“It’s not a nickname,” Halladay said. “Believe it or not.”
“It’s my work name,” Nina said.
“It used to be her work name,” Halladay corrected her. “When she used to work here.” The tall older man looked down at the short younger woman, and pulled her closer. “Before I saved her.”
“Yeah.” She hugged him back. “He saved me from everybody else.”
“So she’s taken,” Halladay said to Jon. “But Betty can get you one…. What kind do you like?”
Jon shook his head and laughed nervously, but then answered, “I guess I like the same kind you do—the kind you don’t have to pay for.”
Halladay and Nina looked at each other, not sure whether that was a compliment or an insult. So John changed the subject.
“Do you have children?” he asked, expecting a ‘yes’ because of Halladay’s references to going home to see his family.
“Are you kidding?” was all the big cop had to say about that. “Okay, well, I’m gonna get some R and R with Nina… literally, but in reverse order. You can raid the fridge and crash on the couch if you want—the other rooms in this building aren’t available for just one person. Sorry if any noises make it hard to sleep, though—the walls are a bit thin.” He winked at Jon and pulled the woman down the hallway and out of sight.
After standing in the same position for a little while longer, Jon shook his head and stepped over to the kitchen area of the big open room. He opened the refrigerator and immediately wondered if Halladay’s reference to “raiding” it was an intended or unintended pun, because along with some food and drink it contained various kinds of illegal drugs, with no attempt being made to hide them. There were conspicuous amounts, too much for just the woman or the two of them to ingest, so Jon assumed that this was Nina’s new source of income. She probably provided them for the hookers and their customers, keeping them here because it was the most protected place in the building.
Jon didn’t see anything he wanted to eat, and his appetite was also stunted by the sounds that were now floating out from the back room, as advertised. Along with some rather loud music there were squeals of delight, which Jon found mildly amusing at first. But then he felt increasingly uncomfortable and knew he would indeed have trouble getting any rest here. So he checked the time on his phone and stared for a while at Halladay’s keys, which were beckoning to him from the coffee table. Finally, he snatched them up and headed out of the apartment.
As he passed by the older Chinese woman and her cubicle in the lobby, she asked if he was leaving without sampling the merchandise.
“It’s free for you,” she said in a thick accent.
Jon stopped in front of her briefly, curious and with plenty of time to spare before his 2:00 P.M. date.
“I heard you won’t serve me if I’m gay,” he said.
“Right,” she said. “Straight is natural, gay is not natural. Says that in the book of Romans.”
“How can you get away with that,” he asked her, “with the discrimination laws and all?”
“We’re illegal already,” she said.
“Hmmm, I guess that makes sense,” Jon said, to be polite, and then added, to be honest: “Or doesn’t.”
He smiled awkwardly at her, waved goodbye, and headed out to the car.
It took him longer than expected to get back to the Flatiron District, because the GPS on his phone stopped working a few times along the way and he had to guess which direction to go in. When he got there, he found a parking garage not far from The Office—not wanting to test Halladay’s illegal parking methods without the older cop there—and then walked to the bar. He had made it with just ten minutes to spare before 2:00 P.M.
Mallory was still working behind the bar, as was a good-looking young man with bright gold tips in his short dark hair. She saw Jon when he was about halfway across the room, and moved to make sure she would be serving him when he took a seat.
“I hope it’s not a coincidence,” she said, drawing as close as the bar would allow, “that you came when I’m about to get off.”
“I definitely wanted to catch you before you left,” Jon said, letting her possible pun go. “To show you these pictures.”
Jon needed to gauge whether his plan for the next few hours was even necessary, though inwardly he was hoping that it would be. So he pulled out his phone and showed Mallory the photos of the four recent customers from the security tapes that had been identified by the facial recognition software at police headquarters. He asked her if any of them might be suspicious in any way, or if she thought there was any possibility one of them might be the killer they were looking for. He watched her closely as she looked at them, and then went back through them a second time to observe her reactions further. She laughed out loud at two of them as she said “No way,” and didn’t recognize a third, but her laughing from the prior one modulated involuntarily when Jon switched to the photo of the female who had mistakenly come up under a male name. And the second time through the pictures, Jon noticed that Mallory seemed to make an extra effort to compose herself when she denied recognizing the short, round woman.
“Aren’t you going to ask me what I want to drink?” Jon said, giving her an opportunity to compose herself by putting the phone away and flashing his nicest smile.
“Oh, yeah, sure,” she said. “Whaddaya want?”
“I’ll take a Link Up.”
“Okay,” she said, thinking. “That’s American whiskey and Russian vodka, with lime juice, right?”
“Usually Southern Comfort, I think.”
“Okay. I’ll be right back.”
As Jon sat on his stool, admiring Mallory while she made the drink, he realized that his secret wishes for the next few hours were coming true, and so were his worst fears about her.
11
“You won’t have much time to drink this if you’re gonna walk me home,” Mallory said when she returned with the cocktail. She was completely composed again by now.
“That’s okay,” Jon said. “I don’t ever drink the whole thing anyway. I only take a few sips.”
“Really? Why’s that?”
“To tell you the truth, I don’t really like the taste. It’s just a hobby for me, ’cause I love a series of books by a guy who drank a lot, and his detective character drank a lot. So it’s kind of a way to be like him. I know it’s weird. But I also can’t afford to be off my game mentally at all…. I like succeeding at what I do, and I’m pretty much working all the time.”
“That’s not weird at all,” Mallory said, and seemed delighted to hear this from Jon. “Well, maybe it is, but I’m weird, too.” She lowered her voice. “I’m a bartender, but I don’t actually drink myself. Not a drop.”
“Hmmm. Why’s that?”
“I’m like you, I don’t really like it. But also my dad, who bought the bar with me… he has to have it all the time. Can’t get to sleep without it, gets irritable without it. It’s sad.”
“Is he the man sitting over there in the corner?” Jon said, and Mallory looked surprised and asked how he knew. He responded, “Pretty basic detective work.” Then he changed the subject, not wanting his job to be the center of this conversation.
“So when you leave—and it’s almost two, by the way—I’m guessing the number of men in the bar goes down considerably. You’re the biggest source of business, I imagine.”
“Not really. They like Bree, too.” Jon realized she must have been referring to another bartender who was not currently working.
“And him, over there,” he said, nodding toward the young man with the gold tips, “he brings in the female crowd?”
“Some, and men, too. Most of the women come for the men who come for me and Bree.”