From behind him, Myron heard a noise. He spun quickly. The sound had come from the bedroom. He moved to the door and peered inside. The main room was neat and tidy. The bedroom looked like a tornado had ripped through it, and there, in the eye of the storm, asleep (or worse) on her back, was Kitty.
“Hello?”
She didn’t move. Her breath came in short, raspy pants. The room smelled of old cigarettes and what might have been beer sweat. He moved closer to the bed. Myron decided to do a little poking around before he woke her. The disposable cell was on her bedside table. He checked it. He recognized the calls from Suzze and Joel “Crush” Fishman. There were three or four other calls, some with what looked like an overseas number. He punched them into his BlackBerry and e-mailed them to Esperanza. He searched Kitty’s pocketbook and found her and Mickey’s passports. There were dozens of stamps for countries on every continent. Myron tore through it, trying to figure out the timeline. A lot of the stamps were smeared. Still it looked as though Kitty had entered the United States eight months ago from Peru.
He put the passports back in the purse and rifled through it. There were no surprises at first, but then he started to feel along the lining and-hello-he felt the hard lump. He reached in, slid the seam open with his fingers, and pulled out a plastic bag with a small amount of brown powder in it.
Heroin.
Anger almost got the better of him. He was about to wake her up with a kick to the bed when he spotted something on the floor. For a moment he just blinked in disbelief. It was there, on the floor near Kitty’s head, where you might toss a book or magazine if you were falling asleep. Myron bent down to get a closer look. He didn’t want to touch it, didn’t want to get fingerprints on it.
It was a gun.
He looked around, found a T-shirt on the floor, and used it to lift the gun into view. A.38. Same as the one sitting in Myron’s waistband, courtesy of Win. What the hell was going on here? He was half tempted to report her to family services and leave it at that.
“Kitty?”
His voice was louder now, harsher. No movement. This wasn’t sleep. She was passed out. He kicked the bed. Nothing. He debated throwing water on her face. Instead he tried to gently slap her face. He leaned over her and smelled the stale breath. He traveled back again, to when she was that adorable teenager dominating center court, and his favorite Yiddish expression came back to him in a rush: Man plans, God laughs.
This was not a kind laugh.
“Kitty?” he said again, a little harsher now.
Her eyes suddenly opened wide. She rolled quickly, startling Myron back, and then he realized what she was doing.
She was going for the gun.
“Looking for this?”
He held up the gun. She cupped her hands though there was barely any light in there and blinked at him. “Myron?”
24
Why the hell do you have a loaded gun?”
Kitty hopped out of bed and looked under a closed window shade. “How did you find me?” Her eyes bulged. “My God, were you followed?”
“What? No.”
“Are you sure?” Total panic. She ran over and checked another window. “How did you find me?”
“Just calm down.”
“I won’t calm down. Where’s Mickey?”
“I saw him go off to work.”
“Already? What time is it?”
“One in the afternoon.” Myron tried to plow through it. “Did you see Suzze yesterday?”
“Is that how you found me? She promised she wouldn’t tell.”
“Wouldn’t tell what?”
“Anything. But especially where I am. I explained it to her.”
Just ride it, Myron thought. “Explained what?”
“The danger. But she already understood.”
“Kitty, talk to me here. What kind of danger are you in?”
She shook her head. “I can’t believe Suzze sold me out.”
“She didn’t. I found you from her GPS and phone records.”
“What? How?”
He wasn’t about to head down that road. “How long have you been sleeping?”
“I don’t know. I went out last night.”
“Where?”
“None of your business.”
“Getting high?”
“Get out!”
Myron took a step back, raised his hands as though to show he meant no harm. He had to stop attacking. Why do we always screw up when it comes to family? “Do you know about Suzze?”
“She told me everything.”
“What did she tell you?”
“It’s confidential. I promised her. And she promised me.”
“Kitty, Suzze is dead.”
For a moment Myron thought that maybe she hadn’t heard him. Kitty just stared, her eyes clear for the first time. Then she started shaking her head.
“A drug overdose,” Myron said. “Last night.”
More headshake. “No.”
“Where do you think she got the drugs, Kitty?”
“She wouldn’t. She was pregnant.”
“Did you give them to her?”
“Me? My God, what kind of person do you think I am?”
To himself: One who keeps a gun next to her bed. One who had drugs hidden in her purse. One who goes down on strange guys at a club to score. Out loud, he said, “She came by here yesterday, right?”
Kitty didn’t reply.
“Why?”
“She called me,” Kitty said.
“How did she get your number?”
“She e-mailed my Facebook account. Like you did. She said it was urgent. She said she had things she needed to tell me.”
“So you e-mailed her your cell phone number.”
Kitty nodded.
“And then Suzze called. You told her to meet you here.”
“Not here,” Kitty said. “I still wasn’t sure. I didn’t know if I could trust her. I was scared.”
Myron saw it now. “So instead of giving her this address, you just told her the intersection.”
“Right. I told her to park by the Staples. That way I could watch her. Make sure she was on her own and that no one was following.”
“Who did you think might be following?”
But Kitty shook her head firmly, clearly terrified to answer. This was not a place to go, if he wanted to keep her talking. Myron got back on a more fruitful path. “So you and Suzze talked?”
