being interrogated.”
“You’re not being interrogated, just questioned. And you don’t have to be a pro. Just be honest.” Sloane’s mind was already shifting back to Penny’s disappearance and how much she had to accomplish before she left for Boston. “I wish I could hang around for moral support, Elliot, but I can’t. I’ll give you a call later, see how it went.”
“How about dinner instead? You want to grab a bite?”
“Only if you don’t mind eating late. My last interview’s at seven down on Wall Street. I can meet you around eight. Eight-thirty if you want to meet in midtown.”
“Eight-thirty it is. We’ll go to Jake’s. My treat.”
A teasing spark lit Sloane’s eyes at the mention of Jake’s Saloon. It was Elliot’s favorite haunt, just minutes away from John Jay. “Burgers or steak?” she inquired.
He chuckled. “Steak. It’s only fair. You’re putting in extra-long hours for my sake. The least I can do is spring for your favorite—filet mignon.”
“You’re on. See you then.”
CHAPTER FIVE
DATE: 25 March
TIME: 2300 hours
I enjoyed my customary cup of Earl Grey tea and my single lemon square before I retired for the night. But rather than have them at the coffee table, as I usually do, tonight I enjoyed my bedtime ritual in Aphrodite’s acquiescent presence.
It was a wise choice.
Not that I needed the company. I actually prefer eating my late-night snack alone. But, after the past days with Athena, and the unexpected upset of today, I needed something calming. Aphrodite’s serenity was the perfect balm to my edginess. I brought her fresh rose petals, scattered them around the room. Then I handed her the silver comb-and-brush set I’d purchased especially for her, together with the matching hand mirror, and watched with pleasure as she obeyed my instructions and preened herself.
She was beautiful—a carbon copy of the illustration and story that lay on her mattress. She was my consummate validation, the reinforcement that all my pain and hard work has paid off, and will continue to.
I am a success.
Soon will come her final rituals.
How I envy her peace.
Canal Street, New York City
March 26, 1:15 A.M.
Lower Manhattan at night was like an outdoor flea market—except the merchandise in the booths was either hot, counterfeit, or both.
Wearing well-worn jeans, a black T-shirt, and a cheap parka, Derek lingered at one of the numerous kiosks, turning a Samsung MP3 player over in his hands and studying it with intense concentration, as if he were deciding whether or not to buy.
“Looks like the real thing and a helluva deal,” he muttered. “Too bad it’s really a piece of crap worth about two bucks.”
The seller—an Asian-American in his early twenties named John Lee, whose scrawny build was swallowed up by his navy ski jacket—stared back at Derek, his black almond eyes unblinking, his features inscrutable.
“If you say so,” he answered in unaccented English. “I say otherwise. And I have the warranty and user manual to prove it.”
“Yeah, well, let’s say I’m a skeptic.”
“Then it’s good you’re not here to buy. I save my sales pitch for serious shoppers.”
“Gullible shoppers, I think you mean.”
“That’s your take, not mine. Cash is cash.”
Derek leaned forward, pointing at the MP3 player as if he were asking a question about how it worked. “So what’s the word on the street?” He kept his voice low, although the corner they were on was fairly deserted.
Lee looked around furtively before replying. “The meeting’s happening tomorrow night.”
“Where and when?”
“Nom Wo Club. Two A.M.”
No surprise there. The Nom Wo Club was one of Lo Ma’s most profitable gambling parlors. “And the agenda? Property damage or bloodshed?”
“Depends on how it goes. Could be either. Could be both.”
“Who’s showing up?”
“Enforcers on both sides, the Red Dragons and the Black Tigers. Plus backup. I’m not sure
“You’re not being interrogated, just questioned. And you don’t have to be a pro. Just be honest.” Sloane’s mind was already shifting back to Penny’s disappearance and how much she had to accomplish before she left for Boston. “I wish I could hang around for moral support, Elliot, but I can’t. I’ll give you a call later, see how it went.”
“How about dinner instead? You want to grab a bite?”
“Only if you don’t mind eating late. My last interview’s at seven down on Wall Street. I can meet you around eight. Eight-thirty if you want to meet in midtown.”
“Eight-thirty it is. We’ll go to Jake’s. My treat.”
A teasing spark lit Sloane’s eyes at the mention of Jake’s Saloon. It was Elliot’s favorite haunt, just minutes away from John Jay. “Burgers or steak?” she inquired.
He chuckled. “Steak. It’s only fair. You’re putting in extra-long hours for my sake. The least I can do is spring for your favorite—filet mignon.”
“You’re on. See you then.”
CHAPTER FIVE
DATE: 25 March
TIME: 2300 hours
I enjoyed my customary cup of Earl Grey tea and my single lemon square before I retired for the night. But rather than have them at the coffee table, as I usually do, tonight I enjoyed my bedtime ritual in Aphrodite’s acquiescent presence.
It was a wise choice.
Not that I needed the company. I actually prefer eating my late-night snack alone. But, after the past days with Athena, and the unexpected upset of today, I needed something calming. Aphrodite’s serenity was the perfect balm to my edginess. I brought her fresh rose petals, scattered them around the room. Then I handed her the silver comb-and-brush set I’d purchased especially for her, together with the matching hand mirror, and watched with pleasure as she obeyed my instructions and preened herself.
She was beautiful—a carbon copy of the illustration and story that lay on her mattress. She was my consummate validation, the reinforcement that all my pain and hard work has paid off, and will continue to.
I am a success.
Soon will come her final rituals.
How I envy her peace.
Canal Street, New York City
March 26, 1:15 A.M.
Lower Manhattan at night was like an outdoor flea market—except the merchandise in the booths was either hot, counterfeit, or both.
Wearing well-worn jeans, a black T-shirt, and a cheap parka, Derek lingered at one of the numerous kiosks, turning a Samsung MP3 player over in his hands and studying it with intense concentration, as if he were deciding whether or not to buy.
“Looks like the real thing and a helluva deal,” he muttered. “Too bad it’s really a piece of crap worth about two bucks.”
The seller—an Asian-American in his early twenties named John Lee, whose scrawny build was swallowed up by his navy ski jacket—stared back at Derek, his black almond eyes unblinking, his features inscrutable.
“If you say so,” he answered in unaccented English. “I say otherwise. And I have the warranty and user manual to prove it.”
“Yeah, well, let’s say I’m a skeptic.”
“Then it’s good you’re not here to buy. I save my sales pitch for serious shoppers.”
“Gullible shoppers, I think you mean.”
“That’s your take, not mine. Cash is cash.”
Derek leaned forward, pointing at the MP3 player as if he were asking a question about how it worked. “So what’s the word on the street?” He kept his voice low, although the corner they were on was fairly deserted.
Lee looked around furtively before replying. “The meeting’s happening tomorrow night.”
“Where and when?”
“Nom Wo Club. Two A.M.”
No surprise there. The Nom Wo Club was one of Lo Ma’s most profitable gambling parlors. “And the agenda? Property damage or bloodshed?”
“Depends on how it goes. Could be either. Could be both.”
“Who’s showing up?”
“Enforcers on both sides, the Red Dragons and the Black Tigers. Plus backup. I’m not sure
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