“The Princess told me,” the big cop said to Jon, using his nickname for Amira, “that she found some businesses who’ve bought those towelettes you asked her to check on.”
“Anything near here?”
“Yeah,” Halladay said with a puzzled look. “One’s a bar only a couple blocks away.”
“That’s it,” Jon said, causing the other cop’s brow to furrow even more. “I want to check out that bar. But first we should talk to Render.” He gestured at the two big buildings owned by Gotham Security—the stone fortress at Eleven Madison and the thin glass tower a few buildings to the right of it. “Where do you think he is right now… at work or at home?”
“I’d try work first,” Halladay responded. “But listen, like I told you, I need to go home, see the family and get some rest. You’ll have to visit Garth Vader by yourself.”
“Come on, Frank. I really need an extra pair of eyes and ears for this. And time is of the essence, remember?”
“My time is the essence,” Halladay said. “I’m going home.”
“How about a compromise?” Jon said after a moment of thought. “Let’s check out the bar first, we can get a drink or two, and then you can decide what you want to do.”
“Okay,” the big man said after a moment of his own. “Only because I would’ve stopped for one on my way home anyway.”
“Great.” Jon patted him on the back and gestured forward. “Lead on…”
“One more thing,” Halladay said, “since we’re making a deal. Take that bandage off the bottom of your chin—you look like a dick. It’s not still bleeding, is it?”
“No,” Jon said, feeling it with his fingers. “But it looks kinda gross underneath.”
“Naaah. It’ll make you look tough.”
As Jon removed the bandage, Halladay led them north on Broadway, straddling the left side of the park and then veering away from it for a block until they reached the St. James Building at the corner of Twenty-Sixth Street. On its first floor, with an entrance on Twenty-Sixth, was a newish-looking establishment called “The Office.” Jon chuckled at the name and followed Halladay in and up to the bar, where they took the two stools farthest away from the other patrons, just a few at this hour.
Before they even settled in their seats, both men couldn’t help but notice the woman serving at the other end of the bar, whose beauty was not ostentatious but was still too obvious to miss. Everything about her was attractive, but what became most noticeable, as she approached their side of the bar, were her fair, slightly freckled complexion and shining ice-blue eyes. They contrasted strikingly with her dark shirt and hair, which was half-gathered so that wisps of it graced her forehead and accentuated those amazing eyes even more.
“Wow,” Halladay said as soon as she stopped across the bar from them.
“Thank you,” she said, as if she was used to it, with a medium-pitched and slightly coarse voice. “What can I do for you guys?”
Halladay grinned at Jon, who responded with a slight frown and shake of his head.
“I’ll try to restrain myself,” the big cop said, “and I’ll just ask for a BrewDog ale. If ye have it.” He turned up the brogue on the last phrase.
“Aye, we do,” she said with a smile, then turned to Jon. “And for you?”
“Well, since it’s my first drink in the city, I guess I’ll have a Manhattan.” Jon laughed nervously, half because of the woman’s effect on him and half because he couldn’t believe he was feeling it. He was usually too preoccupied with his work to even notice anyone.
When she left to get their drinks, Halladay turned to John and said, “Damn.”
“I thought you were a family man,” Jon said.
“I am. I’m thinkin’ for you.” He nodded at Jon and raised his eyebrows.
Jon looked back at the woman, who seemed about his age, and actually had to shake his head to clear it and remember why they were there.
“What’s your name?” Jon said, when she returned with their drinks.
“Mallory Cassady,” she said, putting her hand out.
“Jon Phillips,” he said, and took it, feeling more sparks despite the fact that he was telling himself how ridiculous it was. “This is Frank Halladay.”
She shook Halladay’s hand, too, and said to him, “Speaking of names, yours sounds familiar. But I haven’t seen you in here.”
“Do you own the place?” Halladay asked, smart enough to know that if she was here most of the time, she probably did. And she was smart enough to tell that he had evaded her question, so her demeanor changed ever-so-slightly when he did.
“I do, along with my father. Why do you ask?”
“I really like the name.”
“We’re MPD, Mallory,” Jon said, trying to be as straight up and nonthreatening as possible. But her demeanor changed noticeably this time, as if she felt threatened anyway.
7
“You’re not a suspect,” Jon said, “if you’re worried about that.”
“I’m not worried about anything,” Mallory said, almost convincing him.
“We’re wondering about those little wet naps, actually,” Halladay said, pointing to the small bowls of them at two spots on the bar. “Has anyone suspicious taken any of them recently?”
“No,” she answered, a little too quickly. “Like… what do you mean by ‘suspicious’?”
“Military or ex-military, maybe?” This was Jon, and Halladay looked at him strangely again, wondering what he was on about.
“There’s a serial killer on the loose,” Halladay interrupted. “As I’m sure you know. And sometimes you can just tell when you meet them, that there’s something not quite right.”
“Huh. I can’t imagine.” Then she said “Excuse me for a minute,” and left to tend the other end of the bar again. Jon wasn’t sure whether he saw anyone come in, or signal for her, or not.
“I’d like to interrogate her,” said the family man, draining the rest of his beer. “I’ll just say I was at The Office. Heh.” Then he looked at Jon, who had barely finished half of his small drink. “Why did you say, ‘Military or ex-military?’”
“A hunch,” said the younger man.
“If you’re implying GS again, because they have a lot of those types, forget about it. The Princess told me on the phone that she checked into it, and there’s no way a GS copter could have dropped someone on top of those buildings. The Mayor keeps strict tabs on their aircraft. The only possibility for an entrance like that would be MPD or maybe a private company across the river. But there’s too much surveillance on top of other buildings even for that.”
“We get a very boring clientele here,” Mallory said as she returned. “Hardworking, well-off people from this district. And they’re usually pretty happy while they’re here, even if they didn’t come in that way. So no serial killer types.”
“Probably not,” Jon said. “But we’d like to get a copy of your security tapes, just in case.” He gestured with his head toward a camera that was barely visible in the top corner of the room, and she stood a little bit straighter.
“Okay,” she said. “But I don’t have anything to copy them onto. Not here, anyway…. I have some flash drives at my apartment across the park that would be big enough.” She leaned down closer to Jon. “You can provide some public service and walk me over there, keep me safe from that killer you’re looking for.”
“Hey, am I chopped liver over here?” Halladay said. “What about me?”
“You could walk me home later, when my shift is done.”
“What time?” the family man said, but Jon interrupted him.
“It’s tempting,” Jon said, and meant it. “But we’re very short on time. Frank, would you please call Amira and have her bring a flash drive to you halfway, so we can get on with this?”