The Manolo Matrix (27 page)

“It’s not your fault,” I said firmly. From across the table, Devlin squeezed my hand, as if sayingit’s not your fault, either. But I knew that it was. At least a little bit, Fifi’s blood was on my hands. And, unless I

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was careful, Brian’s would be, too.

“You have to stay hidden,” I said. “She might still be looking for you.”

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“She?”

“The killer’s a woman, Bri. That freaky bitch we saw at Bergdorf’s. The one who tossed the Manolos.”

“Holy shit. Tell the cops. Get them looking for her.”

“I can’t,” I said. I took a deep breath. “But maybe you can.”

“What?”

I looked up at Devlin, saw that his face was tight. I mouthed a question:Okay?

For a second, he didn’t do anything, but then he nodded.

I exhaled and spoke into the phone. “When you talk to the police tell them about the girl in Bergdorf’s.”

Describing her to the police probably wouldn’t do any good. But maybe we’d get lucky. We certainly hadn’t with the shot glass. And since we were now operating without complete clues, I figured we needed whatever advantage we could grab. “Tell them about how she was acting strange. About, I don’t know, about whatever you want. Just don’t say it came from me. I call the cops, I’m in trouble.More trouble,” I amended. “But you saw her, too. She was acting suspicious. Following us, even. But that’sall you know, Brian. You can’t know anything about the game.”

“I don’t know anything,” Brian said flatly, “except that my cousin is dead.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I know, Jenn. I—” His voice broke.

“You have to stay hidden,” I said. “You understand that?”

“I’ve got a show, Jenn. I’ve got rehearsals. I’ve got opening night. I’ve got—”

“A life, Brian. And if you want to keep it, you need to do what I say.”

“Jenn…”

“At least for a day or so. Make up an excuse. Give me time here. We’re going to end this thing, Devlin and I. I promise we are. So please, just lay low for a little bit. Please. For me. I don’t think I could stand it if something happened to you.”

Silence, and then, “You’re going to get the bitch who killed him, right?”

“I promise.” I didn’t know how I’d make good on that promise, but when I said it, I meant it.

“I want to help.”

“I know you do,” I said. But about that, I wasn’t promising anything. I’d already dragged him into this. I

really didn’t want to pull him in any further. “I have to go,” I said. “Be careful.”

“You, too.”

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We hung up, and Devlin passed me a napkin. I must have looked confused, because he reached out and brushed his thumb across my cheek. I’d been crying, and I didn’t even realize it.

“You okay?” he asked.

“No.” I stood up. “Let’s get out of here.”

Since we were already near the Plymouth Theater, we decided to check there first to see if anybody had left something for us at the box office. If we got lucky, great. If not, we’d hoof it back up Sixth to the

Jekyll & Hyde Club. Mostly, I just needed to move. To feel like we were making progress.

Because once we stopped making progress, the game was all over. Once that happened, we were
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really and truly fucked.

“She’s going to find us,” I continued. “We’re going to be running around town trying to figure out some missing clue, and that bird bitch is going to find us.”

Devlin went as still as stone beside me. Alarmed, I turned to him. “What did you call her?” he asked.

“Bird Bitch,” I said, a little cautiously. “It’s stupid, but that was the nickname I gave her.”

“Why?” he asked, his fingers just a little too tight on my arm.

“Um, Devlin, I’m not—”

“Why did you give her that nickname? You only saw her the one time before this morning, didn’t you? In

Bergdorf’s?”

“Right. But she was wearing a halter. And she had this huge—”

“Tattoo,” he finished, closing his eyes, and then letting go of my arm so that he could rub his temple.

“Birdie,” he whispered, and when he turned to me, his eyes were lit with excitement. And also, I thought, with fear. “I know her,” he said. “I know who our assassin is.”

DEVLIN

Rage burned through Devlin as his long strides ate up the sidewalk. They’d left the café and were heading toward Broadway. Ostensibly to cut up from there to 45th Street and check in at the Plymouth’s box office. But Devlin wasn’t thinking about any of that. Not about the possibility that the Plymouth house manager could be holding a clue, not about the Jekyll & Hyde Club, not even about the woman trotting along beside him, trying desperately to match his pace.

No, all he was thinking about was that he’d been had. He’d been taken for a fool, and he’d been used.

That was beginning to be a goddamn habit. He thought about Randall, his partner, now cold in his grave.

Randall had turned on Devlin, had gone so far as to try to take him out once Devlin got wind that he was on the take. But Devlin had won. It had cost him everything, but he’d won.

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He’d won against Birdie once before, too. But could he do it again?

“Devlin.Devlin! ” Jenn reached out and grabbed his arm, yanking him to a stop. “What is going on?”

“I helped put her away,” he said. They’d stopped in a storefront, a kind of open space where various vendors set up shop. He stepped further inside, moving away from the street. “About five years ago. She was on the fringes of an organization we were taking down. I was doing grunt work. Paper pushing. But I

ran across some anomalies, and they tracked back to this woman. This hard-as-nails woman who’d do just about anything if the price was right.”

“You caught her,” Jenn said.

“Not me. The FBI. But, yeah. She wouldn’t have gone down if it weren’t for me.”

He watched Jenn’s face as she processed that information. “So this is personal. She’s got a personal vendetta against you.” Her brow furrowed. “We were right. It isn’t coincidence that we’re involved.

Someone’s hand-picking the players.”

“Looks that way.”

“There’s one thing I don’t get, though.” She cleared her throat, her cheeks flushing as she focused on the ground rather than on him. “If you…I mean, if you and Birdie, you know, then
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why—”

“Didn’t I realize who she was while we were doing the nasty?”

She grimaced. “I wouldn’t have put it that way, but yeah.”

“I never saw her, those years ago. I read her file. I followed her trail. But I never actually saw her.”

“Not even a picture?”

He shook his head. “She was good. We didn’t have any pictures. Once she was in custody, there were mug shots, but by then, I was on to other things. I’d been low man on the totem pole, but the work I did got me noticed. By the time she was actually captured, I’d been shifted to other assignments.”

“But you knew about the tattoo?”

“That I knew. Witness statements. It’s pretty distinctive.”

“And yet the other night…”

“Let’s just say that I thought she was so enthused by the moment that she never managed to completely disrobe. Now it makes sense. She kept the tattoo covered on purpose.”

“Oh.”

He reached out and took her hand. “Jenn, it didn’t mean—I was lost. Or I was trying to get lost.”

She turned moving backwards into the racks of purses that lined the little cubicle they’d entered.

“You don’t owe me an explanation.”

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“No,” he said. “I don’t owe you one. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to explain anyway.”

“Devlin, I—oh,shit! ” He reached out, grabbing the metal grate from which the purses hung, and shoving it, hard, so that it started to tumble. Then she grabbed his arm and pulled him toward her. “Run!”

He ran, following on her heels as the purse rack clattered to the ground behind them. A sharpwhiz sounded by his ear, a little too close for comfort, and he hit the ground, pulling Jenn down with him.

Together, they crawled behind a glass case filled with jewelry.

“Stay down!”

“No shit,” she said.

He pulled out his clutch piece, then lifted his head just enough to see a woman with dark glasses, a platinum blond wig, and a long black trench coat picking her way over the purse rack. She was partially hidden behind other racks and cases, but he could see clearly enough that her weapon had a laser sight.

State of the art, and far outmatching the piece he’d hidden at his ankle.

Still, if he could just get a good shot…

He looked around, assessing the area. The place hadn’t been too busy. Most of the customers bought things from the vendors at the front door; fewer ventured into the back. An Asian woman was prone on the floor, and Devlin marked her as one of the vendors. A twenty-something redhead with spandex shorts, a fanny pack, and aLion King t-shirt—a tourist—huddled in a corner. Devlin couldn’t see any more civilians, but he figured they were out there. He assumed at least one of them had called 911.

Birdie probably assumed as much as well, which meant she wasn’t going to try to wait them out.

She’d leave soon, probably taking a hostage just in case.

And she’d try for them again at the next opportunity.

As if to prove his point, she reached down and hauled the redhead to her feet. She jabbed the gun into her side, looked around, and then headed back out the way she’d come in. Less then three minutes, Devlin knew, and she’d gopher into the subway tunnels. He wasn’t worried about
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the tourist. Birdie wanted him. And she wanted her freedom. She wasn’t going to increase her exposure by killing a civilian.

As soon as she stepped out onto the street, Devlin took Jenn’s arm. He led her in a crouch to the back of the space, then pushed out through the emergency exit. He still had his gun out, and he covered the area, but it was clear.

“Come on,” he said, heading up the alley and away from Times Square.

“Where are we going?”

“Away. As far away as we can get, and as fast as we can get there.”

BIRDIE

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Twice now. The little bitch has foiled me twice now, and it’s really beginning to piss me off.

I keep my gun pressed to the redhead’s side, hidden from view, as we march down into the subway. I

keep her close, myself at the alert, as we wait for the train to pull in. I wait, watching as the subway belches out its load of passengers, then hang behind as those of us waiting struggle on.

And then, as the doors begin to shut, I shove the girl to the ground, catch the door, and hustle inside.

The train pulls away, and I aim an air kiss toward the girl. Why not? In a way, she just saved my ass.

I don’t bother to take a seat, as I’m getting off at the next stop anyway. And as I hang onto the bar, I

consider my next move. First, of course, I’ll lose this outfit. It was, I realize, a mistake, but I’d still been in the biker shorts and top when the tracker had kicked back on. I’d been in a brutal hurry, and I’d wanted something to hide the outfit and my hair. So I’d gone for the quick fix, making purchases I

normally would never have considered. I hadn’t expected Jennifer to notice me, but she did.

I give her credit for that. Like me, she’s tuned to notice those little fashion faux pas.

I try to think what’s nearby, and remember a row of clothing stores on Avenue of the Americas.

I can pick up something suitable and then head to my next destination.

As the subway pulls into the station, I pull the shot glass out of my pocket. The Jekyll & Hyde Club, it says. And that’s all it says.

It must be a clue, this glass that I watched tumble from Jennifer’s fingers.

I don’t know if she held on to it long enough to see the logo, but I hope so. Because I intend to go there next. And my hope is that Jennifer and Devlin will join me there.

Not for lunch, but definitely for some entertainment.

JENNIFER

Holy shit.

The whole time we were running, that phrase was whipping through my head. And if I hadn’t noticed her loitering by a jewelry case, Devlin might be dead.

Oh, God.

I stopped, bent over, and put my head down between my legs. In a second, Devlin was at my side. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“You could have been killed,” I said, still sucking in air. I think I was hyperventilating. I told myself this was an audition. I had to play calm, cool, and collected. The unruffled Lady of the Manor. Two more breaths and I stood up straight and faced him. “I’m okay. I’m okay now.”

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“You’re sure?”

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Instead of answering, I turned in a circle. “Where are we?”

“A few blocks from the library. Come on.” He took my hand and walked me to the corner bus stop. He checked traffic, then pulled me back against a building. Beside us, a fruit stand beckoned, and people bought apples, bananas, and bundles of flowers. Normal stuff.

“You hungry?”

I realized I was staring and shook my head. “Just thinking. Jesus, Devlin.”

“I know.” He frowned. “I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but maybe she put some sort of device in my tennis shoes. Or maybe someone else is tailing us and relaying our position to her.”

“I don’t know what to do about the tail, but let’s find a Foot Locker or something and get you some new shoes.”

He didn’t argue, and after we got our bearings, we realized there was a shoe store just a few blocks over. We were lucky and managed to get a salesclerk’s attention right off the bat. As the guy went off for

Devlin’s shoes, we sat waiting, eyeing everyone who walked by. I don’t know about Devlin, but I was on pins and needles, expecting the bird bitch to pop out from around corners, maybe even drop from the ceiling brandishing an Uzi.