Nate nodded, then as Quinn headed to the door he said, “Don’t forget to tell Orlando.”
“I won’t.”
Orlando’s Aunt Jeong had lived in one of those Edwardian shotgun houses built not long after the famous 1906 San Francisco earthquake. A two-story with a basement. But unlike most of the other homes in the neighborhood, the building had not been subdivided into separate upstairs and downstairs apartments. Somehow Aunt Jeong had resisted the urge to mutilate her home for the quick cash.
It was the second time in the last five years Quinn had been to her house, and neither time had been a happy one. In fact, his previous visit had marked the beginning of a four-year stretch during which he and Orlando had lost contact with each other.
“Lost” wasn’t the right word, Quinn knew. More like “broke off.” But he preferred “lost”; it smoothed over the pain. That first time had been after a job he and Durrie had been on. But instead of bringing Durrie to her alive, Quinn had brought her an urn filled with ashes they both thought belonged to her boyfriend. That later it turned out not to be true didn’t change the fact it had been the worst day of Quinn’s life. And, he guessed, of Orlando’s, too.
There were five steps leading up to the front of the house. Quinn hesitated for several seconds at the bottom, then willed himself up the stairs. He knocked, waited half a minute, then knocked again. There was no response.
Orlando had told Nate the funeral was that afternoon, but she hadn’t mentioned exactly when. Quinn had tried calling her several times since arriving in the city, but she hadn’t answered.
He tried knocking again. Still no answer. He turned back to the street, looking first right, then left.
God knew where the service was being held.
All of a sudden, he felt very weary. Markoff dead. Jenny missing. The responsibility he was beginning to feel for Tasha. And now this, his best friend losing the aunt she had loved so much.
He sat down on the stoop. There was nothing he could do now but wait.
And if there was one thing he was good at, it was waiting.
“Let’s see. The first time you broke the law,” Orlando whispered.
Quinn thought about it for a moment. “I was twelve. Shoplifted a candy bar on a dare from a friend.” His voice also low.
“Get caught?”
“Sort of.”
She cocked her head, wanting more.
Quinn moved his legs a few inches to the left, trying to get comfortable. It was tough to do in the utility closet they were crammed in. Most of the space was taken up by a switching system for the company computer network.
Orlando was sitting closest to the door, while Quinn was shoved back in the corner, giving her as much room as possible.
“I actually took two,” he said. “It was the local grocery store. One of the managers stopped me on the way out and made me give one back.”
“Not both of them?”
“He didn’t know about the other one. But he did let me go. I think he thought he’d scared me enough.”
Again the questioning look.
“Yeah,” Quinn said. “He did. I didn’t shoplift again until...well, until I started working for Durrie. How about you?”
“Stole fifty bucks from the principal’s office in sixth grade.”
“Holy shit,” Quinn said. “What’d he do when he found out?”
“Expelled a kid in another class.”
“He didn’t know it was you?”
“They found the other kid’s fingerprints on everything,” she said. “And it helped that he’d dropped his lunch card under the desk.”
Quinn smirked. He wanted to believe her, but he didn’t know her well enough to trust her yet. Besides, maybe she was just trying to impress him. Though they were both still apprentices—he with Durrie, and she with Durrie’s occasional partner Abraham Delger—Quinn was the veteran. He’d been at it almost four years, while Orlando had only begun her training nine months earlier.
“I think I hear someone,” she said, looking toward the door.
Quinn moved his head so that his ear was facing the door, then focused all his attention on the hallway beyond the door. A half-second later, he heard the steps. They were light but rhythmic and unhurried. No sense of urgency, no panic that might suggest knowledge of any security breech at the Net/Gyro facility. Though for the last thirty minutes, that had been exactly the case.
Quinn and Orlando listened as the steps drew nearer, walked past the door, then receded in the opposite direction. Not once was there a pause in the person’s gait.
“Your turn,” Orlando said once it was quiet.
“Why’d you decide to get into this?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Work’s off-limits. As is anything too personal.”
