sheet of paper for a few moments longer and then refolded it and handed it back to her. “Same number and everything.”
“I tried to call a few times.”
“Yeah … the phone hasn’t been plugged in for weeks. Maybe months. I keep it in a drawer, in fact.” I pulled open the bottom drawer on my desk and raised the ancient beige telephone to show her, setting it down on the desk between us like some artifact to be pondered. “I plug it in only when I want to make a call and then put it away as soon as I’m done.”
She nodded. I sat still, looking at her for a few seconds. For a bit too long, actually. She makes that easy to do.
“What else do I say? I mean … where do we start? Or do you start?”
“How old are you? Twenty-six?”
Her face flushed slightly, and she swallowed before answering softly. “Yes.”
“What do you do?”
“I … I don’t, really. To be honest. I manage my parents’ estate. What’s left of it, anyway.”
I had to ask the hard question next: “Did they die when the virus struck?”
She looked down, her eyes falling, unfocused, on the phone. The moment hung heavily in the stale air. “My father did. My mother died more recently.”
“I’m sorry.” I paused. “How?”
“Is it really—?… She had a … an embolism, the doctor said.” She looked up at me while she spoke, and then away again as soon as she fell silent.
“Well, again, I’m sorry.” I lit a cigarette and leaned back in my chair. “We start like this: I need to know exactly where and when Ayers was killed. So figure that out as soon as you can. I need to know how he died.”
She looked up at me as I exhaled a thin trail of blue gray smoke. “He was shot in the back. Three shots from very close range, they said.”
“The police said?”
“Yes.”
I leaned forward quickly. “Why did the police tell you a detail like that? They don’t tell me shit, and I know some of them. I served in the army with some of them, and they won’t give me the time of day when I go snooping around uptown, so how could you know that, Becca?”
“I don’t know. I guess I was flirting to get information.”
“I can see how that might work. What I don’t see is any kind of envelope or parcel or anything in your hands. One with a lot of cash in it, maybe?”
“I promise you’ll be paid. If you don’t want this, then I’ll just leave now.”
I nodded a few times and took one last, long drag before violently stubbing out my smoke. I exhaled through my nostrils. “Okay. Good enough for now. I need to know more about Fallon. How long you’ve known him. Been with him.” Her eyes darted down and to the left as I spoke his name. “I need to know everyone you’ve talked to since this shooting happened. What you were doing and who you saw in the days before. I need to know lots of things. So why don’t I go get us more shitty coffee.”
4
The orbs came alive as I walked down Seventh Ave. The fog wasn’t bad, and I could see a full three spheres ahead undulating yellow and ocher before settling into their orange glow for the night. The air was colder than it had been in days. It felt good. I buttoned my heavy gray jacket as a shiver ran through my chest, relishing the bracing temperature. It let me know I was awake, aware.
I crossed a few streets, staying on Seventh. In one of the intersections, an older guy nearly walked into me, focusing on a book he held just under his nose. He let out an awkward gasp as I stopped short to avoid a collision, then composed himself, nodded, and ambled on, eyes back on the pages. I wondered if it was a lifelong habit adapted to the mist or if the old guy had begun his literary strolls in the new world.
When we were first placed under quarantine—the few hundred thousand of us—the city took on the aspect of a prison. A massive, Byzantine prison, but captivity nonetheless. Then, when this gray veil slowly drifted down, thickening until it was a shroud over us all,
“I tried to call a few times.”
“Yeah … the phone hasn’t been plugged in for weeks. Maybe months. I keep it in a drawer, in fact.” I pulled open the bottom drawer on my desk and raised the ancient beige telephone to show her, setting it down on the desk between us like some artifact to be pondered. “I plug it in only when I want to make a call and then put it away as soon as I’m done.”
She nodded. I sat still, looking at her for a few seconds. For a bit too long, actually. She makes that easy to do.
“What else do I say? I mean … where do we start? Or do you start?”
“How old are you? Twenty-six?”
Her face flushed slightly, and she swallowed before answering softly. “Yes.”
“What do you do?”
“I … I don’t, really. To be honest. I manage my parents’ estate. What’s left of it, anyway.”
I had to ask the hard question next: “Did they die when the virus struck?”
She looked down, her eyes falling, unfocused, on the phone. The moment hung heavily in the stale air. “My father did. My mother died more recently.”
“I’m sorry.” I paused. “How?”
“Is it really—?… She had a … an embolism, the doctor said.” She looked up at me while she spoke, and then away again as soon as she fell silent.
“Well, again, I’m sorry.” I lit a cigarette and leaned back in my chair. “We start like this: I need to know exactly where and when Ayers was killed. So figure that out as soon as you can. I need to know how he died.”
She looked up at me as I exhaled a thin trail of blue gray smoke. “He was shot in the back. Three shots from very close range, they said.”
“The police said?”
“Yes.”
I leaned forward quickly. “Why did the police tell you a detail like that? They don’t tell me shit, and I know some of them. I served in the army with some of them, and they won’t give me the time of day when I go snooping around uptown, so how could you know that, Becca?”
“I don’t know. I guess I was flirting to get information.”
“I can see how that might work. What I don’t see is any kind of envelope or parcel or anything in your hands. One with a lot of cash in it, maybe?”
“I promise you’ll be paid. If you don’t want this, then I’ll just leave now.”
I nodded a few times and took one last, long drag before violently stubbing out my smoke. I exhaled through my nostrils. “Okay. Good enough for now. I need to know more about Fallon. How long you’ve known him. Been with him.” Her eyes darted down and to the left as I spoke his name. “I need to know everyone you’ve talked to since this shooting happened. What you were doing and who you saw in the days before. I need to know lots of things. So why don’t I go get us more shitty coffee.”
4
The orbs came alive as I walked down Seventh Ave. The fog wasn’t bad, and I could see a full three spheres ahead undulating yellow and ocher before settling into their orange glow for the night. The air was colder than it had been in days. It felt good. I buttoned my heavy gray jacket as a shiver ran through my chest, relishing the bracing temperature. It let me know I was awake, aware.
I crossed a few streets, staying on Seventh. In one of the intersections, an older guy nearly walked into me, focusing on a book he held just under his nose. He let out an awkward gasp as I stopped short to avoid a collision, then composed himself, nodded, and ambled on, eyes back on the pages. I wondered if it was a lifelong habit adapted to the mist or if the old guy had begun his literary strolls in the new world.
When we were first placed under quarantine—the few hundred thousand of us—the city took on the aspect of a prison. A massive, Byzantine prison, but captivity nonetheless. Then, when this gray veil slowly drifted down, thickening until it was a shroud over us all,
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