First Born(50)

As I scan the rooftops around Central Park I notice the water towers again. These pose more risk than most people care to think about. First of all there’s the sheer number of them: some estimate up to twenty thousand in New York City. Then there’s the weight. A cubic metre of water weighs a tonne. Some of the water towers I’m looking at, conical things on steel girders, must weigh fifty tonnes. Up there. Just waiting to fall. It’d only take a piece of steel buckling because it wasn’t forged correctly, or a gust of wind during a freak storm. But the real risks are contained within. You see, the water in New York City is gravity-fed. It travels via rivers and aqueducts from upstate, and because it isn’t pumped it can only reach up around six storeys. Hence the water tanks. But water pumped up into tanks, and left sitting there on rooftops, is a recipe for disaster. Wood rots. Metal corrodes. Pigeons find a way in. Mice breed. Rats build their nests, and even homeless people have been found living inside tanks. Each oversize rooftop barrel is a perfect breeding ground for bacteria. There is sediment at the base of each and every one. The responsibility for cleaning and disinfecting the tanks is left up to each building and some are better than others. There are E. coli thriving on most New York City rooftops. And that’s why I only drink bottled water.

Violet replies saying she can meet me tomorrow night.

I hold off replying to Scott even though I want nothing more than to reply to Scott.

And then I turn on my burner phone.

I dial the number from memory.

The phone rings four times.

‘Yes?’

‘It’s me.’

‘And?’

‘I need to meet.’

‘And?’

‘When are you here? When next?’

‘Now.’

‘You’re here now?’

‘And?’

‘We need to talk. Last time.’

‘Air,’ he says.

He means sea. The twin code. Opposites. By sea, he means the Staten Island Ferry. It’s one of our pre-planned meeting places. Top deck, three rows back for him, four rows back for me.

‘Not after that storm. Can’t do it.’

‘Meat,’ he says.

He means fruit. He means the Cherry Hill Fountain, less than a mile from where I’m sitting.

‘Yes,’ I say.

‘Twelve,’ he says.

That means six. Opposite side of the clock.

‘OK.’

He hangs up.





Chapter 27


I have been evicted from my room. Excluded. Thrown out. Expelled.

The YMCA was pretty reasonable about it, really. They didn’t call the police, thank goodness. Once my three Chinese roomies discovered my baseball bat and my hornet spray they asked Reception if they could stay as three and pay extra. Rather than cause a scene, Reception gave me a single room at the same rate I was paying. Said I can keep it until I find something else I can afford.

KT would have had no problems. They’d have all been best friends by now.

But I do get a perk. No private bathroom, nothing that fancy, but now I have a view. No brick wall for me. I can see Central Park from my window. Not a lot of it, the window’s too narrow, but I can see the colours. Being able to see nature from my bedroom is a game-changer. I feel relaxed staring at the auburn trees.

And now I have a place to research, and boy, do I need a place to research.

I walk to Best Buy, a different branch this time, a branch in Midtown, and buy a pretty nice Android tablet. Then I go to a store in the Garment District and buy a hundred and eighty dollars’ worth of Google Play gift vouchers. Yeah, I’m running down my cash supplies, but I don’t see any alternative. And besides, I have plans to remedy the situation.

Jimmy’s fine. I check in with him and buy a smoothie and a bottle of water.

‘Where you living at, Molly? You someplace safe, yeah?’

‘Upper East Side,’ I lie.

He whistles through his lips and says, ‘You a one percenter now, lady. You walking in Mink Alley now.’ And then he whistles again.

‘Hardly. Staying on the sofa of a friend’s place, that’s all.’

‘You see him, the Turk over there, fingerless gloves?’ He points to the food cart opposite.

‘Yes?’

‘Cleans his grill with the same dirty rag six days in a row. I’m keeping count. Saw him drop a pretzel one time and look round, wipe it on the rag, put it right back on the stack. He’s a dirty little man, that guy, don’t eat from his cart, Molly.’

‘OK, thanks.’

Another customer approaches so I walk away back up to the park.

My phone rings. ‘Hello?’

‘It’s Scott.’

There’s traffic all around, someone’s broken down outside Radio City Music Hall, and everyone’s beeping their horns.

‘How are you?’

‘Fine. I got practice.’

‘Rowing practice?’

‘Racing next week down at Princeton. They’re strong.’

‘I’m leaving New York soon, Scott.’

‘Thought you’d left already. Vi was sad you went back.’

Vi? I loathe the way he shortens her name.

‘Few more days. Hope this doesn’t sound odd but there aren’t many people I can talk to about KT. Memories, you know. My counsellor said it’s an important part of the grieving process.’ I don’t have a counsellor. I’ve never had a counsellor. ‘To keep her spirit alive. Wondered if we could go and get some pizza together some time. Or maybe a diner, whatever. My treat.’