She Who Hangs by Doorways

I check my watch as I step onto the city street. Even at this midnight hour, there are still plenty of cars and pedestrians about, dozens of people going about their New York summer nightlives.

I’d told Salome that I would be staying the night in my own apartment here in the city, but the truth is, I’ve never actually been inside the place before. This is Claude Ashworth’s apartment, supposedly the same unit that he grew up in, and I figure that I should become more familiar with it than the notes and photos that Mr. Samuel provided me.

As I stroll through the night, I have half a mind to check out my old apartment and see how it’s doing. But something tells me that it would be a bad idea. There’s no way that Vidocq doesn’t have that place under surveillance, somehow or another, and there would be no reason for Claude Ashworth to show up there. The same goes for checking in on Jericho. Doubly so, in his case.

But as I walk down the street, something is ticking me off. Is it the people on the street? It might be. But I spot a deli on the side of the street that triggers a memory that seems ages old. I pop into it for a second. I’m famished, because those cocktail dishes they were serving at the gallery were no substitute for an actual meal, and the **** that I had at the strip club is not doing me any favours either.

The Hispanic girl at the counter has bags under her eyes, stifling a yawn as she warily eyes me walking into the shop. She’s just as pretty as I remember her being.

“Get me a Reuben,” I say, tossing a hundred on the counter. “Keep the change.”

Her bleary eyes widen as she sees the cold cash sitting there. She tentatively reaches out, picking it up, holds it up to the light to check the watermark.

“This is way too much money,” she says, staring at me, unbelieving.

“Call it paying off a past debt,” I say.

“Have you come by before?” she asks, frowning.

“In a manner of speaking,” I shrug. “But it’s no matter. I just really need a sandwich right now.”

Alexandra Vicario gives me a hard stare, her eyebrows knitting together, and then she turns away to go make the Reuben. It looks like her mother’s nowhere to be seen. Probably left her daughter to work this shift alone.

A couple minutes later, she passes me the sandwich, grilled to perfection, wrapped in a small brown bag. I take an eager bite.

“Thammks,” I manage to say through a mouthful of the food, and I head out the store, ignoring the strange looks that she continues to throw at me.

I might have considered flirting with her and trying for more, but there’s a more important matter to attend to. I exit the shop, the bell softly chiming as I do so, and I wolf down another half of the sandwich as I lean against that door. The woman in shades with the baggy jacket and haywire hair is still standing a couple feet away from the store’s entrance, jabbering loudly into her phone.

I start walking back towards ‘home,’ but the hair on the back of my neck is tingling now. That woman starts walking seconds after I do, suspicious because she stopped outside the shop when I went in to grab a bite. A couple right turns to make a circle confirms my suspicions. She’s tailing me.

Should I try to lose her? It seems like the obvious thing to do.

But something seems off. This woman. I know her from somewhere.

I pivot on my feet, facing her. She’s less than half a block behind me. She immediately sees me coming for her. She spins around, hurrying away. But that half-second that I got of her full profile was enough to confirm my suspicions. A woman can put a loose jacket and a pull-on wig, but some faces and some bodies just can’t be concealed that easily.

“Holly!” I cry out, chasing after her.

She freezes for a second, mid-step, and then disappears down into the darkness of a side alley. I could follow her. Track her down and chase her down. But what would that accomplish? Father can’t think that I’ve turned against him. Better to let this one go, and settle it civilly later. I can work out what all of this is meant to mean on my own.

But still… that she’s been following me is meaningful. Morton’s driver was discreet, and so were we in entering and exiting from the club. How would Holly even have known to follow Morton’s car? Did Elianne tip her off? Or was everybody in on the same plan, everybody except for me?

These are the thoughts that swirl around my head as I hail an Uber. Technically, I lied to Morton. Claude Ashworth’s apartment is in Manhattan, not within walking distance. But maybe even that small bit of deception will prove meaningless. If Morton and the others are in on the same plan… then odds are good that they’ll keep tailing me, even with Holly off the trail. The only question is, why was Morton acting so friendly to me then?

I push those thoughts out of my head as the Uber pulls to a stop outside the apartment. I’ve got to explore this ‘home’ of mine.