Into the Fire(29)

17



Right Side Up and Upside Down





Evan—or more precisely the Benelli combat shotgun—had convinced Papazian to give up what information he had in exchange for a painless exit. Evan now had to stage the next phase of the mission, which meant getting to the databases and buckling down. By the time he returned to Castle Heights, an early-morning buzz had already filled the lobby. The tenants were clustered around the love seats, some dressed for work, others lounging in retiree leisure wear.

Evan lowered his head and vectored for the elevator.

“Ev. Ev! Come over here. My God, you won’t believe what happened to Ida.”

Lorilee’s face looked Saran Wrap–tight beneath the bright lights of the lobby. He glanced down and halted at the sight of the crimson mist across the toes of his boots.

He had not been counting on prework social hour in the lobby.

He glanced at the group. “Maybe you could tell me later.”

A storm of objections assailed him, the loudest from Hugh Walters, 20C. Hugh was the HOA president and never tired of reacquainting the residents with that fact. “I think you need to hear this,” he said, his long face drawn longer with stageworthy distress. “It represents a security threat to this building’s residents. And it can’t wait for tomorrow’s HOA meeting.”

Evan’s shoulders lowered another notch. He’d made a great effort to forget about the HOA meeting and the “nibbles” he was tasked with providing.

Stalling, he snuck another glance at the dappled red on his Original S.W.A.T. boots. There was no way he could join the others without their noticing. He raised one foot as if to scratch the opposing calf, wiping Papazian’s blood onto the back leg of his cargo pants. He had to do the same with his left boot without looking obvious.

And without looking like he was performing a rain dance.

Everyone waited on him expectantly.

He had no choice but to shift his weight and fake-scratch at his other leg.

At that moment a burst of music exploded from his pocket: AAAH LIKE BIG BUTTS AND I CANNOT LIE!

He fumbled out the RoamZone, saw Joey on the caller ID.

YOU OTHABROTHAZ CAN’T—

He thumbed the green button to stop the atrocious ringtone.

Joey’s voice came through. “Well, did you find him? What happened?”

Turning slightly from the stunned residents, Evan said in a low voice, “Impeccably bad timing. And the ringtone? Better go away.”

“Oh,” Joey said. “Oh, yeah. Sorry ’bout that.”

He hung up, gave a quick check of the wiped-clean toes of his boots, and approached the love seats. As long as he faced the others, they wouldn’t see the blood streaks on the backs of his pant legs.

He said flatly, “What happened to Ida?”

“Okay,” Lorilee said, shouldering her way to the front. “Well, I was stuck at my place last night because the cleaning lady was coming. And then I had to rush out to Pilates and, let’s see, grab an a?ai bowl for dinner—”

“Lorilee.” Evan told his face to smile but managed only an impatient twitch of the lips. “What happened to Ida?”

“Right. Sorry. So I got back late and found her bleeding on the sidewalk right out front.”

Evan felt his irritation harden into something sharper-edged. “What happened?”

Lorilee’s face broke, an approximation of sobbing. She threw her arms wide. “Can you just hold me?”

Evan said, “No.”

But it was too late. She collapsed into him, crying. Her breasts had about as much give as cannonballs.

Awkwardly he patted her back twice and extracted himself. “What happened?” he asked again.

“She got robbed,” Johnny Middleton said. “That classy necklace she was showing off? A guy clocked her and ripped it off. Sounds like some fucked-up shit, man. If I was there, I woulda…” He made a few choku-zuki punches in the air, his fist position too low and then too high. It looked like semicoordinated flailing. “I mean, who the hell decks a eighty-something-year-old lady?”

“It’s important that we all take proper precautions,” Hugh said. “Until this maniac is caught.”

“Is she at the hospital?” Evan asked.

“She’s back home now,” Hugh said with a paternal nod. “Resting.”

Evan felt that sharp-edged anger shift inside him again and reminded himself that Ida Rosenbaum and her antique jewelry were not his concern. He wouldn’t let anything derail him from the mission objectives.

“Thanks for letting me know,” Evan said. “I’ll keep an eye out.” He backed away toward the elevators, not wanting to expose the bloodstains at his calves.

Everyone was still looking at him. He found himself offering another little wave, a ridiculous flare of the hand that had inexplicably become his trademark.

It wasn’t until the elevator doors closed behind him that he realized he’d been holding his breath.



* * *



The instant he’d shut his penthouse door, Evan stripped naked. Using his boots as a tray, he carried his clothes across the great room and laid them before the freestanding fireplace. He fished two steel shanks from the ashes and a scorched watch fob, all that remained of his outfit’s last iteration, and then fired up a trio of cedar logs. Once the flames were sufficiently robust, he fed them the clothing he’d worn to Papazian’s house.