Chasing Shadows (First Wives #3)(74)

“Yeah.”

Sasha handed him the bag holding her uneaten hamburger. She then said something in Russian before standing up and leading Avery away.

“This woman,” Sasha said as they walked by yet another homeless person. “What do you see?”

Avery suddenly felt like she was being walked through a living documentary of the human existence. “Mental illness to the extreme.”

Sasha again stopped and looked behind them. “The woman is ill, but also on something. What did you smell when you walked by?”

“Body odor.”

They kept walking.

When Sasha slowed her pace, Avery searched out the next demographic. Two guys sat on a fence, smoking a cigarette. They were both thin, drawn.

“On drugs,” Avery said before Sasha could ask her.

“Homeless?”

“Probably.”

“How much do you know about drugs?”

Avery smirked. “I know not to take them.”

Sasha looked out of the corner of her eye at her, disapproving.

“My rebellion included a little pot and a lot of teenage drinking,” Avery clarified.

“But you had access to other things.”

“Yeah, of course. What kid doesn’t?”

They started across the street toward the boys.

“Do you know anyone who had a more experimental rebellion?”

“No one I was close to. There were always those that got hooked on something stupid in high school, early college. Snorted their tuition money up their nose. I blew my tuition on Cancun.”

Sasha chuckled and marched right up to the kids. “Gentlemen?” She managed to get their full attention with one word and a smile. “I was wondering if you could help me out.”

One of the kids sitting on the iron fence slid off, pulled himself up straight with a jerk, and nodded. “I can help you with whatever you need.”

He was definitely high, but he was hetero and liked what he saw, Avery observed.

“I need to know if you’ve seen someone.”

Avery stood back and watched the kids.

Neither of them could hold their hands still. One realized he was twitchy and slammed his hands into his back pockets, attempting to keep his eyes on Sasha.

“Yeah, hey . . . we see people walk by every day.”

Sasha pulled a picture out of her back pocket, but before she showed it to the kids, she said, “Twenty bucks each, to the both of you, if you tell me the truth. You lie, you get nothing.”

“Yeah, lady. Okay. I could use twenty bucks.”

The image of Avery’s sketched suspect sat in Sasha’s hands.

The guys looked at it.

Sasha watched the kids.

Avery saw everyone.

“That could be anyone,” the kid on her right said. “I wanna say I have, but I don’t know.”

“And you?” She moved the picture closer to the second kid.

He shook his head.

“What about this?” Spider’s tattoo was in the next picture.

Both of them shook their heads.

Sasha stashed the pictures and handed them the money.

“They’re just going to buy more drugs,” Avery said as they walked away.

Sasha shrugged. “Until they hit bottom or die.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Twenty bucks won’t change their course.”

“That’s cold,” Avery said.

“Truth often is. Come on.”

When they had circled back to Times Square, Avery finally stopped Sasha’s pace by grabbing her arm and turning her around. “Much as I liked the garbage-filled path through the decay of the homeless population, was there a point to what just happened?”

People walked around the two of them like they were rocks in a stream while they talked.

“Spider is young, agile. New shoes, old clothes. If he’s homeless, he wasn’t for long before you. His clothing, while worn, did not smell like Homeless Man Number One. Spider completed a task and spoke coherently, so not like Homeless Woman Number Two. Homeless Examples Three and Four, once hooked on something much stronger than what they can afford now, is who we are searching for. Two for twenty couldn’t stop moving. They wash their hands because of nerves and because their veins itch with need. They only stop at the peak of their high or when they are too sick to move during their low. They spend the majority of their day searching for means to maintain their level of stupid. Junkies don’t spend money on tattoos, so our guy was new to the game.”

Avery felt a rush from Sasha’s words.

“We know for a fact Krueger’s day job was selling drugs, and his night job was taking out kneecaps or putting people in the morgue. My father paid Krueger to kill you. In turn, Krueger paid your Spider to do the job. Why? Because Krueger sees an opportunity to get paid for a job without the risk of going to jail for it. Spider’s rapid descent makes him say yes. He knocks you down, hesitates, then uses his feet. Why? Because his hands would be too personal. Even though he’s higher than a rocket to the space station, he knows somewhere that what he is doing is wrong. ‘Don’t look at me.’ His words. Not because he doesn’t want you to see him, but so he won’t see your eyes.”

Avery ran a hand through her hair. Everything Sasha was saying made sense in a twisted, fucked-up way. “So I’ve wasted my time searching nightclubs.”