Simone stared hard at Caroline, but Caroline wouldn’t make eye contact. Kluren, on the other hand, was staring at Simone and smiling.
“Sure, fine. Besides, if whoever killed Linnea kills her… my life would get easier. Go.” She waved them off like insects.
Caroline strode from the room without looking back, and Simone quickly zipped her boots, grabbed her hat and coat, and followed her. Caroline still wouldn’t make eye contact, but as Simone came closer to thank her, she spoke first.
“Don’t say anything,” Caroline said. Her voice was cold. “Come with me.”
“I need my gun,” Simone said. Caroline finally turned to look at her, and Simone felt like she was being prodded with a red-hot poker.
“Get it,” Caroline said. Simone turned around and spotted Peter in a corner. She walked up to him and he handed her her gun back.
“I called her,” Peter whispered. “She didn’t sound happy. What’s going on?”
“Thanks,” Simone said, putting her gun back in her boot. She turned back around to find Caroline was halfway down the hall, so Simone ran to catch up. They walked off the boat in silence. They walked a few blocks more before Caroline finally turned around.
“You’re a fucking idiot,” she said. Simone shrugged. “And I really don’t like you right now. And if you don’t trust me, I don’t know why I should trust you.”
“I’m sorry—” Simone started, but Caroline cut the air with her hand and Simone stopped.
“I don’t want to do this right now. I don’t have many friends.”
“Me neither.”
“I know. But I bailed you out because… for old times’ sake. And because I know Kluren is gunning for you, and it’s unfair. But I’m angry. And things aren’t good between us.”
“I know,” Simone said, staring at the wooden bridge under her feet. “I fucked it up.”
“Yeah.” They stood there in silence. Simone looked up at Caroline, who was staring at her, her mouth slightly open, her face more slack than usual. But when she saw Simone looking, she clenched her jaw and turned her head, staring off.
“I’m going home now. You should find somewhere to stay. I’m guessing cops are still swarming all over your apartment.”
“Yeah,” Simone nodded. “Thanks, Caroline. And I really am sorry.”
“Good night.” Caroline turned around before the conversation could continue. As she walked away, she threw her hand up in a gesture that was half wave, half “go away.” Simone stared after her until she was gone, then turned and walked in the opposite direction.
She walked for a while with no particular destination. The storm on the horizon was growing ominously closer, but she didn’t care. She felt as though she ought to be thinking about something: the case, the comments Kluren made about her father, how she could make it up to Caroline—but her mind was curiously blank. She was blank all over. She was breath in a body in a city on the ocean, and that was all there was.
SHE WOUND UP AT Danny’s because it was the place that made the most sense to go. She could have tried Peter… but that was complicated and messy, and he would have kept asking about what was going on with Caroline.
All the lights were out except the neon one that read, “The Great Yanai,” and the sliding door was locked. Simone dictated a message to him over her earpiece saying she was outside, and a few moments later he waded out of the shadows behind the glass and opened the door.
“Sad,” he said, looking her over.
“So are your pajamas.”
He looked down at the bright yellow briefs he was wearing. They had a large cartoon octopus over the crotch. “These? I like these,” he shrugged, then looked back up at her. “Come on in. What happened?”
“Client’s dead body showed up at my place, police hauled me in, Caroline got me out, but told me she really didn’t want to see me, so now I can’t go home, I can’t go to Caroline’s. I was hoping I could crash here.”
“Why not call up that delicious tourist of yours?” They walked forward through his office and up the back stairs to his apartment.
“deCostas?” The thought of it made her mouth bitter. “No.”
“How about you give me his number, and I call him up, then?”
“I forgot to take photos of him naked for you, sorry.”
“That’s okay. Some things are better left to the imagination. Anyway, the couch is yours. I have some blankets and a pillow somewhere around here.”
“Thanks.”
“Hey, you took me in when I had nowhere to go. This is the least I can do—besides all the free help I give you.” He walked into his bedroom, and Simone sat down on the couch. It was comfortable. It would do for the night. She took off her boots and lay back. Danny came back out with a thick blanket and pillow and put them down on the sofa next to her. For a moment he stared at nothing, that vague look he got when searching the web, then he smiled down at her. “You wanna talk about it?”
“You just read the police report, didn’t you?”
“A prelim report from one of the on-the-scene techs. Your apartment is still being processed, but the word torture stuck out.”
“My client. Linnea,” Simone breathed the name out softly and felt a stab of guilt in her lungs. She fished in her pocket for a cigarette and took it out. “You mind?” Danny shook his head. She lit it and inhaled deeply, filling her chest with something else. “Linnea. Tortured, left in my office. Some sort of warning.”
“Who from?”
“Dash Ormond, I think. Don’t know who he’s working for, though.”
“Dangerous Dash? I thought we liked him.” Danny sat down next to her on the sofa.
“We liked him when we weren’t in his crosshairs. But he’s just the weapon. Someone else is pulling his strings, and that someone wants the painting Linnea had and thinks I know where it is.”
“Why do they think that?”
“Because she hired me to spy on her husband, to make sure he didn’t double-cross her.”
“You want to go over this from the top for me?”
Simone inhaled deeply on her cigarette. She didn’t usually share her cases. She didn’t like asking for help.
“Can I ask you something else, first?” she said, without looking at Danny.
“Sure.”
“What do you know about my dad?”
“Only what you’ve told me.” Danny leaned back into the sofa.
“Seriously?”
“I know he ran the business before you. I know he taught you. I never looked into him. It seemed… You’re the first person I met when I escaped, you know? You’re the first person who saw me for who I was and helped me, and, yeah, we both know you did it ’cause you knew I’d come in handy, but you also did it ’cause you’re a good person.”
“I’m really not.”
“You are. You’re not always a good person, and you don’t trust people, and you’re kind of a bitch sometimes, but I don’t mind that. I was raised assuming no one could trust anyone except the people we worked for. That’s why I don’t mind it in you. That’s why you’re still one of my few real friends. And I know you might not trust me completely, but it doesn’t matter to me that you don’t, because I know I’ve never dug into your past—or your family’s. That’s not what friends do. Or so reruns of ancient TV shows on the web tell me.”
Simone smiled and inhaled deeply on her cigarette. “You’re a good guy, Danny.”
“I’m the product of a secret government experiment, all the information on the Internet, and what’s left of New York.”
Simone shrugged. “Still…” Her cigarette was nearly out; she had been dropping ash on the floor. “Sorry,” she said, staring at it.