by Jason Starr
“No, it’s okay,” she said. “I understand.”
“Thank you, I really appreciate that,” he said. “I also think someone else at your company should take over my account. Just so there isn’t any conflict.”
“Oh, that isn’t necessary,” Alison said.
“I’d feel more comfortable,” he said. “If you don’t mind.”
A few minutes later, Alison was sitting up in bed, tears trickling down her cheeks. She wasn’t upset about losing Vijay—they’d barely gotten involved and he was right, starting something now probably wasn’t a great idea—but she still couldn’t help feeling an overwhelming sense of loss. She’d already lost her husband and her family, and Vijay had been a nice escape. Without him, the future suddenly seemed lonely and bleak and terrifying.
Geri was heading up the stoop to her apartment building on West Forty-eighth when she heard:
“Hey, beautiful.”
She was used to getting catcalls from guys on the street, and for a second she thought it was some guy hanging off a garbage truck. Then she looked back over her shoulder and saw Ramon in a double-parked red Toyota Camry, smiling widely.
“What’re you doing here?” she said, excited to see him.
“I missed you, baby,” he said. “You know I can’t stay away from you.”
A laundry delivery truck was trying to squeeze past the Toyota but couldn’t fit, and the driver honked the horn.
“Come on, get in,” Ramon said.
“Now?”
“Yeah, come on.”
“Where’re you going?”
“A mystery ride, come on.”
The truck honked again.
Geri didn’t know why she was hesitating—it was either hang out at home with a couple of cats or go for a drive with a guy who had turned her on the way no guy had ever turned her on before.
She got in the car and they drove away. It was amazing, how just being next to him excited her. She was already getting turned on.
“You look incredible,” he said.
Although Geri had barely slept last night and had been working all day and just rode home on a hot, crowded subway, she believed him.
“Thank you, so do you,” she said, and she meant it as well. In jeans and a tight black T-shirt, Ramon looked smoldering. “I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight.”
“I guess I’m just full of surprises,” Ramon said.
They drove past Eleventh Avenue.
“So is this your ride?” Geri asked.
“Nah, I just rented it at Hertz,” Ramon said.
“You rented a car just to take me on a mystery ride?”
“Yeah, I guess I did.”
“Well, that’s kind of romantic,” Geri said. “I mean, it’s not exactly a horse-and-buggy ride in Central Park, but yeah, it is pretty romantic.”
She reached out and gently rubbed Ramon’s right thigh. She was dying to have her hands all over him.
“So are you gonna give me any clue where we’re going?” she asked.
“If I did, it wouldn’t be a mystery ride,” Ramon said.
“That’s not true. Mysteries have clues. Take it from me; I am a detective, after all.”
“You’ll find out soon, baby, you’ll find out soon. Why don’t you just chill out and enjoy the ride?”
He turned on the radio to a Latin station—a cheesy Spanish love song that somehow seemed romantic and perfect.
“I was thinking about you all day today,” Geri said. “You’re very distracting, you know that?”
“You know I was thinking about you, right?” Ramon said. “You drive me crazy.”
“Crazy is a good way to describe it.” Noticing the big bulge in Ramon’s jeans, she continued to rub her fingers against the inside of his thighs, saying. “I mean, I usually don’t get like this with guys. I mean, I never get like this with guys. I don’t know what it is about you that turns me on so much, but no guy has ever had this kind of effect on me.”
“That’s ’cause you never met the right guy before,” Ramon said.
“You really believe that? That there’s one person for everybody in the world?”
“Yeah, of course I do. I was telling the guys today at the playground that you’re my soul mate.”
“The guys?” Geri asked. “You mean you saw Michael today?”
Ramon didn’t answer at first. Then he said, “I’ll explain it all to you soon, I promise.”
Geri stopped kneading his thigh but left her hand there. “Explain what to me soon?”
“You don’t gotta worry about anything,” he said. “I got it under control.”
They were on the West Side Highway, going uptown, toward the Upper West Side. She’d figured he’d rented a hotel room somewhere, and maybe they’d have a fun night with room service and robes and hot sex, but now she was starting to get concerned. Ramon, looking out at the road with a very serious expression, suddenly didn’t seem like himself.
Geri stopped touching his thigh and said, “If something’s going on, you should tell me what it is.”
“You trust me, right?” Ramon asked.
“I want to trust you,” Geri said. “But I hardly know you.”
“You know me,” Ramon said. “Just because we just met, that doesn’t mean you don’t know me. Love’s about feelings, not time.”
“Whoa, love?” Geri said. “Did you just say love?”
“What’s wrong with love, baby?”
“Look, I admit I feel something for you that’s strong, okay?” Geri said. “It’s an attraction, a desire, but love is something else.”
“You’re just afraid to admit it.”
“I’m not afraid, I’m—”
“I know you feel it,” Ramon said. “You don’t have to tell me. I know you love me just by the way you look at me. I knew it when you walked into that theater yesterday and sat down. You couldn’t take your eyes off me. The whole stage disappeared, the whole world disappeared. It was just me and you, alone, floating in space. That’s what love is.”
Geri knew Ramon was being corny, but it was true, she had felt something different when she saw him for the first time. Was it love? She’d never been in love with anyone, never let herself go like this before, so how did she know? Besides, the past twenty-four hours had been so crazy, she wasn’t sure how she felt about anything anymore.
She didn’t say anything for a while, listening to the cheesy Spanish love song. Then she realized that they had passed the Upper West Side and were heading toward the GW Bridge.
“Wait, seriously, where’re you taking me?” Geri asked. “Are we leaving the city?”
“You really have to stop asking questions, baby,” Ramon said. “You gotta relax and have faith in me. If you do that, everything’ll be okay, I promise.”
Geri decided Ramon was right—well, about relaxing, anyway. She was probably taking the whole thing too seriously. So what if they left the city for a few hours? He was probably taking her to some romantic dinner spot in Westchester, maybe Dobbs Ferry by the river or something. Was it really such a big deal?
Then, riding along the Henry Hudson Parkway, they passed Washington Heights, where Orlando Rojas and Carlita Morales had been killed, and Geri was distracted by other thoughts. She wondered if Santoro and Reese had made any progress on the case, but she doubted they had. They were playing catch-up, probably rehashing a lot of leads that Geri and Shawn had already checked out, and, more important, they didn’t understand DDP the way Geri did. Meanwhile, Geri still had a nagging feeling that they were all missing something about the case, something obvious.
After Washington Heights came Inwood, the northernmost neighborhood in Manhattan. Geri had worked on a few cases there during her career, including one last year that involved DDP. A kid had been shot and killed in front of a bodega and local gang violence was suspected, so there had been a large-scale investigation, but the case had remained unsolved.
Then it hit her—the Devon Carter murder, of co
urse.
Geri took out her cell and called Tim Stappini in IT at Manhattan North.
Ramon saw her making the call and, looking over, concerned, asked, “Hey, what’re you doing, baby?”
Tim said, “Hey, Geri, what’s going on?”
“I need you to look up something for me.”
“Can it wait? I’m in the middle of—”
“It can’t wait.”
“’Kay, what you got?”
“I need a full search on Manny Alvarez,” Geri said.
“Who?” Ramon asked.
Geri held up a hand to Ramon like the stop sign and stage-whispered, “Wait.”
“’Kay, let’s see what we got,” Tim said. “I got a Manuel Alvarez.”
“Age?”
“Twenty-nine.”
“On Isham Street?”
“Yeah,” Tim said. “Juvie at Tryon, three at Rikers for possession with intent.”
“Gang association?” Geri asked, knowing she’d nailed it.
“Yeah, DDP,” Tim said.
Going for the clincher, Geri asked, “Siblings?”
“Jeez, what do you think I am, some kinda computer geek?” Tim said. “Yeah, one sibling, a sister, Carlita Alvarez-Morales.”
Thinking Bingo, Geri said, “Thanks, I owe you one. You can go back to drafting your fantasy football team now.”
“Ha, ha,” Tim said.
Geri ended the call and, noticing they had crossed the Harlem River and were in the Bronx, said, “You gotta drop me back in the city right now.”
“What’s goin’ on?” Ramon asked.
Geri was trying to decide if she should call it in … why do a favor for Dan? He was protecting his ass; who was going to protect hers?
“It’s just a work thing. Come on, you gotta get off at the next exit.”
“Why?”
“Just do it.”
“We can’t right now,” Ramon said.
“What do you mean, can’t?” Geri said. “This is police business. I’m working on a case.”
“This is more important than your case.”
“Look, this is fun,” Geri said. “I think it was romantic, you showing up and taking me on this mystery ride, and I agree I feel something with you, something different. I don’t know if it’s attraction or obsession or what, but I have an emergency now, I have to go, okay?”
“You don’t get it,” Ramon said. “You can’t go now.”
Geri didn’t know what to do. She had to get back to the city, she was going to get back to the city. She didn’t want to threaten Ramon, but she would if she had to.
“Why?” she said. “Why can’t I go?”
Ramon shook his head, looking out at the highway.
Then he said, almost reluctantly, “’Cause if I let you go you’re gonna die tonight, that’s why.”
EIGHTEEN
Simon was running. He wanted to get away from Michael and the Hartman Brewery as fast as he could, as if by leaving it behind, he could escape what had happened there, or at least make it into a bad memory. He was sprinting along the Navy Yard area by the East River, maybe running faster than he’d ever run before, despite the Ferragamo loafers, until he reached the outskirts of DUMBO. There were lots of people around, many staring at the guy sprinting in designer clothes, so he slowed to a jog and then walked toward the pedestrian entrance to the Brooklyn Bridge, because he didn’t want to attract attention and because it had set in that he couldn’t escape from the horror by running away because the horror was inside him.
Walking across the bridge, he saw that the moon—to his left toward the Statue of Liberty—was still almost full, which, according to Volker, would make it easier than normal for him to turn into a werewolf tonight. Great, now Simon had something else to worry about, but his most immediate problem was Michael. Simon had no doubt that Michael was serious about his threat to kill him and Detective Rodriguez if Simon didn’t kill her himself, but Simon had no idea what to do about it. He had to stop Michael, but what was he supposed to do, try to kill Michael by ripping his jaw apart? Even if he was somehow successful, where would that get him? Michael would be dead, but since Simon hadn’t found the remedy yet, it meant he and the other guys would be werewolves for the rest of their lives.
Simon couldn’t handle this alone. He needed Volker’s help, but he had no idea how to contact him. At a point on the bridge where there was no one around, he yelled, “Volker! Volker! Where the hell are you?” but his voice was drowned out by the cars speeding by, and he also felt ridiculous yelling for someone who wasn’t even here. What was he expecting, that Volker would just materialize? What had Volker told him this morning? Oh, right; I can find you, that’s more important. What the hell was that supposed to mean?
Then Simon decided that his only hope was to look for Volker at the Ramble in Central Park. Though the fastest way to get there would probably be to run, he didn’t think running all the way uptown the way he was dressed was a great idea. The FDR Drive looked like it was backed up, and there was a lot of street traffic, so he figured the subway was his best bet.
At Brooklyn Bridge/City Hall, he boarded an uptown 4 train. The train wasn’t packed, but it was crowded enough that some claustrophobia and panic set in. He was taking deep breaths, trying to relax, afraid he would turn. He was aware of several women on the car staring at him, and it wasn’t with concern because he seemed to be slightly in distress—no, they were clearly checking him out because they were attracted to him. He realized that in his expensive clothes, and with his scruffy face, and the usual werewolf aura he projected, he probably seemed like the sexiest guy in the world to them. Simon wondered what they’d think if they knew the truth about what he’d done and what he was capable of. Would they be repulsed or would they still be infatuated?
To avoid eye contact, Simon turned to face the subway door and stared at his reflection. In the distorted dirty glass he didn’t look like a monster that had an uncontrollable craving for human flesh. He didn’t look much different than he used to look a couple of months ago, when he was an ad exec, a normal human ad exec, returning home after a long day at the office. It gave him some hope that maybe the old Simon Burns was still in there somewhere, that he wasn’t dead completely.
At Fifty-ninth Street, Simon exited the subway and walked as fast as he could a few blocks west to Central Park. In the park, he let loose and sprinted, trying to enjoy the freedom of running, but he was so terrified of what he’d become and what he might do that it was hard to appreciate the positives of being a werewolf.
Past the lake, he veered off the road and entered the Ramble. He went to the area where he’d met Volker last night, and although he couldn’t detect Volker’s scent, that didn’t mean Volker wasn’t necessarily there, since he had the ability to mask his scent. Simon inhaled to make sure that there were no humans in the vicinity, and then he yelled, “Volker! Are you here? Volker!”
For the next hour or so, Simon walked around the Ramble, screaming Volker’s name when it was safe to do so, but his desperate pleas received no response.
Finally Simon gave up and left the park with the sick, helpless feeling that he was in this alone.
Simon returned to Charlie’s apartment, entering with the key Charlie had given him. He hadn’t eaten anything since Stephen Tyler and he was starving. He went right to the fridge and, God bless Charlie, saw it was stocked with meat—chop meat, sausage, ham, and in the back a couple of steaks. Too impatient to cook the steaks, he tore open the packaging and ripped into them, standing by the sink. The meat tasted good raw, but eating a steak as a human wasn’t nearly as satisfying as eating a human as a wolf. Oh, God, it was true what Volker had said—Simon did have the craving.
Though he managed to finish the rest of the raw steak, he didn’t really enjoy it, feeling as unsatisfied as he used to feel after having a bagful of cookies.
Cooped up in the apartment, he felt restless. Pacing in the living room like an animal in a cage, he checked h
is phone—still no response from Alison to the message he’d sent from Grand Central.
So he sent:
I know you’re angry at me, that’s ok. I just wanted to make sure Jeremy is okay. Please let me know.
He continued pacing, and then, maybe five minutes later, his phone vibrated.
From Alison:
Jeremy’s fine
He was relieved. He missed Jeremy so much, he would’ve given anything to pick him up and give him a big, tight hug and tell him how much he loved him.