.”

“That happen down there?”

She drank tea, didn’t answer. He put his cup down, unzipped his flight jacket. He held it open, then raised his sweatshirt for a moment to show her his bare chest and stomach, pulled it down again.

She looked around to see if anyone else had noticed. “That wasn’t really necessary. But if you enjoy it…”

He shrugged. “Can’t be too careful, right?”

“So, old work.”

“I don’t have a lot of information yet. Just wanted to share what I know.”

“Share.”

“The guy that got dealt out of the game down south … he was somebody.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Connected. He was from up here, across the river.”

“Jersey?”

He nodded, sipped coffee. “One of my brother’s old partners moves in those circles sometimes. Word was getting around.”

“And?”

“It checks out.”

“How connected?”

“Close. Family.”

“Nothing like that in the news stories. I’ve been checking every day.”

“It’s true, though.”

She sat back, looked out the window, watched steam rise from manhole covers. She felt the first stirrings of an upset stomach, the tea not sitting well.

“I thought this couldn’t possibly be more fucked up than it already was,” she said. “I guess I was wrong.”

“I don’t know what happened with our friend down there. He’s been a solid guy up to now. And it sounded good.”

“It was good. Until it wasn’t.”

“There’s another thing, too. I hear he’s back. Up here.”

“Already? Then he’s stupider than I thought. He looking for me?”

“I don’t know.”

“You need to be careful, too,” she said. “He knows you.”

“If he’s looking, I’ll hear about it. If it comes to that, I’ll handle him.”

“This just keeps getting better, doesn’t it?”

She looked out at the traffic. If Stimmer was back, he had to still be in bad shape from the beating he’d taken. In no shape to be on the hunt.

“We have to get a message to our other friend,” she said. “With the tattoos.”

“My thought, too. I’ll call his man.” Chance’s contact was a retired bank robber in Missouri named Sladden.

“If there’s fallout on this from across the river,” she said, “it’s on one person.”

“I know.”

“He put us all in danger down there, then tried to take us off. He did what he did. He’s on his own.”

“Understood.”

She edged the bag closer to him under the table.

“That’s for you. A little better than last time. Twenty and change. That should take care of those Communion clothes.”

“Gracias.”

“That’s dirty. Raw. Just so you know.”

“Understood.”

She finished her tea. The ache in her stomach was a dull burning now. She looked at people hurrying along the sidewalk. A different world.

“Sorry about all this,” he said.

“What’s done is done. There’s no going back.”

“No,” he said. “There never is.”

*   *   *

Back in the apartment, she got the maroon suitcase from the closet, opened it on the bed. It was always packed, ready to go. Two weeks’ worth of clothes in it, and thirty thousand in cash—all hundred-dollar bills—sewn into the lining, slight bulges through the material. Tomorrow she’d get the .38 from the bank, keep it in the apartment. If Stimmer came looking for her, she would have to be ready.

She switched out some of the clothes, packed everything neatly again, then closed the suitcase. She looked at the laptop on the desk. She’d loaded Maddie’s new photos onto it, would want to bring it with her if she had to leave. She’d used one of the pictures as a screensaver, then taken it down after a day. It hurt too much to look at it.

She heard a noise, turned to see the cat watching her from the doorway.

“What are you looking at?”

She’d gotten used to having it around. It made the apartment seem less empty. She hadn’t named it, though, wouldn’t. The next time she left town, she’d put it back out on the fire escape, let it fend for itself again.

The cat leaped onto the desk in one fluid movement, crouched there, eyeing her.

“What’s your problem? You think you were just going to move in here, live happily ever after? Who gets that?”

She latched the suitcase, put it back in the closet. It felt good to have it here, ready.

It would feel better when she had the gun.