Chapter 7
Gray
I arrived in New York and stashed my truck in a monthly pay lot. Taking my rucksack, I set out toward the West Village. I was tired from the journey, but still buzzing with determination to get to Betty.
I’d watched her in her house through the screening app on my cell phone during the drive down.
I prayed they wouldn’t make any moves while I was still far away from her, knowing there’d be nothing I could do to stop whatever they had planned.
The fear and desperation I felt in this moment dredged up a lot of old memories and emotions, and feelings of hopelessness.
The panic was cresting just over the horizon.
It was midnight. The dark streets were peaceful for me to navigate, and I found my way to the back alley behind her townhouse.
Last year, I’d been able to access her home through the skylight, and I hoped this would still be the case.
I’d dislodged one of the antique panes, turning it into a latched opening I could slide in and out of with silent ease.
It’d taken several days to make it watertight while still being discreet, and I hoped they hadn’t discovered it when the other skylight in the main stairwell got repaired.
I’d destroyed that one when I broke in to steal the PERL painting, and made a mess of it on purpose.
It hurt to do it to something so gorgeous and original to the home, but I loved the theatrics it created.
Betty’s backyard and the alley behind contained a garage for her car, a tall fence, and dumpsters. The fenced garden space was long and rectangular, peppered with plenty of foliage that hid me while I approached the house. My feet squelched on the ground, which was wet from the recent rain.
The weather here was in stark contrast to the weather at the cabin. Being at the elevation I was in Canada, and in the northern position on the globe, it’d still be cold there for some time. It felt as if I’d gone on a tropical vacation.
On the back right of her house, there was a vertical fire escape.
I had also modified the roof access, making it easy to lower the first ladder while ensuring it remained secure from other predators.
Using a plastic hook tied to a small extendable pole, I flipped the hidden latch and grabbed the bottom rung.
I gave it a hearty tug, praying it wouldn’t make too much noise.
After getting it down, hinges squealing only briefly, I reached around and grabbed a can of WD-40 from a side pocket of my bag. With a heavy hand, I liberally lubricated the springs, ceasing any additional sound. I flipped the can in my hand. I loved this stuff.
There was a rustling from a nearby bush, and I went rigid, holding the can out to use it like a weapon.
Mew.
I let my eyes close in relief and let out a frustrated sigh. It was a damn cat. I scanned my surroundings, trying to pinpoint the noise’s origin when I heard it again, and there it was.
Two large yellow eyes stared back at me from a bush. It appeared I was attracting animals like a Disney princess. Maybe my feral nature made me approachable.
Unable to resist, I stepped away from the ladder and knelt down, letting my bag slide off my shoulder. There was a tin of oily fish in my pack, so I rummaged through the small pocket where I kept various odds and ends and pulled it out.
“Would you like some food?” I asked.
A tinny sound filled the air as I curled back the lid of the can and plucked out a little fish, head, tail and all. It dripped with olive oil. The kitten began purring as it climbed out of the bush. Without hesitation, he rubbed against my leg.
The smell of the fish was quite pungent and surely irresistible to a hungry feline. It smelled good to me, too. I suppose that was the Italian in me.
With the fish held aloft before him, the little black kitten started licking the oil before taking the entire belly in its teeth and chewing through it.
I replaced the rucksack on my back and waited for him to finish before plucking him up and placing him on top of my bag, just behind my head.
He held on for dear life, licking his cheeks and purring in my ear.
Armed again with the WD-40, we made our way up the ladder.
Behind me, I hoisted the ladder back up and locked it in place before making my way up the rest of the stairs of the fire escape.
We sprayed additional joints and springs along the way to ensure it would remain quiet for the duration of our stay.
On the roof, I walked in a slow heel-to-toe step across the flat tar top to the first skylight and peered inside.
The kitten’s claws dug deep into the hood of my sweatshirt, glued to me and looking over my shoulder.
Warm light glowed from within, dim and quiet.
I knew Betty was down there already asleep, and it felt right being back here again.
We were two magnets, forever pulling us together, no matter the obstacles.
I placed my hand on the frame to inspect it.
The round skylight was a dome with large, leaded glass triangular panes forming to create the shape.
My hand trailed around the dome and found the small latch I’d installed.
I tested it with a slight rattle. It appeared in good shape; the rubber seals still fresh and holding.
I sprayed the hinges with WD-40 for good measure, letting it soak in.
I wouldn’t attempt opening it tonight, but this way it was ready.
I stepped back and set down my rucksack beside the dome; the kitten rode it all the way to the ground before wobbling down onto all fours and exploring the space.
He romped after a few pigeons, and I thought it wasn’t such a bad thing having the little guy around; he could keep the squirrels and birds out of my belongings.
I pulled out my compact sleeping bag and small tent and began assembling the parts.
Everything was minimal but efficient. I was grateful that the weather was rather mild and rain wasn’t in the forecast for the next week.
If this dragged out longer than that, I’d have time to get better supplies.
Her townhouse was among the tallest on the street.
It was a good thing; neighboring townhomes wouldn’t be able to spot me up here over the ledge of the roof.
The setup went together fast, and the kitten returned to my side when I offered him another fish from the tin before eating a few myself.
I set up my computer on some loose bricks, opening the fins on the solar chargers—which were already fully charged—to be ready for the morning sunrise.
The kitten curled into the hole at the center of my crossed legs as I sat upon my sleeping bag, and just like that, we were a team.
???
The next morning, I brewed some coffee in a Moka pot over a camp stove and watched as Betty moved around her townhome, getting ready for work.
I peered over the edge of the roof, noting all the cars on the street.
From my vantage point, I couldn’t tell if anyone seemed suspicious.
However, I could watch her leave and see if she was followed.
If any of Ethan’s men were down there, they weren’t making themselves known either. FBI types were easier to spot, but Ethan’s guys were near ghosts.
A town car arrived. It was her driver. I flipped on the camera hidden in the tree outside her front door. Betty exited her house, locking up behind her, looking over the railing to the left of her stoop.
“Kitty kitty,” she sang, hearing her voice through the speaker.
I looked down at the kitten curled up beside my thigh. “Is she looking for you?” I asked him.
He slowly blinked his yellow eyes, ignoring my question and purring incessantly. I ran a finger over his dusky black brow. The sunlight lit his face, his pupils narrow slits and barely visible.
Through the camera, Betty’s expression looked a little sad when she didn’t find any cats near her stoop. I knew then how valuable the furry tool beside me might be. Her affection for Mr. Beans made it apparent she loved cats. This was a good thing; I could work this angle with ease.
Betty looked both ways on the street before holding her gaze to the left as though staring at something.
I peered again over the edge of the roof, trying to judge the direction she was looking.
There was an old blue Crown Vic that tickled my memories and a Land Rover in that general area.
I kept my eyes on them both as she got into the town car and pulled away from the curb.
Sure enough, the blue Crown Vic pulled away from the curb after them.
Bingo.
“I see you, asshole,” I whispered.
Looking down at my computer again, I pulled up the CCTV feeds and began following them across town. The blue car followed them the entire way. This was definitely the guy, Ronny. I monitored the CCTV until I saw the car find a spot to park around her building.
She’d be safe at work for the day. If they were going to make a move, it’d be here at home when she’s alone.
I pulled up the Ghost web app on my phone, reading the messages Betty left last fall, including the one she’d sent last night. She confessed she needed me. I’d spent so many years alone that the realization that someone needed me made something long dead stir in my chest.
Betty was strong and commanding, but the crumbling of her walls showed her vulnerability, too. She had to be scared if she were asking for help. I’d worked hard for her attention, and now that I had it, I would honor it by protecting her, always.