Lewis Security

by Glenna Sinclair

  “Drugs?” I whispered.

  He nodded. “No kid should be around shit like that. Pardon my language.”

  “I don’t care. Shit, fuck, damn. Whatever.”

  He snickered. “That’s good to know. So anyway, I knew what was happening. That was the worst part. I was probably around eight or so when I figured out what was going on right in front of me. There was no illusion. And I would hear fights all the time and watch the whores beg for a hit—well, anyway, it was no fun.” He cleared his throat, and I couldn’t help but think about the poor kid he used to be. No. Don’t humanize him. That’s what he wants you to do.

  “It was right after I turned ten, because Mom got me a bike. Yeah, it wasn’t new or anything. She must’ve bought it off a guy who stole it from somebody else. It was sort of beaten up and the chain was a little rusty, but I loved it. So I was riding it around the courtyard, since I wasn’t allowed to go further than that. It was better than being inside with her and whoever she was hanging out with that day.” He grimaced. “And there was a deal going on, off to one side. I stayed far away from it. I knew enough to do that, at least. All of a sudden, there was shouting. Mom taught me to run inside whenever I heard that—crazy, right? But that was the thing to do. So I got off my bike and ran into the closest building. I watched through the window, though. I couldn’t help myself. One of the guys who was doing the selling pulled out a gun and fired three rounds into the guy trying to buy.”

  I gasped, even though I kept telling myself not to get wrapped up in his story. “Jesus. You were just a little boy.”

  “Yeah. So anyway, that was the first time I saw a man die. And I knew him, sort of. He would hang around the apartment with my mom. I know now that they used to shoot up together—maybe I knew it then, I don’t know. So it wasn’t like watching a stranger die. And the guy with the gun looked around to make sure nobody saw before he ran off. But I saw. He just didn’t see me watching.”

  “What did you do?” I asked in a hushed tone.

  “Nothing. I didn’t tell anybody.”

  “No? I mean, didn’t the cops come?”

  “Yeah. And as far as they knew, I was watching TV after school, doing my homework. I had no idea what happened outside. I hardly even heard the shots over the volume of whatever I was watching.” He shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

  “It was safer for you not to say anything.” I was starting to wonder if he could identify with what I was going through, but part of me also wondered if he hadn’t made up that story as a way to get through to me. Maybe he thought he was being clever, like he could break down my defenses if he told me something that sounded vaguely like what I had witnessed.

  “Of course, it was. That was Rule One of life in my neighborhood. You don’t see anything, you’ve never heard of the people involved, you were watching TV or taking a nap. Anything other than the truth. Now that I’m friendly with the cops, like Detective Montez, I feel sorry for how frustrated the cops must’ve been back then.”

  “I’m sure that still goes on now,” I mused, drifting away in my own thoughts.

  “Yeah, I’m sure it does.” His voice was heavy.

  “Okay, okay, I get it. You think this is a teachable moment, is that right?”

  His eyes widened. “No. I was just telling you a story. I mean, that’s all I was trying to do. What, you think I was trying to trick you into telling me what the cops think you didn’t tell them?”

  “So they do think I was holding something back.” I stood up and fought the urge to throw my tea in his face. “I should’ve known.”

  “Of course, they think you’re holding something from them.” He stood, too, and when I noticed how he towered over me I wondered if I hadn’t woken a sleeping giant. I didn’t need him glaring down at me like that. My insides quaked, even as I did everything I could to make it look like he didn’t scare me at all.

  “Well, I’m not! Damn it, I was only in the wrong place at the wrong time.” I went to the kitchen to get away from him, but that was pointless since the apartment was so small. He only followed me, anyway. There was hardly enough room for the both of us—it didn’t help that he was so tall and broad.

  “Yeah, that happens sometimes, but when it comes time to describe the people involved in the shooting, you draw a blank. Why is that?”

  “Because—I don’t know! It wasn’t like the story you just told. I didn’t know anybody involved, so they were just people. I didn’t take note of them because I was too scared by what I was watching. And I didn’t know them, so I can’t go off of what I remember them looking like from before last night. Does that make any sense?” I put the mug in the sink instead of throwing it in, the way I felt like doing.

  “I get that, but come on. You must have seen something. Were there a lot of men there, or just the one holding the gun?”

  “I don’t know! They were inside, in front of the windows. The restaurant had a bunch of windows overlooking the river. There was a wall facing the water—“ I demonstrated for him, drawing an invisible box on the countertop with my finger, “—and one this way, and one that way. I guess it used to be, like, a back room or something. Where people sat if they wanted a view. Like a terrace, but there were windows all along the three sides.”

  “And that’s where it took place?”

  I nodded. “But it was dark and shady in there. The sun had already set. The light was sort of gold and soft—that’s why I wanted to take pictures out there in the first place, because the skyline across the river looks great at that time of day. But it was almost dark inside the building. I just made out the figures, and only barely. Just enough to know what I was watching. Even then, I could hardly believe it.” My palm hit the counter in a vain attempt to vent some of the frustration I felt. “Whenever I remember that feeling, it makes me sick. So I’m sorry if it’s hard for me to keep going back to that moment.”

  “But you did take pictures.”

  “Yeah. I guess I wasn’t thinking too clearly. It was instinctual. I wish to God I had just left before anybody noticed me. And I might have gotten away if I wasn’t so stupid and had looked where I was going.” I looked down at my bandaged hands. They smarted like a bitch.

  “You fell.”

  “Yeah, after bumping into a bunch of old metal trashcans and knocking them over. I might as well have hired a brass band to announce me.”

  He gave me a half-smile. “And you ran.”

  I laughed. “Yeah, I ran! I could’ve made a world record, I bet. My feet flew. But I hit a patch of broken concrete and fell.” I held up my hands. “Camera went flying, and I tore up my hands.”

  “How are they feeling?”

  “They hurt a lot.”

  “Do you have aspirin?” I nodded and pointed to the cabinet right by his head. He opened it and pulled out a bottle as he went on. “How are you sure somebody saw you?”

  “I heard footsteps behind me.”

  “One set?”

  “I don’t really know. I didn’t look back—I didn’t want to know, I guess. And it would’ve slowed me up, too. I just wanted to get to my car and get the hell out of there.” I took the aspirin he offered in his upturned palm, then the glass of water he poured for me. I couldn’t get a read on him. Why was he being so nice? I was fairly sure giving me aspirin and watching as I took it was part of his job description. But he acted like it was the most natural thing in the world.

  “Did you see anybody when you got behind the wheel?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know what happened. Maybe he stopped following me. Hell, maybe it was just the sound of my heart beating that I heard and not footsteps. I honestly wish I knew. But there’s no way of telling now, is there?” I leaned against the counter, arms crossed under my chest. “See why I don’t think this is necessary? If somebody wanted to hurt me, wouldn’t they pursue me to my car? Maybe they would’ve shot me through the windows, something, anything to stop me. But they didn’t. I don’t eve
n know for sure if I was followed or who followed me.”

  He nodded slowly, like he was thinking it over. His square-cut jaw was tight, his eyes narrowed. I appreciated that he was at least taking my thoughts into consideration. He wasn’t just waving me off the way the cops had.

  Instead of coming up with an answer, he looked around the kitchen. “This is nice,” he said. “You did a nice job in here.”

  I looked around, too. I had painted the walls a very pale shade of yellow to make up for the fact that there was no window in the kitchen. A few of my photos hung in frames. “I had to make it look a little better than it did when I moved in,” I explained with a shrug.

  “Did you take this?” He pointed to a photo of two men unloading food at a downtown market.

  “Sure. I took all of them.” They were all black-and-white, and all of them had to do with food. A kid with an ice cream cone, a woman selling fruit at a stand. A hot dog vendor laughing with one of his customers.

  “Damn.” He shook his head. “You’re really good.”

  “Oh, stop it.”

  “I mean that.” He looked at me, and I could tell he did. “You have a great eye. You see things that other people might look right past.” He stopped at a shot of two kids feeding ducks in Central Park from a bag of popcorn. “This is great.”

  “Thanks.” My cheeks warmed a little. I turned away before he could see me blushing.

  “Listen. I’m not trying to push you. I’m really not. I just think if there’s anything else you can remember, you should come clean.”

  I turned back to him. “I would if I could.”

  “Mm-hmm.” He left the room and settled back down on the couch, picking up where he left off on his phone. I could see him through the doorway, and my blood just about boiled at the sight of the look on his face. He was so smug. He was so sure he knew about me.

  All it did was make me more determined than ever that he never find out the whole story.

  Chapter Five – Brett

  “How’s it going?”

  “Fine. Less interesting than I thought it would be.”

  “It’s only been three days. Cheer up. You might still have a shoot-out or something like that.”

  I rolled my eyes, but Spencer couldn’t see me all the way across town in the suite he was stationed in. “How’s things there? Any more fingernails sent your way?”

  He let out an exasperated sigh. “No, and the ones we originally got led nowhere. They were from five different people. Can you fucking imagine this shit? Five. Who the hell collects nail clippings from five people?”

  “A manicurist?”

  “You know, we were thinking about that. They even questioned Sophia’s nail girl, but she barely speaks English and the letters she’s received were most likely written by somebody fluent. I have no idea.”

  “That’s disgusting. I wonder what the point of this is.”

  “Not a clue, man. But God, I’m so bored.”

  “I wish we could trade places.” I glanced at the closed bedroom door. She was in there, hiding from me. Or else, she was sitting on the fire escape when I had asked point-blank for her to stop doing that. Anybody standing on the sidewalk across the street could see her out there, and a skilled marksman could make an easy shot. But no. She had to have things her own way. “I swear, this girl wants to get herself killed. I’m starting to think she has an honest-to-God deathwish.”

  “Or she’s just immature. Remember the shit I went through with Charlotte.”

  “Yeah, well, she just wanted to get in your pants. And vice versa.”

  “You should quit your job and go into stand-up,” he muttered. “I mean it, though. She’s going through something big, and you can’t push her. The more you push somebody like that, the more they’ll push back.”

  “You’re a real pro at reading minds, you know?”

  “All right. If you’re gonna be a sarcastic asshole about it—“

  “No, no. Sorry. I’m just frustrated, and every muscle in my body aches from that damn couch of hers.” I stretched, wincing as my back muscles screamed in agony.

  “That sucks, dude. Maybe an air mattress?”

  I laughed. “Right. Because I could fit one in her living room.”

  “Well, hopefully Ricardo’s tech guys come up with something soon. Once they get the memory card working it’s a piece of cake. Right?”

  “Right.” So why did I feel like it wasn’t going to be that easy?

  The bedroom door opened. “I’ll talk to you later,” I said, and didn’t wait for him to answer before ending the call.

  “Girlfriend?” she asked as she crossed the living room wearing a tank top and cutoffs. She had to know what it did to a man to see a woman with a body like hers dressed like that.

  “No.”

  “Oh. Boyfriend?” I could almost hear the laughter in her voice even though I couldn’t see her face as she went to the kitchen.

  “No. Why are you even asking?”

  “It’s just that you got off the phone the second the door opened, so I thought you were having a private, sexy conversation. Maybe.”

  I rolled my eyes and sat on the couch. “I don’t have sexy conversations while I’m on the job. Sorry to disappoint you.”

  She walked back in with a bottle of water. “Oh, believe me. I’m not disappointed.” She picked up a book and was about to go into the bedroom when my voice stopped her.

  “How was the fire escape?”

  She paused and looked back over her shoulder. I got a perfect view of her ass, tight and round. Something stirred in my jeans, so I pried my eyes away from it. “It was great,” she said in a bright voice. “So great, I plan on going back out there with my book.”

  “I asked you not to do that.”

  “And I’m going anyway, or else I’m going to go crazy in this damned apartment!” She threw the book on the bed, a sharp, overhand throw that made me wonder if she used to play softball. It bounced off the mattress and hit the floor.

  “Fine, then. Get yourself shot out on the fire escape.”

  “Does it make you happy to know you’re freaking me out?” She turned to face me with her hands on her hips, and her eyes blazed hatred. She straight-up hated me right then. The feeling was mutual, since my life would get a lot more difficult if she got herself killed on my watch.

  “I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you don’t get yourself killed, Molly.” I stood and went to her, and she shrank back against the bed a little. At first, that only pissed me off more—who did she think I was, some asshole who was going to slap her around? Or worse? But I saw genuine fear in her eyes, and that stopped me in my tracks. I stood in the doorway separating the living room from the bedroom, and she sat on the bed.

  “I can’t take this anymore. I just can’t.” She rubbed her bare arms and looked down at the floor. “This is too much. I feel like a prisoner here, and it scares me.”

  “What scares you?” I asked. A flicker of hope burned in my chest. Maybe she would come out with the truth, finally. Every day that passed took me one step closer to knowing for sure she was conveniently forgetting to tell us something.

  “The thought that I can’t leave to work. I mean, I have money in the bank, but not enough to carry me through until this is over. I need to work. I have a wedding at the St. Regis this weekend, and I can’t call them and cancel now. It’s been eating me alive, but I don’t see any way out of it.”

  I slumped against the doorframe. That was the problem? Work? I wanted to strangle her. “Why didn’t you say something?”

  She was still looking down when she shrugged. “I know you don’t think it’s very important—and maybe it isn’t, in the grand scheme of things. But I do still have a life, and I have to support myself.”

  “Wait—you broke your camera, though.”

  She made a face. “That wasn’t my good camera. I would never take my good camera with me. I might break it or something.”

  The tone of
her voice made me laugh a little. “And you can’t call and cancel.”

  “It’s Thursday morning! The wedding is Saturday!”

  “You should’ve said something earlier in the week. We could’ve helped you find somebody to replace you.”

  “But I need the money! Is Pax going to fund that, too?” She picked at the flowered blanket that covered her bed. Big, pink roses. Obnoxious, really.

  “No, I guess he won’t. You can’t ask somebody for the money? Your parents, maybe?”

  Her dark head shook back and forth, making the bun she wore at the back bounce. “They’ll want to know why. Don’t you agree I should keep this to myself? And it’s not just because they’ll be safer. I don’t want them worrying themselves to death, either.”

  “Good point.” I thought it over. Charlotte Banks had worked while she was being stalked, hadn’t she? Spencer had gone with her. I wondered if I could do the same thing with Molly. “Let me make a phone call. Just, please, stay the hell inside. It gives me heartburn like you wouldn’t believe when you go out to the fire escape.” And I was tired of standing by the window, watching the street below when she did. I went to the living room to give Pax a call.

  He was less than thrilled. “So she’s going to photograph a wedding?”

  “That’s what she says.”

  “Do you know how tough it’ll be to make sure security is tight at a random wedding?”

  “Don’t get me started. I’ve already thought this over. It’s at the St. Regis, so we’re not talking about a field in the middle of nowhere. At least there’s people at the front desk who can keep an eye on who’s coming and going.”