by James Hayman
They kissed one more time. More a quick peck on the cheek than anything else. Then, thank God, they separated and walked in opposite directions. The guy turned north toward Essex Street. Zoe headed south in the direction of her apartment, which was just a couple of blocks away at 121 Clinton Street.
Tyler relaxed his clenched fist. Let the knife fall back into his pocket. Slid the phone into the same pocket. Waited twelve more seconds and then followed.
Chapter 4
Zoe started walking down the familiar stretch of Rivington at a good clip. It was a chilly night for October and it felt like the drizzle might start again any second. She’d barely gone half a block before she heard a deep male voice call out from behind her.
“Zoe? Zoe McCabe? Is that you?”
Zoe turned and spotted a tall man wearing kind of a Crocodile Dundee hat who somehow knew her name. In spite of the hat she could see it was the same guy had who smiled and waved at her back at the Toad.
“Yes. It is you.” He offered a warm smile. “Great to run into you like this.”
Zoe was never really nervous about walking alone in this neighborhood. Even after midnight, the streets were hardly ever totally empty. Still, with this random guy approaching her, she glanced around to make sure there were other people on the street. There were. Quite a few.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Do I know you?”
“It’s Tyler,” he said. “Tyler Bradshaw. We met a couple of weeks ago at the opening night cast and crew party for Othello. I guess you don’t remember. It was just for a minute. I was there with Kitty Mayhew.”
Zoe looked at him closely. And remembered his face. He had been at the party with Kitty, who was the costume designer for the production. Of course, you never knew how many men Kitty might have invited. She had earned a well-deserved reputation for the long list of men she hung out with, and Zoe supposed Tyler might have been just another of Kitty’s alcoholic one-night-stands.
Anyway, knowing they’d met and that he was a friend of a friend . . . well, maybe not a friend but at least someone she knew . . . allowed her to relax. “Well, nice to see you again, Tyler. I’ve got to get home so I’m going to have to say good night.”
She started walking. Then this Tyler guy started walking with her. Not what she’d intended. “A woman as attractive as you shouldn’t be walking the streets alone at this time of night. Let me walk you home.”
“It really isn’t necessary. I live nearby. I’m perfectly safe.” She studied his face for a second and realized where she had seen him before, which had nothing to do with either the Toad or Kitty Mayhew. “Didn’t I see you in the theater? McArthur/Weinstein. Not once but a bunch of times? In fact every single performance?”
The guy smiled sheepishly. “You noticed me?”
“Yes. Of course.”
He wondered how many other cast members had noticed him sitting there night after night. “You’ve discovered my secret,” he said. “I’m a Shakespeare buff and Othello is one of my three favorite plays. I see all three whenever I can. And yes I caught every performance of you and Randall Carter. From the front row. You were both great.”
Great or not, Zoe found that kind of weird. “Do you always watch every performance of plays you like?”
“God no. But this was a limited run and I really enjoyed it.”
Zoe’s curiosity got the better of her. “What are your two other favorites?”
“Lear and Macbeth. But I like Othello the best. I know just about every line and I didn’t want a miss a single performance, especially not with Randall Carter playing the Moor. He was wonderful.”
“Yes. Randall’s a terrific actor. But still, every performance? Doesn’t it get old?”
“I don’t think so. I mean, does listening to your favorite symphony over and over again get old? Or watching your favorite ballet? Or reading a favorite poem?”
She nodded. He had a point. She’d listened to Beethoven’s Ninth for three solid days after Alex left. She loved the music, and the Ode to Joy invariably made her feel better and determined not to mope around feeling sorry for herself.
“Besides, it wasn’t just Carter. Your Desdemona was fabulous. You really stole the show. As far as I’m concerned you were the star.”
Zoe smiled, genuinely flattered. “Thank you, but Randall Carter was the star. And David McGee.” McGee was the British actor who’d played Iago. He’d probably be going uptown with the show as well. Zoe started walking again. Bradshaw kept pace.
She glanced at the side of his face and thought for the first time that she might just be slightly interested. This Bradshaw guy was very good-looking, a little like the actor Zac Efron, only a whole lot taller. And tougher-looking.
Especially with that six-inch scar that ran down the left side of his neck. She wondered where he’d gotten that and found herself curious enough to want to find out. But not yet.
“Is there any truth to the rumor that Carter might be taking this production of Othello up to the Vivian Beaumont?” Bradshaw asked.
Zoe was surprised by the question. Randall Carter’s plans for the show were supposedly secret. Though in the New York theater world there were few if any real secrets. “Now where did you hear a thing like that?” she asked.
“Oh, around.”
“Around? I see. Are you in the business?”
“In a manner of speaking. I’m an entertainment lawyer.”
“You don’t look like a lawyer. My dad’s a lawyer and he’d never wear anything like what you’ve got on. Specially the hat.”
“It’s Sunday. I’m not in the office. Think of it as shabby chic.”
Zoe laughed. “And what do you do as an entertainment lawyer?”
“Mostly I do work for movie and TV production companies. The boring stuff. Working out contracts. Options. Financing deals. Distribution rights. And sometimes making deals for actors. For example, if somebody ever offers you a percentage of the profits on your next movie, you should call me. I’m your guy.”
“Fat chance. My next movie will be my first movie.”
Zoe turned the corner onto Clinton Street. Bradshaw followed. “You live this way?” she asked.
“Yes. I’m just on the corner of Clinton and Stanton. The new building facing Stanton? The one with the stainless-steel front? How about you?”
Zoe knew the building Tyler was talking about. She could see it from her fifth-floor windows. She wondered which apartment was his. Wondered if he could see her. She didn’t like the idea that he might. But it probably didn’t matter. She was careful about keeping her shades drawn.
Chapter 5
“Is yours one of the old tenements?” he asked.
She pushed thoughts of voyeurism from her mind. “It was until it got all rehabbed and modernized a couple of years ago.”
“A lot of history in those old buildings,” he said.
“Umm, a lot of history. Most of it not good,” Zoe responded. “Back in the early 1900s more than eighty people lived crammed in my building alone. Now there’s maybe a dozen and it still feels cramped.”
“Sounds like you researched it?”
“I did,” she said. “Have you ever been to the Tenement Museum?”
“Nope. One of those things I keep meaning to do and not doing.”
“They’ve got some photos of my building the way it was more than a hundred years ago. Photos of some of the people who lived there. Thirteen or fourteen people and God knows how many rats and cockroaches crammed into every tiny room. Pretty much sleeping on top of each other. Sometimes on a few dirty mattresses. Most of the rooms had no windows. And there was only one toilet for the whole building. Today? A whole different thing. Two apartments per floor. Still tiny but”—she made finger quotes in the air—“tres chic, with an elevator that barely fits two people as long as they’re not fat.” Two twenty-something guys walked past them in the opposite direction. Both had their eyes locked on Zoe. She ignored them.
“And expensive,
right?” said Bradshaw.
“Oh yeah. I get a total of four hundred square feet for a mere three thousand a month.”
“Three grand. Not bad for this neighborhood, at least not these days, but still, Othello must pay well.”
“Yeah, right,” she said sarcastically. “Sadly, off-off Broadway pays practically nothing.”
“I get it. You’ve got a rich boyfriend?”
Zoe smiled. She was beginning to like this guy. “Not anymore. Just a few really good TV commercials that seem to run and run. Thank God for residuals. They should keep me from having to model or waitress again.”
“Yeah, I think I’ve seen you in a spot for some car insurance company that seems to be on all the time? You play the teenage daughter who’s just learning to drive? Your dad has a worried look on his face?”
Zoe laughed. “Yeah. The casting director thought I could pass for a teenager. Haven’t been one for five years so I wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or not. Good gig though. If they keep running it on the networks, that one alone can pay the rent and then some.”
A police cruiser turned right from Rivington onto Clinton and headed in their direction. The cop slowed when he saw them. He lowered the window and leaned across. “Everything okay, folks?”
Bradshaw tilted his head down so the brim covered his face and said nothing. But Zoe smiled. Cops had always been part of her extended family. “Just fine, Officer. My friend here’s just walking me home.”
The cop gave her a smile and drove on.
“What was he stopping for?” said Bradshaw.
“Just doing his job. What do you care? What are you, a wanted felon or something?”
“Yeah,” he said with a smile. “Don’t tell anyone but I’m the secret leader of al-Qaeda in America. The feds have been hunting me down for years.”
She laughed.
They reached Zoe’s building a couple of minutes later. Number 121. A homeless guy, wrapped in a clutter of rags, old blankets and black plastic bags, was zonked out on the sidewalk. He was tucked in the corner just under the steps going up to Zoe’s door and looked dead to the world. Still, Zoe took five dollars from her pocket, walked over and tucked it in just under his blanket.
“Friend of yours?” asked Tyler.
“No. Just someone who needs a little kindness every now and again.”
Zoe stopped at the bottom of the steps to her house and held out her hand.
“Well, good night, Tyler,” she said. “Thank you for walking me home.”
She started up the stairs to her front door.
Just as she got to the top step and pushed her key into the lock, Bradshaw called out, “Zoe?”
She turned and looked at him questioningly. “Yes?”
Tyler started up the stairs.
“What is it?”
“Nothing, I guess,” he said as he got to the next to top step. “It’s just that . . . well . . . I’d like to see you again. Maybe we could have dinner or something?”
She thought about that for a few seconds, then offered a polite but mostly neutral smile. “I don’t think so. Maybe at some point, but now is not a good time.”
“I’d really like to.”
“I’m sorry but I’m afraid the answer has to be no.” She turned the key and pushed the door open.
“Did I really turn you off so completely?”
Zoe sighed. “No,” she said, holding the door ajar. “It’s not that. You seem like a really nice guy. And you’re very attractive. It’s just that . . .”
“Just that what?”
“Look Tyler, it’s been only a little more than a week since I broke up with someone I’ve been living with for more than two years. Anyway, I’m not interested in dating anyone right now. I want to take some time off before I even think about dating again.”
“What about that guy at the Toad?”
“I told him the same thing. Good night,” she said again. “And thank you again for walking me home.”
“Okay then. Good night,” said Tyler, still on the top step. He turned and started down the steps.
Zoe pushed the door open and entered the building’s small lobby, the door automatically closing behind her. She sensed more than saw one of Tyler Bradshaw’s long arms reach out and stop it less than a second before it would have locked shut. He pushed his way into the lobby behind her.
Zoe turned. “What the hell do you think you’re—”
Her words were cut off in midsentence when Tyler grabbed her by the shoulders, whipped her around. She tried fighting back but then felt two large hands slide around her neck. The hands squeezed. Zoe’s carotid arteries compressed. Blood stopped flowing to her brain. The light in the hallway seemed to turn to black. Within seconds she lost consciousness and slid to the floor.
Chapter 6
Tyler Bradshaw glanced out through the glass panel in the front door to make sure no one had seen them. As far as he could tell, no one had. He barely glanced at the row of ten mailboxes lined up on the wall to the left, each with a tenant’s name on it. He already knew which one was hers. 5F. The front apartment on the top floor.
He pulled a pair of latex gloves from his pocket and slipped them on. He picked up Zoe’s keys from where she’d dropped them. He told himself to move fast. You never knew when some other tenant might walk in through the door. Hauling Zoe into an upright position, he held her unconscious body against his own. If anybody did appear, he’d act like he was just bringing her home after she’d had too much to drink at her closing night celebration.
He walked her over to the small elevator, pressed a gloved finger against the button. He was glad there was an elevator. He kept himself in good enough shape to have carried her up the five flights without breathing too hard but he was glad he didn’t have to. After a few seconds the door slid open. He pushed her into the small car and pressed five. He stood tapping his foot waiting for the damned door to close. Finally it did. The car began its slow, silent ascent. As it was going up, Tyler pulled the handkerchief that had been wrapped around Curly-Top’s glass from his backpack. He propped Zoe up against the back wall of the elevator car, opened her mouth and gently pushed it in. Not too hard. Not too deep. She exhibited no gag reflex. That was good. The idea was to keep her quiet, not choke her to death.
The elevator stopped. The door slid open. Tyler lifted Zoe out onto the landing. He needed to get her inside the apartment fast. She’d been out for nearly three minutes and could easily wake up any second. He saw only two doors on the fifth floor. Zoe’s was the one to the right. He tried a couple of the keys on her key ring. The first one didn’t fit. The second one did. He unlocked and opened the door and pushed his beautiful Desdemona inside. He kicked the door closed behind him. Relocked it.
Carrying Zoe into the living room, Tyler began to feel her body move against his own. She was waking up from the chokehold, and the movement excited him. Made him think of pleasures to come. Still, it meant she would soon regain consciousness and start to resist. He used his foot to push a beautifully crafted hand-carved coffee table out of the way and placed his prize specimen facedown on the rug that lay beneath it. Imitation Navajo. Or, who the hell knew, maybe the real thing. He knelt next to her. The rug really wasn’t thick enough to muffle any thumping or banging from Zoe. Hopefully 4F was occupied by a sound sleeper. Or even better, somebody not at home.
He pulled her arms up behind her back. Snapped a pair of flex cuffs around both wrists. Pulled them tight and checked the fit to make sure her hands, so slender and elegant, couldn’t slip through the loops. He next rummaged in his backpack and found a large roll of duct tape. He flipped her over onto her back and used the tape to cover her mouth with the handkerchief inside, making sure to keep her nose clear so she could breathe. He then wrapped the tape several times around her head until he was sure it would be secure against any efforts to dislodge it. Finally, he tore off another few lengths and secured her ankles.
Fully conscious now, Zoe stared up
at him. Confusion morphed into fear, then into panic. She struggled to open her mouth to scream. Only a garbled choking sound came out.
He wanted to calm her down. Help her realize she was safe. He smiled.
Then leaned down and softly kissed her on her forehead. “You’re okay,” he said in the most loving voice he could muster. “Just relax. I’m going to take good care of you. You have nothing to worry about.”
She stopped struggling for an instant, stared up at him and then began bucking and rearing in a desperate attempt to escape. Tyler pushed both her shoulders down on the floor. Put his mouth inches from her ear, wanting to whisper further reassurances. She tried head-butting him but missed.
He lay on top of her body to keep her still. He liked how it felt. “Try to be quiet now, Zoe. Just lie here and try to relax,” he said in a tone one might use to calm a terrified child.
“I know all of this is hard for you to understand. But you’re perfectly safe with me. I’m not going to hurt you. You just have to do exactly as I say. We don’t want you to hurt yourself with all this thrashing around, do we?”
The only response from Zoe was a keening sound emerging from deep within her chest. It sounded to Tyler like the noise dolphins or maybe whales made on the nature shows he sometimes watched on the National Geographic Channel. It didn’t much matter. The sounds weren’t loud enough for the neighbors to hear. At least he didn’t think so. Still, it didn’t pay to take chances.
“Sssh,” he said softly, continuing to use his body mass to hold her still. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. I told you I’m not going to hurt you. Why would I want to do that? Hey.” He paused. “I love you.” He smiled. “Perhaps not wisely but too well.”
That stopped Zoe, but it was only a second before she resumed her struggle.
“I just want you to love me back.”
He stripped off a glove and stroked her hair and cheek with one hand in an effort to calm her down. It didn’t work. The sound from her throat only grew louder. When he released the pressure on her body, she started struggling again, even more wildly than before. She began banging her head against the floor. Dammit. What the hell was she trying to do? She was going to hurt herself doing that. Give herself a concussion. He knew all about concussions. He’d suffered a bunch, including the mother of them all when his father tossed him into that pool. Tyler slapped her face hard enough to hurt and told her to lie still. That seemed to work, at least for a moment. She looked up at him, eyes still wide with fear. He grabbed a cushion from the couch and slid it under her head.