Deadtown
Page 38I leaned forward. “Hey, Gordon.”
“Yes, madam?”
The head didn’t turn; the eyes didn’t flick to the rearview mirror. I spoke to the back of the chauffeur’s cap. “Didn’t anyone ever tell Frank not to call women broads?”
“Apparently not, madam.”
“Well, somebody should.”
“Yes, madam.”
I could see that Gordon and I were not likely to have much in the way of a scintillating conversation, so I sat and stared out the window. Commuters hurried by on their way to work, some pausing to see what was going on in the diner, others rushing past without breaking their stride. Kane must be on his way to the office now, too. I wondered how he’d reacted when he found out his kidnapping scheme didn’t work. He must’ve been mad as hell at those norms for bungling it. I’d bet his next move would be to call me up, pretending to play nice, like nothing had happened. He’d be in for a surprise.
A tall blonde emerged from the crowd in front of the diner. I couldn’t tell whether she’d been inside or was one of the gawkers. But I knew who she was—Sheila Gravett, the biogeneticist. I ducked down in my seat, then realized she couldn’t see me through the tinted glass. I watched her pull out her cell phone and talk for a minute, one hand to her ear to block the noise. It was likely she’d been in there, chum ming around with Baldwin. She must love the guy, with his promise to take away PAs’ limited rights. He’d make it open season on monsters like me.
Gravett snapped her phone shut and briskly walked away, toward the Common. I sighed, wondering what Gwen had decided about Maria. I’d try to talk some sense into her tomorrow, when we met for lunch.
I looked back at the diner. Why did Baldwin want to talk to me? Probably he needed me to take care of some Harpies for him. After all, that’s how I’d met his buddy Lucado. Maybe Frank had given me a reference. Or maybe Daniel had briefed him that Difethwr was on the loose inside Boston. But there was no reason to do that, since Baldwin wasn’t governor. Yet, anyway. So why would Daniel—?
Oh, no. Daniel. My heart sank. I was supposed to meet him yesterday to talk to the witches. I’d missed the meeting because of the kidnap attempt, but I’d forgotten all about Daniel. I felt like such a jerk. I remembered the warmth in his voice when we spoke on the phone, the way he’d squeezed my hand at Creature Comforts. This was terrible. I needed to let him know why I stood him up.
I leaned forward again. “Gordon, you got a cell phone?”
“No, madam.”
Shit. “Then can you drive me to a pay phone? It’ll take two minutes, I swear. Frank will never know we were gone.”
Gordon was silent. I took this to mean he was considering my request.
“We’ll tell him the cops moved us along, and you had to circle the block. Please, Gordon. It’s urgent.”
“I’ll give you twenty dollars. Twenty bucks, Gordon, for two minutes’ work.”
Gordon seemed to have lost the power of speech.
“Okay, fifty. It’s all I’ve got on me—if you’ll leave me fifty cents to make the call.”
Still nothing. That chauffeur’s cap didn’t move an inch.
Then the engine started up, and we cut off a taxi as we pulled into traffic. Over the blare of the taxi’s horn, I could hear, “Very good, madam.”
20
I STOOD AT A PAY PHONE IN FRONT OF A DRUGSTORE, listening to Daniel’s home phone ring. Butterflies galore, but this time there were lots of different kinds—the usual ones, definitely, but also anxiety that I’d stood him up and worry that he’d needed me at that meeting. I felt awful. It’d be reassuring just to hear his voice.
The line clicked as he picked up, and I felt my heartbeat go into overdrive.
“Hello?” said a woman’s voice, thick with sleep.
I nearly dropped the phone. “Oh, um, I think I must have dialed the wrong number. I’m looking for Daniel Costello.”
“No, Danny’s here.” Danny? “Hang on.” There was a thunk as she put the phone down. Her voice called out dimly, “Danny? Phone’s for you.”
My heart was beating harder than ever, but now it was beating somewhere down in the region of my toes.
Daniel came on the line with a voice like sandpaper. “Costello.”
“Did I wake you up?” Or maybe I’d interrupted some bedroom activity besides sleeping. The thought gave me a moment of grim satisfaction.
“It’s okay. I’d have been up in a minute, anyway.” He paused, and I pictured him running a hand through his blond curls. I wondered what he was wearing: Pajamas? A bathrobe? Boxer shorts? Nothing at all? “Um, who is this?”
“Vicky! Thank God. I was worried about you.” Relief colored his voice, but I couldn’t help thinking yeah, right, so worried that you just spent the night with some bimbo. I almost said it, too, but I bit my tongue, hard enough to taste blood.
Be businesslike, I thought. I still wanted to know what he’d found out from the witches. “I’m sorry I missed our meeting yesterday. I ran into some trouble and couldn’t get to a phone. But I—”
“Trouble? What kind of trouble?”
“Nothing serious. Just unavoidable.”
“So you’re okay.”
“Yes, I’m fine. I just wanted to know—”
“It is so great to hear your voice. I even called around the hospitals. Sounds like something my mother would do.” I could hear the smile in his voice, which brought up an image of the way his blue eyes twinkled. “But I was worried.”
I didn’t reply, because I was trying to figure out the best way to end this phone call both gracefully and fast.
“Listen, though,” he said, “I’ve got a few questions for you. Plus, I want to brief you on what the witches said, see if I’m missing anything. If you’ve got time, I’d love to see you. Can you meet me around ten, ten thirty?”
I wasn’t so sure I’d love to see him right now. But I might as well get it over with. “Can we make it earlier? I’m working dusk to dawn, so I need to get some sleep during the day.”
“Sure. What time is it now? Seven thirty. How about we meet at the precinct at quarter past eight?”
“Okay.” Hanging up, I felt a kind of sour pleasure in the thought that now he wouldn’t have time to go back to bed. Whatever he’d been doing there.
I WAS BACK AT THE DINER BEFORE BALDWIN FINISHED HIS meet-and-greet. Gordon stared straight ahead, the back of his chauffeur’s cap positively beaming with satisfaction.
Which wasn’t exactly the emotion I was feeling. Daniel had sounded genuinely glad to hear from me; he’d kept that sexy warmth in his voice throughout the call. But he didn’t live alone. No way that husky, sleepy voice that had answered the phone belonged to a housekeeper. Or his mom. I had to face facts. Daniel was married—so how come he didn’t wear a ring, damn it?—or else he lived with someone. Now that I thought about it, his wife or girlfriend or whoever she was couldn’t have been too pleased to overhear the conversation. It wasn’t anything he said so much as the way he said it: I’d love to see you, all warm and glowing and promising myriad pleasures. He probably got away with sounding like that because she was in the shower. Or in the kitchen, making his goddamn breakfast. What a jerk.
“You know something, Gordon?”
“That phone call wasn’t worth fifty bucks.”
“Few are, madam.”
Before Gordon and I could continue our philosophical discussion, the diner door opened. Cameras flashed like strobe lights as Lucado and Baldwin made their way through the crowd. Lucado barreled right through and got into the limo, collapsing on the leather seat like he’d just run a marathon. Baldwin, on the other hand, took his time, stopping to shake hands and give hearty thumps on the back. I didn’t see any babies in the crowd, but if there were any, I’m sure he kissed them.
Baldwin looked different in person than he had on TV. For one thing, he was shorter than I’d imagined him, but then he’d been sitting down during the interview. Funny how sitting down can make short people look tall. Also, as he ducked his head to get inside the limo, I could see that he dyed his hair—gray roots peeked out at the part. Once seated in the limo, Baldwin opened the window and waved to the crowd. Gordon steered the limo into traffic. And we were off.
Baldwin shut the window, then leaned back and closed his eyes. His skin was doughy and yellowish—another difference from his TV persona. Eyes still closed, he pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his face. The effect was like a magician waving a magic wand. He sat up, eyes bright and attentive, looking almost as good as he had in the studio. He turned to me, smiling a big white shiny politician’s smile.
“So you’re Victory Vaughn,” he said.
No need to contradict him on that one. I waited to see what else he had to say.
“I wish you had come inside and joined us. It would have been something for voters to see me having breakfast with the woman who saved that poor man from the monsters.”
For one wild moment, I thought he was being sarcastic, talking about that thug I’d mauled in panther form. Then I realized he meant the director who’d gotten himself attacked in Creature Comforts, the norm who’d made me famous—temporarily, I hoped. I went for a nonchalant eyebrow raise, hoping my momentary panic hadn’t shown in my face.
“I’m not here to help your campaign, Mr. Baldwin.”
“No, I suppose not. You’re involved with that werewolf lawyer, aren’t you?”
Involved. What a word, especially since I had no idea what kind of involvement I had with Kane at the moment. So I dodged the question—not that Baldwin deserved an answer, anyway. “His name is Alexander Kane.”
Lucado piped up at that. “Kane? That’s the name you said before, ain’t it? The guy you said couldn’t talk you into doing an interview.” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">