A growl sounded from the living room. I glanced over at Ma. She sat on the edge of the sofa, her wrinkled face scrunched up, her teeth bared. “Die, zombie bastard.”
Roxy moved her whole body as she punched the buttons on the controller, leaning left then lurching to the right. “Take that, you undead asshole.”
I looked back up at Eric, my lips a thin line. “What did you do?”
Eric tipped his head back to finish off the last of his beer. “It’s fun.” He gestured toward the TV with the empty bottle. “You should try it.”
Nibbling on my thumb, I glanced back over the list of properties and compared it once again with the NorthStar businesses. I finally had a few pieces of the puzzle, but I didn’t know what to do with them.
Feeling more frustrated than ever, I finally went to the living room and sank to the floor to watch Ma and Roxy try to defeat brain-eating zombies. It was after midnight and they showed no signs of stopping the carnage.
“Hey, ladies, we need to go.”
They completely ignored me.
“Get the rock, pick up the rock,” Roxy said.
“I’m trying, but that damn zombie keeps blocking me.” Ma had a fierce look of concentration on her face.
“Hey, zombie slayers, we need to leave.”
Still no response.
Eric wrestled the controller from Roxy and paused the game. They grumbled at him.
“Just a few minutes longer,” Ma said. She sounded just like Scotty when he was in the middle of a game.
Roxy frowned and tried to get the controller back from Eric. “We were just getting some decent weapons, Rose.”
Eric looked at me and grinned. “I could take them home.”
“See,” Ma said. “You go on, hon. We’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, see you tomorrow,” Roxy said, grabbing the controller from Eric’s hand.
I shrugged. “Okay.”
Eric showed Roxy how to resume the game. I grabbed my bag and the information Eric had found on Sullivan. Thomas Malcolm Sullivan.
“Sorry about them.” I flicked my finger toward Ma and Roxy.
“They’re fine. Let me walk you to your car.”
Eric waved as I started the engine and drove off.
I actually accomplished something tonight. I’d been so sick of hitting dead end after dead end. But now I had something tangible to link Sullivan and NorthStar and Packard Graystone. Officially I couldn’t prove anything, and I didn’t know what my next move should be, but I was determined to figure it out. One way or another, I was getting Axton back.
I parked in my lot and scoured the area before I got out of the car, then hustled inside. As I entered the building, my neighbor opened her door and poked her head out. A slim woman in her fifties, Wanda’s fried, bleached hair had a Bride of Frankenstein thing going on. She held a glass of red wine in one hand. “Hey, blondie, want to keep it down up there? I got work in the morning.” She worked at The Gutter Ball, and by the way she slurred her words, I could tell that wasn’t her first glass of red this evening.
“Hey, Wanda, I just got home. I’ve been out for hours.”
“Well it sounded like balls being thrown down the alley.” She slammed the door in my face.
My heart began beating like a bad techno song. I knocked on Wanda’s door. She answered it with a scowl. “What now?”
“When did you hear the noise?”
“’Bout an hour ago.” She slammed the door again.
Could be nothing, I told myself. But myself knew I was lying. Bowling alley sounds coming from my apartment — not a good thing. I pulled out my cell phone and punched in 911, my finger hovering over the send key.
I slowly climbed the stairs to my apartment and tiptoed to the door. It stood half open, the new lock busted. The overhead light was on. I knew that whoever had been here was probably long gone, but I didn’t want to take any chances. I pushed the door open farther with my toe.
My apartment looked like it had been swept up in a tornado. The futon was hacked up and chunks of blue foam dotted the room like enormous confetti. My laptop had been thrown to the floor, the hinge broken. The small TV overturned, the screen shattered, but the cord was still plugged into the outlet. The framed pictures from my dresser lay scattered on the floor along with textbooks, their pages ripped out and crumpled into balls.
Trembling, I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. In silence, I scanned the room, threw my hand over my mouth and sobbed.
Clothes were pulled from the closet, slashed to ribbons. Including the new dress from Pour Femme. And every single item from my dresser drawers. Underwear and bras were ripped and torn. I glanced down and saw a decapitated flamingo.
The small amount of food from my fridge was splattered all over my kitchenette. Milk and orange juice mixed together in a puddle and spilled onto the cracked linoleum.
The bathroom hadn’t faired any better. My makeup and toiletries smashed and dumped in the toilet.
Even my little bistro table and chairs were demolished.
Shit. Who would do something like this? Sullivan? Why now? Revenge for crashing his gambling club? He must know about my fight with Manny on the main staircase. But even for him, this was some kind of fucked up.
I pressed the send button on my phone and went back downstairs to wait for the police.
It took them forty-five minutes to arrive. The longest forty-five minutes of my life. They dusted for prints, talked to the neighbors — who by then had stumbled out into the hall to see what all the commotion was about — and took my statement. One of the officers told me to come down to the station the next day and get a copy of the report.
After the police left, I just stood in the doorway of my apartment staring at the damage. Everything I owned had been destroyed.
Chapter 21
It was just after three a.m. when I called Roxy and explained what happened. Fifteen minutes later she walked through my door carrying a broom, cleaning supplies, and a box of garbage bags. She laid everything on the ground, then enfolded me in her arms.
Roxy’s not big on displays of affection, I think because she had so little of it growing up. But she hugged me like she wouldn’t let go. I clung to her and cried.
When I finally pulled away, my gaze swept over the room. “Who would do this?”
“Sullivan, of course. We can’t rule out Dane, either.”
“Dane?” I frowned at her. “What are you talking about?”
“Did it ever occur to you that Dane might not be helping you out of the goodness of his heart?”
I gave a little humorless laugh. “Yeah, I think he’s doing it to get into my pants.”
“Maybe.” She shrugged. “Or he could be working with Sullivan. Dane popped up out of nowhere at the exact same time your bud, Ax, disappeared. That’s quite a coinkadink.”
“That’s crazy talk. He went to Penn’s Cigar Bar with me. Why would he do that? And why would he give me a list of NorthStar businesses in the first place? That doesn’t make sense.”
“He never thought you’d find any real evidence? Maybe Sullivan wants Dane to keep tabs on you.”
My gut clenched in a knot. “No, I can’t believe Dane would do that.”
“He didn’t seem real excited after you showed him the list from the hard drive.”
True. He’d pooh-poohed. Was that because he just didn’t want to mess with the bigwigs of Huntingford or because he was trying to throw me off track? Maybe Dane was setting me up.
