12. Nick #2
Go, Maddie. I should have brought popcorn. I finish my Diet Coke. Maddie hasn’t even touched her soda. She’s completely focused on this interview.
“I have my sources,” she says.
“Are they going to admit that they were willing to pay a bribe?” the inspector asks.
“Sometimes it depends on who comes clean first,” Maddie says. “Or who shares who’s behind the scheme.”
“It’s pretty obvious who’s behind this scheme, isn’t it?” he asks, a sneer disfiguring his face.
“Too obvious,” Maddie says.
He shrugs. “It’s not like it was a big ask. Most of them offered her some completely dead time spot.”
“Are you saying Deputy Commissioner Galliano is behind this?” Maddie asks.
“I’m not sayin’ anything.”
“Nothing? And here I thought you might be the key.” She leans back, seeming more relaxed.
He shakes his head.
Maddie sips her drink. Finally. I was beginning to worry that she knew something I didn’t and that I wasn’t supposed to drink any beverages here.
The silence lengthens.
The Maddie silent treatment. It’s not fun. He shifts in his chair.
Ha. Even tougher men than me can be brought down by the Maddie silent treatment.
He looks at me. “You like her? This isn’t safe.”
“That’s exactly what I’m worried about,” I say. I’m probably not supposed to say that.
“Definitely not safe.” He holds up a napkin and rips it in half. “You should quit while you’re ahead.”
I pick up the napkin he ripped and rip the two parts in half. “You touch her, and you will regret it. You tell your boss that.”
We stare at each other. He drops his gaze first.
“Okay, I’m glad we’ve made that point,” Maddie says. “Are you safe?”
He starts. “As long as I keep my mouth shut.”
“Then why did you meet me?”
“He wants to know what you know.” He points to the paper.
Should Maddie have shown him what she knows? She doesn’t look upset. She knows what she’s doing.
“I have a pretty good case for Galliano,” she says. “You should tell him that.”
“I will.” That sneer is back.
“Well, I appreciate you taking the time to talk with me,” Maddie says. “If you want to share anything else, please let me know.” She hands him her card.
“Are you guys really going on a date now?” He fingers her card.
“Of course,” Maddie says. “Any places you recommend around here?”
He barks out a short laugh. “You’re interesting, lady.” He points his finger at me. “And it looks like you’re not just a pretty boy.”
“I grew up in this neighborhood when it wasn’t quite as gentrified,” I say. “As did Maddie. Give your boss our best.”
We leave and walk outside. I take a big breath of fresh air.
I turn to Maddie. “It’s not safe.”
“He’s just trying to scare me off,” she says.
That may be. In my experience, growing up as an initially scrawny kid in this neighborhood and a “pretty boy,” people often bluff and threaten, but if they’re serious, they get to it and don’t have an introductory meeting. But Maddie going up against that guy or his friends makes me worried.
We walk briskly down the street. All the stores are closed with grates down on this block. The windows are also dark, as if there is no point in paying for electricity when only rats visit this area at night.
“That didn’t give you pause at all? It definitely made me want to get out of there.
” I hold Maddie’s hand and set a brisk pace to put distance between that guy and us.
The next few blocks are also deserted, with just a traffic light blinking red and green amid the shadows created by the lamplights.
This street is all office buildings with abandoned shops underneath.
We finally reach a block where the stores are lit up. We pass a group of college students out for the night, discussing what bar they want to go to next. We’re back among people.
“There’s a cool place if you want to walk up near the South Street Seaport,” Maddie says.
Normally, one of the great things about being friends with Maddie is that she is always up for trying new experiences and can always suggest cool places to go. But right now, she’s avoiding the topic.
I turn and face her, reaching out to hold her other hand as well. “Really, though, Maddie. Are you taking his threats seriously?”
Her gaze meets mine. “I’m taking it seriously. I had extra jujitsu practice sessions before I agreed to meet him here, and I also talked to our paper’s security about the best protocol. And I brought you. This also isn’t my first time experiencing this. You have to trust me.”
“Okay,” I say. “I’m out of line.”
“No, I appreciate your concern.” She squeezes my hand. “I’m really touched that you came along and that you’re worried.”
I nod. “I’m relieved you’ve talked to your paper’s security.” She knows what she’s doing. “So, by ‘cool,’ you mean the opposite of the last bar, right?”
“By cool, I mean a family-run Neapolitan pizza place by Pier 17 that a fellow reporter recommended.”
“I’m in.”
As we enter, we’re welcomed warmly, and we are shown to a table in a brick-walled nook.
The floor of dark-blue hexagon tiles adds to the feeling of comfort and cheer.
It’s clean and crowded with waiters making their way between the tables carefully carrying large wooden paddles with wood-fired pizza. I’m starving.
“This is a much more public place. We should act like we’re dating,” I say. “Can I hold your hand across the table?”
“Thou’st may,” Maddie says.
“Thou’st are the one who did set these courtship rules,” I say. “Your wish is merely my command.”
As we study the menu, Maddie suggests we share the dishes so we look “lovey-dovey.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “Is it because you can’t decide and want to try mine too?”
She shakes her head. “Where is your sense of romance?”
I lean my head on my hand and stare into Maddie’s eyes. She blushes and averts her gaze.
“Okay, yes, I can’t decide,” Maddie says.
We narrow down our choices and place our order. The waitress fills our glasses with water. Another good thing about dating Maddie is that we’re both in the same budget range—the tap water range.
“That was helpful, though,” Maddie says.
“Do you think it’s Galliano?” I ask. “He definitely implied it was Galliano behind this.”
“He did.” Maddie leans closer to the table and flutters her lashes at me. “And so, I think it’s not. It’s too obvious. I shouldn’t have said that, though.”
“Your collar is slightly crooked,” I say. “May I?”
“Yes,” she says.
I reach out to straighten the collar on her jacket as we maintain eye contact.
It’s like I’m not even breathing. She raises an eyebrow.
As I pull my hand back, she runs her hand through my hair.
I feel like a cat that wants to lean into her hand and butt against it, asking for more. She blushes again.
“This is going to get messy if we eat the pizza with our hands,” she says.
“Let’s ask for cutlery,” I say.
She laughs.
We are just friends. We should revert to safer terrain.
The waitress serves us the platter of bruschetta that we ordered, and we each take one. It’s very good.
“Interesting that he acknowledged that giving Ophelia playtime wasn’t a big ask,” I say.
“That’s just it. If I’m the deputy commissioner and I’ve worked my whole life to get this position, why would I then risk it to get my daughter put into dead time spots? The fact that Demoraux knew that she was being slotted into dead times supports my theory that it’s not Galliano.”
“That’s a good point. Of course, she can still say she played at all these well-known clubs. It’s not like you put the times on your resume.”
Maddie eats another bruschetta. “Hmm. That’s true. But is that significant enough?”
“No. Not enough to risk your career.”
“I think it’s an attempt to muddy the waters and make it look like Galliano, which means it’s one of the other two.
But Ward spends his spare time making miniatures, and Pommer seems devoted to building better playgrounds, so it’s hard to imagine they’re corrupt.
I need proof, but this inspector interview solidified my feeling that it’s not Galliano.
” Maddie bites her lip. “Especially Demoraux’s sneer at the end.
But now I need to figure out if it’s Ward or Pommer. ”
“Follow the numbers, as we say in accounting.”
“Would you be willing to review numbers for me, or do you hate it too much?”
“I don’t hate it. I enjoy it in moderation—it’s so orderly.
It’s not my passion, but doing the books for various small businesses helps pay the bills.
” I had a dual major in college of accounting and music—so that my mother didn’t die an early death, as she put it.
“Have you found more people who have had faulty repairs?”
“Yes. I have the human element angle,” Maddie says. “I just interviewed a mom with a newborn, and the kitchen sink had been turned off because of a leak. Imagine having to cook with water from the bathroom with a baby.”
Our pizzas arrive, and my mouth waters at the smell of melting cheese and tomato. Maddie ordered broccoli and sausage, and I ordered the chicken and vegetables. I serve Maddie and then take my first slice.
“I thought you’d have to eat lettuce and grilled chicken. Aren’t you going shirtless?”
“Luckily, I seem to have inherited an amazing metabolism.”
“Lucky,” Maddie says as she purses her lips around her straw.
I should not be looking at Maddie’s lips.
“I’m glad that you don’t want to eat lettuce and grilled chicken.” I need to keep this conversation on track and not let my mind wander off where it seems to want to go: shirtless me and Maddie’s lips.
“I feel like I burned off enough with the adrenaline of that meeting,” she says. “Enough talk about this case. Do you feel ready with the dance routine?”
I nod. “It’s the most amazing feeling when I’m dancing in sync with the backup dancers. I wouldn’t have thought it would be, but I’m totally into it now.”
“I’m impressed.” She hands me a small package. “I bought this for you online as a thank-you.”