Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
EDIE
I get my Brazilian wax down on Broadway after Latin, paying with his credit card, of course. I’ve always trimmed down there, but it feels completely different to be bare. Clothes feel different against me, too, like a constant reminder of him.
Maybe he wants that.
A wave of something strange ripples through me, hot like hate but not as extreme.
I buy expensive jeans and two cute tops at Madewell and then get the most splurgy flowered dress ever from the “new arrivals” rack at Anthropologie—in two colors in case he destroys one of them—plus a necklace-and-earrings set, and a jeweled bumblebee hair ornament for Odetta.
I throw in a brown velvet newsboy cap. Score!
They aren’t exactly mafia-call-girl purchases, but they are things I’d buy in normal life if I actually had money.
What’s he going to do if he doesn’t like them? Fire me?
The total is sky-high—to me, anyway. I hand over Luka’s credit card feeling like a thief.
I walk out loaded down with bags, still keenly aware of the wax job .
A few hours later, I get a text from “Brenda.”
He wants to meet in Central Park after my last class. He actually sends me a map with the route I’m supposed to walk, setting off from the building where my art history class is at four fifteen, which is ten minutes after it ends. The map takes me through crowds and has me double back twice.
It’s all so cloak and dagger.
Does he think Luka might know where I live? The idea makes me feel a little sick, but it’s more about the look on his face if he discovered I was talking to the cops than his retaliation, which is an example of misplaced priorities if ever there was one.
I remind myself what I’m doing all of this for. My sister. Our future.
I swipe out of the app with Bender’s map, pull up Zillow, and check for small two-bedroom homes near the Connecticut coastline with a hiking area as a way to get my head back on straight.
I pick out a sweet, yellow one-and-a-half-story with white window shutters.
Mary and I could plant flowers along the front walk. Daisies.
That afternoon, I set out according to the extreme directions. It’s a nice April afternoon—bright sun and cool, crisp air. Light jacket weather. The after-work joggers are just coming out, and moms push babies in strollers.
I walk slowly, pretending to do things on my phone, but really, I’m watching the pavement in front of my feet.
I head into Central Park, imagining daisies. And Mary getting clean. And me getting a teaching job in a quaint little school.
A ways in, I pass a man on a bench who I’m ninety percent sure is Bender wearing a ball cap and a red shirt with some kind of insignia.
But I keep going like the instructions said.
I get to the spot Bender marked, which turns out to be a small pool with a large metal turtle in the center.
The turtle spouts water from its back, and people stand on the edges, watching the water crash down.
A girl in a school uniform throws a penny .
I dig around in my backpack and find a penny to throw, but then Bender’s sidling up next to me. I hold it in my fingers, waiting for him to begin.
I suppose it’s a good place to meet. A lot of people really do stand around staring at the water, and the splashing would ruin things for somebody trying to record conversations from a distance.
I really want to ask if this is a standard-issue clandestine meeting fountain, but he wouldn’t think it’s funny.
Luka would think it’s funny. He might try to act all stern, but I already know his eyes crinkle a little when he likes something. Not to be confused with his full-on bad-guy eye narrowing.
Bender is just standing there acting like a stranger, not saying anything, so I decide to go for it. I step up onto the stone edge of the fountain, lean over the black-painted rail around the water, and throw the penny into the area with the other pennies, making a wish for my sister to be safe.
“Are you trying to draw attention?”
“Other people are throwing pennies...”
“And don’t look at me.”
I turn back to the fountain. “It’s not like he even knows I’m a college student.”
“Don’t be so sure. How’d it go?”
“Wait— don’t be so sure? What does that mean? Do you think he might know who I am?”
“I think you really don’t want him to find out.”
“Fine. No more pennies,” I say.
“So. Last night. I want everything.”
I’ve thought about this moment carefully. How much I’ll say.
I’ve decided to breadcrumb him, giving him just enough to make him think I’m all in.
Mafia gossip seems safe. Things that would be likely on the dark web or news articles seem safe.
Things an observer could figure out. But private or important things about Luka that could be traced back to me? That’s where I draw the line.
I tell myself it’s for my own safety. Somebody has to look out for my safety, and I’m getting the feeling that Bender doesn’t give a shit.
“He was holding court at that Albanian restaurant where we met.”
“Of course. It’s his place,” Bender says.
“His place… that he owns?”
“He’s a powerful Albanian kyre,” Bender says like that’s an answer. “Who was there? What did they say? I want everything, start to finish, and don’t think about leaving anything out.”
I stare at the spray, not loving Bender’s harsh tone.
“There were six men besides me and Luka. Different men this time, except his friends Storm and Orton. He and Orton have known each other for twenty years.”
This seems to interest Bender. “Did he reveal where they met? Where they were?”
“He didn’t say. It was Orton who told me while he was checking me for a wire.” I relate what he said about Luka hearing all and seeing all.
“I sat down, and the only other name I got of the people there was Florian, this guy who came later, full of bad-guy gossip.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“People are starting to think some guy named Lazarus is alive .”
“Hold on—Bloody Lazarus?” Bender looks pale.
“Yes, Bloody Lazarus, the enforcer for one Aldo Nikolla. Very violent.”
“They think he’s alive ?”
“Not all of them. Some think it’s bullshit. The man apparently got blown up in a Hummer. Lots of C4. But his body was never found.”
“Jesus Christ. What does Luka think? ”
“Luka was hard to read. He didn’t discount it. They said that Lazarus disemboweled a guy and put Pez dispensers in his hands.”
“Lazarus did what?”
Bender doesn’t know about the disembowelment?
I’m happy to deliver on that count. I treat him to the goriest details ever—the pain, the blood, and how long the human intestine is, courtesy of things I learned in my Medieval Crime and Punishment seminar.
Some of the people back in those days were really off the chain and invented truly wild punishments.
It’s fascinating—it really is. To me, at least.
He stares at the fountain. “Jesus.”
“I know!”
“What else?”
“People were obsessing about Bloody Lazarus for the rest of the night. Also, Orton likes to poke at a dead body to make sure it’s dead. He made a phone call, but it was in another language.”
“You know who he called?”
“No. Also, people are wondering if Aleksio’s out for vengeance. Like there could be blood on the streets.”
“What did Luka think about that?”
I think of the way he seemed to relish it. The vision he provided for the men—that they would skewer their enemies on their razor-sharp hound’s teeth. The darkly exciting way he dared the world to come after what’s his.
“He didn’t seem that worried. His attitude was kind of like, ‘Bring it on.’”
“Really?” Bender seems surprised.
“That seemed to be the gist.”
Bender presses me for more specifics. I supply some of them, and then Bender stares glumly at the fountain. He seems unhappy about Luka being powerful and effective. Like it’s a personal affront or something.
I stare at the insignia on his shirt, a Norse-style Thor’s hammer design, thinking about the parts that felt private and special between Luka and me.
Let any man come after me or mine. I’ll rain hell on him like he’s never seen.
And the way he looked right at me when he said that. Like he’d fight for me.
But Luka reaching out to Aleksio Dragusha? I won’t tell Bender those parts.
“After that, there was sports talk and food talk.”
“Nothing else?”
“We ate. I spilled wine all over my dress, and it was a complete mess. I went to the bathroom to try to clean it up. When I came out, he sent me home with Gianni, and I had him drop me at the Midtown pizza place?—”
“What? He simply sent you home?”
“Yeah. I walked in and then put on a hat and walked out with a group of people like you told me, and I took an Uber the rest of the way.”
“He fed you and sent you home? You didn’t go back to his place or back to the hotel?”
“I was covered with wine, and there was possibly some freakishly violent killer come back from the dead...”
“But you said Luka wasn’t worried.”
“I’m telling you the events. Freakish killer. Spilled wine. He sent me off and stayed to talk to Orton. This is literally what happened. We did not leave together.”
Bender stares at me for a long while. “I can see that you’re a careful girl who considers all the angles. You don’t want to get too deep into this, and I can appreciate that.”
“I’m telling you what happened.”
“I understand. But you should stop to consider that I might be careful, too. That I might consider all the angles. That I might even have somebody on the inside, and I’m evaluating your truthfulness right now.
You might consider also”—he leans in close—”what effect your omissions might have on your sister. ”
“My sister is why I’m doing all of this!” I burst out.
Bender stares at me, and my heart is pounding. Did Bender have somebody watching? Did he know we were in the bathroom forever?
He says, “It’s awful what a depraved man could do to your sister...”
“What are you saying? Do you know where my sister is? Is she in trouble?”
“Not from what I can tell. But understand me when I say if you’re playing games with me?
If you’re holding back with me? Not good.
You want me in a mood to help you with your sister because wherever she is, she needs us to find her.
She needs you to give a hundred and ten percent to me on this project of ours. ”
My pulse whooshes so hard it’s deafening. “I’m doing my best. I was in the restaurant with him. I spilled wine on myself and was in the bathroom getting it out for a while. Then he sent me home.”
“Okay, then.” Bender draws a black cloth from his pocket and wipes the screen of his phone. “Think about what I’ve said. I’ll be in touch.”
Three hours later, I get another text. It’s a Riverdale address and a time: one a.m.
I text back.
Dress code?
Did you do what I told you?
Yes.
Dress code unlocked. Isn’t that what you kids say?
I stare at the last message. Is Luka making a joke? It seems outrageous that he’d make a joke.
Give me an address. I’ll send a car.
No need.
There’s a shocker.
I send him the face-with-tongue emoji.
He sends me the frown face.
I stare at my phone. Are we bantering now? Is that what we’re doing?
I shove the phone away.