‘And the same colouring.’
‘And if Scardi hit the wrong woman, he’ll be back when he finds out. He’s gonna finish it up right. I mean, his kind don’t fuck up a job and walk away from it.’
‘Remember the ears in the box be gave Luciano?’
What we gotta do, we gotta find the lady and stash her someplace safe, someplace they can’t find her. Then stake this apartment out and hope be comes back again.’
‘Or track him down first.’
They both heard the sound at the same time, a grating of metal on metal. Someone was putting a key in the lock. Sharky vaulted out of his seat, pulling his automatic from under his arm, rushing from the kitchen towards the door. Livingston was right behind him, clawing for his .38. Sharky was six feet from the door when it swung open. He stopped, dropped into a crouch, and aimed the gun with both hands.
The door opened and be was face to face with Domino Brittain.
She looked at him, down at the gun, back at his flattened nose, and she raised an eyebrow.
‘Something wrong with my elevator?’ she said.
Sharky lowered his gun and sighed with relief. She did not move. She stared back and forth at the two detectives until Sharky took out his wallet and held it towards her, letting it flop open to his shield and ID.
She looked at it, then leaned forward for a better look and stared over the top of it at him.
‘A cop?’ she said.
Sharky nodded.
‘You’re a cop?’
Sharky nodded again.
‘A real. . . live. . . cop.’
‘Detective,’ he said, somewhat embarrassed.
‘Detective.’
‘Uh huh.’
She looked at Livingston.
‘Him too?’
‘That’s Arch Livingston, my partner.’
‘Pleased to meet you,’ Livingston said, but she had already turned her gaze back to Sharky. She shook her head.
Livingston sidled up to Sharky.
‘You two know each other?’ he said with more than a little surprise in his tone.
‘We met.’
‘Oh, really?’
‘We’ll talk about it later.’
‘You better believe we will.’
Domino stepped inside the room, but she could not see the wall, the open door blocked it. ‘Would one of you gentlemen like to get my bag?’ she said, pointing to the Gucci sitting in the hall, ‘And then maybe we can talk about what you’re doing in my apartment playing cops and robbers.’
Livingston took the bag and leaning close to Sharky, said, ‘She’s a cool one, buddy. But I guess you knew that already, right?’
‘I said later,’ Sharky muttered out of the side of his mouth.
Domino was standing very close to Sharky, and she looked at him and said, ‘Now what was this about working on the elevators?’
‘Sorry about that.’
‘It’s a pretty good act.’
He wanted to keep up the banter. He liked it and he liked her and he was grateful that she was still alive, grateful to be close to her again. He knew too that she was smart enough to sense it. But he had to change the subject and he dreaded what was coming.
‘Domino,’ he said seriously, ‘who stayed here last night?’
‘Are you grilling me? — is that what they call it?’ She was still trying to keep the conversation light and Sharky was having difficulty making the transition. She looked past him, at the open door, and began to sense that something bad had happened here and then he stepped back and pushed the door shut and she saw it, the splattered blood stains, the pockmarks on the wall, and it began to register, first in her widened eyes, then her strangled cry. ‘Oh, my God!’
Was it Tiffany Paris who stayed here last night?’ Livingston said.
‘I-I-I-I . . .‘ she stammered.
‘Easy,’ Sharky said.
