Uptown Thief

by Aya De León

  “And more kissing,” he said, working his way down across her belly, keeping one hand on her breast, rubbing his fingers back and forth across her nipple.

  Marisol moaned.

  “And some good old-fashioned licking,” he said, sliding his tongue down through her pubic hair. “See this is the place where women are so clearly superior. You all can have an infinite amount of pleasure.”

  He glided his tongue down between her lips and she gasped. Slid his tongue inside her and rubbed his upper lip across her clitoris, and she arched back on the bed.

  “See?” he said, gently guiding her hand down to feel his returning erection. “I like this at least as much as you do.”

  “Come back inside me, Raul,” she said.

  “Oh no, mami,” he said. “Not yet. Not until I make you come again.”

  He buried his face between her legs until she was screaming with the pleasure of it, then he rolled on another condom and slid back inside her.

  “Ay, Dios, you’re so wet,” he breathed into her ear.

  Marisol felt spent, liquid, fused to the moist sheets. And yet with him licking her breasts, and sliding a thumb down between her lips, rubbing her clitoris again, he managed to awaken the pleasure in her, and she came, but softer this time. Her body undulating with waves of pleasure. Her hips trembling as if they could barely contain all of him, all of the sensation. And then, grinning down at her, he opened his mouth and gasped, as if startled.

  “¡Ay, Marisol!” he choked out, and then he shuddered and jerked, falling down onto her chest.

  She could feel him slipping. They fumbled together to remove the condom. She barely had the energy to tie it and toss it into the bedside trash, before she collapsed back onto the bed and they slept.

  * * *

  Sunlight streamed in the blinds she had forgotten to close. She blinked at the brightness, and looked for Raul. She found him on her laptop at the kitchen counter.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Shit!” he said. “Caught red-handed. I’m trying to find a place that delivers breakfast.”

  Marisol walked over and closed the laptop. “For patient confidentiality reasons, I can’t let anyone use my laptop.”

  He put an arm around her and she tensed.

  “What?” he said. “You think I was snooping around?”

  “You were using my laptop,” she said.

  “My phone network was too slow,” he said. “And I didn’t wanna wake you up to get the wireless password. If I overstepped, I’m sorry.”

  They were interrupted by a knock at the apartment door.

  “Who is it?” Marisol asked.

  “Eva.”

  “It’s a bad time,” Marisol said.

  “I know we haven’t talked a lot lately since the—”

  “Eva, I’m not alone,” Marisol said.

  “Oh. Sorry,” Eva said. Marisol waited to hear retreating footsteps. “But, um, something happened.”

  “Is it Tyesha?” Marisol asked as she went to get her clothes.

  “Not Tyesha,” Eva said. “Somebody vandalized the front of the building.”

  “Like firebombing it wasn’t enough?” Marisol said. She pulled on a pair of jeans, and Raul’s T-shirt, then realized it was his and threw it to him as she struggled into her own shirt.

  Marisol peeked around the door.

  “You really need to come take a look,” Eva whispered. “We had better figure out what to do. Do we call the cops? Or should we call your friend Raul?”

  “I don’t think we’ll need to bother with that call,” Marisol said.

  * * *

  Hastily scrawled graffiti on the wall beside the door:

  Marisol swallowed hard.

  Two men stood next to the lettering with a bucket of paint.

  “I’m gonna have them paint over it right now,” Eva said. “But I didn’t want to hide it from you.”

  “Wait,” Raul said. “I gotta call this in. They need to get a forensics team out here, or at the very least photograph it first.”

  “Come on,” Marisol said. “You all freak out over every little wall tag in New York City?”

  “Marisol,” Raul said. “In the past couple of days, this has been the site of an attempted murder, a self-defense shooting, and a firebombing. I think this is a credible threat, and I intend to inform the authorities. Do you have a problem with that?”

  Marisol shook her head, afraid to speak, lest her voice betray either her wounded pride or her relief.

  “Last night was amazing,” Raul said to her after he hung up the phone. “Dinner again tonight?”

  “Let’s check in later, okay?”

  “Whatever you say, mami,” he said. “Just call me.”

  * * *

  Serena walked up to the front of the clinic. “What now?” she asked.

  “Just graffiti,” Marisol said. “No big deal.”

  “Okay,” Serena said. “I need that narrative for the pregnancy prevention grant ASAP.”

  “I got a higher priority issue,” Marisol said as they swiped in to the security area of the stairwell.

  “What’s higher priority than twenty-five thousand dollars?”

  “I need you to look at my laptop,” Marisol said as they climbed the three flights of stairs. “Can you tell if someone was snooping around on it?”

  “Like who?”

  “Don’t worry about who,” Marisol said. “Can you check what they did online and what files they looked at?”

  “Sure,” Serena said and sat down with the laptop.

  “Here’s what I got in the browser history for today,” she said. “A search for ‘breakfast delivery lower east side.’ A check on a website that lists crime reports in Manhattan and someone checked their Q-mail account. That’s today. You want yesterday?”

  “No,” Marisol said. “What about files they opened?”

  “Spreadsheet file,” Serena said. “Vega financial complete.”

  “What?” Marisol squeezed in next to her and peered at the laptop. “That was this morning?”

  “It autosaved this morning,” Serena said. “It was opened last night.”

  “Was it viewed this morning?”

  “No way to know if it was viewed,” Serena said. “The file was open.”

  “Could someone have sent the file on Q-mail?”

  Serena raised her eyebrows. “Hold on, let me try something.”

  She pulled up a program with mostly text and codes, and clicked through several screens. “Whoever used Q-mail today didn’t move a lot of data. It’s unlikely that they sent a file. But I can check one other thing.”

  She opened a word processing document. “Let’s see what was on the clipboard.”

  She hit the paste function.

  “messaging consistent with the goal of making health care available to everyone, regardless of their legal status or engagement in sex work, as well as” popped up on the screen.

  “That’s from my board meeting last night,” Marisol said.

  “Then it doesn’t look like anyone cut and pasted from your document into their e-mail,” Serena said. “Does that mean we’re okay?”

  Marisol shrugged. “I just wish I knew what was in that e-mail,” she said. “I’ll have the grant proposal info for you in an hour. And then I want you to put a security password on this motherfucker.”

  When she got her laptop back, she did a search for Raul online. Several stories corroborated what he’d said: the police brutality case, the kid dying, the settlement out of court, the other cops fired. Barrios was offered his job back, but the story didn’t say whether or not he’d taken it.

  Part of her had almost hoped to catch him in a lie. At least then she wouldn’t have to keep wondering about him.

  Chapter 25

  Two evenings after the shooting, Marisol sat at her desk looking at the New York Daily News website. “Firebombing and Shooting at Lower East Side Hooker Clinic.” She wasn’t as upset about the headlin
e or even the article, as she was about the photograph. In it, she was pictured talking to one of the firefighters. She had her mouth open, but she was clearly identifiable. They got the name wrong, María Rivera, and thank God no one had identified her as the shooter, but it wasn’t the low profile she had hoped to keep.

  Marisol was rereading the article when Raul tapped on her office door and stuck his head in.

  “Hola, guapa,” he said.

  “How’d you get past the boarded-up door?” she asked.

  “Eva let me in,” he said. “Can I take you to dinner tonight?”

  She felt almost shy from the night before. Some part of her was trying to use the issue with the computer as a reason to hold back, but the pull was so strong. To want him, to trust him, to say yes.

  Marisol smiled and closed her laptop. “Where did you have in mind?”

  “Your place,” he said, holding up a bag of takeout.

  Marisol laughed as she gathered her things and turned off the lamp on her desk. “One of these days, we’ll need to go to your place. Unless your girlfriend would mind.”

  Raul looked stricken. “The place is a wreck,” he said as they walked upstairs. “But I’ll take you over there right now. I swear I’m single. Except you. And you haven’t even agreed to be my woman.”

  She didn’t know what to say as she unlocked the door to her apartment.

  He set down the takeout. “I have another present for you.” From the front pocket of his jeans he produced a half page of scratch paper.

  He handed Marisol a handwritten list of about twenty alpha-numeric sequences, each with thirteen digits—mostly numbers.

  “What is it?” Marisol asked. “A secret code?”

  “Better,” he said. “It’s a complete list of all the marked bills stolen from VanDyke.”

  Her smile disappeared. “Why are you giving this to me?”

  He shrugged. “What do you get for the woman who has everything?”

  “What the hell?” she said. “Are you trying to set me up?”

  “Am I what?” he asked.

  “First I catch you sniffing around on my laptop—”

  “I wasn’t sniffing around,” he said. “I was getting breakfast.”

  “—now you want to plant evidence on me from the VanDyke case?”

  “Plant evidence?” His mouth fell open.

  “Are you wearing a wire?” she asked, then leaned into his chest and shouted, “ARE YOU WEARING A FUCKING WIRE?”

  “Have you lost your goddamn mind?” he asked. “I came here with every intention of feeding you dinner, giving you a present that might save your ass, then fucking your brains out. So unless I have some kind of recording device UP MY ASS, I’m not wearing a wire.”

  “I don’t believe you,” she said, and ripped off his shirt. Buttons flew across the floor of her kitchenette, and she ran her hands up and down the front and back of his undershirt.

  “Fine,” he said. “Search your little heart out.”

  She unbuckled his belt and let his jeans drop. She sat on the floor at his feet and unlaced his boots, took off his socks, felt around in the shoes.

  She grabbed his jacket and turned the pockets upside down. Pulled out his billfold, his ID, his keys. She tossed them on the armchair and ran her hands across all the jacket fabric.

  “If you wanna do a cavity search, maybe we could work that in later,” he said.

  She turned back around and looked at him, naked in the middle of her kitchenette.

  She felt stupid, embarrassed, out of control. “I’m sorry, Raul,” she said. “I—”

  “I think there are a few external spots you missed,” he said.

  Marisol buried her face in her hands, and felt a flush of embarrassment. “I can’t believe I fucking lost it,” she said. “You must think I’m a lunatic.”

  “You definitely missed a spot.” He took her hand and slowly guided it between his legs. “Under here,” he said, pressing her fingers under his testicles. “You gotta be thorough.”

  She felt around, massaging underneath. “I don’t feel anything that could be a wire,” she said.

  “What about here?” he asked, guiding her hand up to his erection. “I could be hiding something in here.”

  “You could hide a lot in there,” she said. “Maybe two or three wires.”

  He laughed. “I got excited watching you search,” he said. “So driven.”

  “Maybe I’m wearing the wire,” Marisol said. “You might have to search me.”

  “A great idea,” Raul said, leading her to the bed. “But I’ll use the horizontal method.”

  Marisol laughed. “Oh really?”

  “It’s very innovative,” he said. “You work from the bottom up.”

  “Interesting,” Marisol said, as he took off her shoes.

  “This is going to require your full cooperation,” he said as he unzipped her jeans and pulled them down. “Step away from the jeans, miss.”

  She laughed and he pulled her gently onto the bed. “Now, here’s the tricky part,” he said, and lay back on the bed, pulling her up to straddle him.

  He moved his hips to grind his erection against the wet spot in her thong underwear.

  “Are we still searching?” she asked.

  “I got distracted,” he said.

  “Very unprofessional,” she said.

  “Sorry. Back on the case,” he said. “We’ll work our way up.” He began to unbutton her blouse from the bottom up, and slid it down over her shoulders. He unhooked her bra and ran his hands from her waist up to fondle her breasts.

  “Just one area left to search,” she said, hooking her finger into the waistband of her thong.

  “One final safety precaution,” he said, pulling out a condom.

  “Did you learn this in the police academy?” she asked.

  “No, ma’am,” he said. “Just basic common sense.”

  As she rolled off her thong, he rolled on the condom.

  “I think you might need to do an internal search on me,” she said.

  “Great minds think alike,” he said. “I was just preparing the equipment.”

  She slid him into her, riding him, slow at first. She maintained eye contact. Watching his eyes, his face, as his pleasure built. Every intake of his breath, every low moan, every involuntary parting of his lips.

  She watched him with a tenderness that took in everything. The five o’clock shadow on his face, the tiny mole beside his left eye, the plum color of his lips, the subtle indentation where his left ear had once been pierced.

  She watched him, fascinated. The feeling of him inside her was familiar, but the connection was so different. She touched his cheek to make sure he was real. It was different to enjoy a man’s pleasure. To enjoy herself enjoying him.

  She didn’t want to miss anything. She saw the moment that he slid under, could barely contain himself. Then she rode him harder, at just the angle she liked. Rode him to a climax, first her then him, feeling him quaking deep inside her, with her heart in her throat, her breasts in his hands, her tongue in his mouth. She swallowed his inarticulate gasp of ecstasy as his hips thrust against her, into her, over the edge.

  * * *

  “What happened to dinner?” she asked. “Is there any food in that bag, or were you just trying to plant more evidence on me?”

  “As I recall, you started the search party,” he said.

  “Can I get a temporary insanity plea?”

  “I forgive you,” he said, kissing her. Then he brought the takeout to bed. He gestured to the pile of his clothes on the floor of the kitchenette and all the scattered buttons. “Actually, I forgive you conditionally,” he said, grinning and opening the bag. “You owe me a shirt.”

  * * *

  The following morning, Marisol was surprised when a police cruiser pulled up in front of the clinic and two uniformed officers came looking for her.

  Her mind flashed to the list of unmarked bills. Was it still on the counter i
n plain view? She couldn’t recall, and she hadn’t bothered to clean up this morning. Sex had her way off her game.

  “Ms. Rivera,” one of the officers said. “We’d like you to come in for questioning.”

  * * *

  At the ninth precinct station, she sat in a cold, windowless room. One officer sat across from her, and the other stood by the door. Nothing on the walls, nothing on the desk but a digital recorder.

  “You really needed me to come in because of some graffiti?” Marisol asked.

  “This is actually in reference to another matter, Ms. Rivera,” the officer said.

  “Didn’t I answer all of the questions about the shooting with the detectives?” she asked, exasperated. “They said they’d just take the gun and drop the charges since the guy is out of critical condition.”

  “This isn’t about Jerry Rios or his associates,” the officer explained.

  “Well, what then?” Marisol demanded.

  The door opened and two plainclothes detectives walked in. Marisol immediately recognized the steely cop whom she’d met with Raul at the gala. Detective Mathias of Central Robbery introduced himself and his partner, Delano. They sat down across from her in the metal chairs.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting, Ms. Rivera,” Mathias said. “We have a few questions with regard to Mr. Jeremy VanDyke.”

  Marisol sat silent, stunned.

  “Approximately nine days ago, you witnessed a robbery at his residence. VanDyke’s driver ID’d you as the witness from your picture in the Daily News that ran yesterday, after the shooting at your clinic.”

  “I was at VanDyke’s,” Marisol said. “We had dinner.”

  “The driver says you were there, but VanDyke denies it,” Mathias said. “Why?”

  “Who can understand these billionaires?” Marisol said. “I’m used to men bragging about having dinner with me, not hiding it.”

  “So how come your fingerprints didn’t show up on anything?” Mathias asked. “Glasses, silverware, doorknobs?”

  “I wore gloves,” Marisol said.

  “What?” Delano asked.

  “Elbow-length gloves,” Marisol said. “Part of a Dilani Mara ensemble. I can model it for you.”

  “Just answer the questions,” Mathias said. “How many intruders?”