“Let me talk to him a second, Mama.” Rocco started moving them toward the door. “I got this.”
Rocco used his bulk to shove Simon back into the corridor, followed him out, and closed the door behind him. “Not cool, man — coming to my mama’s.” He spotted Cornelius. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Just helping him out.”
Rocco snapped his fingers and pointed at him. “Now I get it. You’re the one who sent him to me in the first place. Get the fuck out of here, both of you.”
Simon didn’t move. “Rocco?”
The big man looked down at him. “What?”
“My wife is in a coma fighting to survive. She got shot in your basement by your man. My daughter is missing. The last place anyone saw her was also in your basement.” Simon didn’t flinch or waver or even move. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me everything you know.”
“You think I’m scared of you?”
“You should be,” Cornelius said.
“Why’s that?”
“Look at him, Rocco. He’s a desperate man. You smart enough to know it don’t pay to mess with a desperate man.”
Rocco did indeed look at him. Simon held his gaze.
“I’ll tell the police you ordered Luther to shoot us,” Simon said.
“What? You know that isn’t true.”
“You called out Luther’s name.”
“To stop him, man. I didn’t want him to shoot!”
“I don’t know that. I think it was an order. I think you told him to shoot us.”
“Ah, I see.” Rocco spread his hands. He looked at Simon and then at Cornelius. “So that’s how it is, is it?”
Cornelius shrugged.
“I just want to find my daughter,” Simon said.
Rocco did a let-me-think-about-it head roll. “Okay, fine, but then I want you gone.”
Simon nodded.
“Yeah, she came to me. Paige, I mean. She came to the basement. I could see right away that someone had beaten her up.”
“Did she say who?”
“I didn’t have to ask. I knew.”
“Aaron.”
Rocco didn’t bother replying.
“So why did Luther shoot at us?”
“Because he’s crazy.”
Simon shook his head. “There’s gotta be more to it than that.”
“I didn’t tell him to do it.”
“Who did?”
“Look, man, the business I’m in — it isn’t an easy one. Always someone trying to move in on us. Aaron, yeah, he was a shitbag. But he was one of us. We figure a rival, shall we say, ‘enterprise’ took him out. Maybe the Fidels.”
“Fidels?”
Cornelius said, “Cuban gang,” and even in the middle of all this, with his wife fighting for her life and his daughter God knows where, Simon laughed out loud. The sound echoed in the corridor. People turned and stared.
“You’re kidding me.”
“I’m not.”
“A Cuban gang called the Fidels?”
Cornelius let a smile hit his lips. “The leader’s name is Castro.”
“You’re making that up.”
“Swear to God.”
Simon spun back toward Rocco. “Why did Paige come to you after this beating?”
“Why do you think?”
“For a fix,” Simon said. “Did you give it to her?”
“She didn’t have any money.”
“Is that a no?”
“I’m not a charity,” Rocco said.
“So what next?”
“She left, man. Next thing I know, Aaron is dead.”
“Do you think Paige did it?”
“Smart money is on the Fidels,” he said. “But yeah, I think there’s a chance Paige killed him. Or maybe you did it, man. Maybe that’s what Luther was thinking. Luther was there when Paige came in. Think about it. Let’s say I’m a father. If some dude hurt my daughter the way Aaron hurt yours, I’d get revenge. So maybe that’s your play.”
“What’s my play?”
“Maybe you killed Aaron. And now you’re looking for your daughter to complete the rescue.”
“That’s not my play,” Simon said.
But he kind of wished that it was. Rocco was right. If someone hurts your daughter, a father has an obligation to stop him, no matter what. Simon hadn’t. He’d let Paige slip away, trying to throw her useless lifelines instead of doing what a man should do.
Anything to rescue his child.
Protect her. Save her.
Some father he’d turned out to be.
“She’s probably around here somewhere,” Rocco said. “You can look for her, man, I can’t blame you for trying. But she’s a junkie. Even if you find her, this story won’t have a happy ending.”
Cornelius led the way back to his apartment. When he closed the door behind them, Simon reached into his coat pocket and took out the gun.
“Here,” Simon said, holding it out toward him.
“Keep it.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure,” Cornelius said.
“Do you think Rocco will be able to find her?”
“With that reward money?”
Simon had ended up making a simple offer to Rocco: Find Paige and get $50,000.
“Yeah,” Cornelius said. “If she’s still down here, he’ll find her.”
There was a knock on Cornelius’s door.
“Put that gun back in your pocket,” Cornelius whispered. Then raising his voice: “Who’s there?”
What sounded like a little old lady with an accent — Polish, Russian, Eastern European maybe — said, “It’s Lizzy, Mr. Cornelius.”
Cornelius opened the door. The woman was as voice-advertised — small and old. She wore a strange white gown of some sort, long and flowing, almost something you’d wear to bed. Her gray hair ran down her back, loose and unkempt. The hair seemed to be swaying from a breeze, even though there was none.
“Something I can do for you, Miss Sobek?” Cornelius said.
The old woman peered around Cornelius with her huge eyes and spotted Simon. “Who are you?” she asked him.
“My name is Simon Greene, ma’am.”
“Paige’s father,” Cornelius added.
The old woman gave Simon a look so heavy he almost stepped back. “You can still save her, you know.”
Her words chilled him.
“Do you know where Paige is?” Simon asked.
Miss Sobek shook her head, the long gray hair dancing across her face like a bead curtain. “But I know what she is.”
Cornelius cleared his throat, trying to move this along. “Did you want something, Miss Sobek?”
“Someone is upstairs.”
“Upstairs?”
“On the third floor. A woman. She just sneaked into Paige’s apartment. I thought you’d want to know.”
“Did you recognize her?”
“Never seen her before.”
“Thank you, Miss Sobek. I’ll go check right now.”
Cornelius and Simon stepped back into the corridor. Miss Sobek hurried away.
“Why did she come to you with this?” Simon asked, following him down the corridor.
“I’m not just a tenant.”
“You’re the super?”
“I’m the owner.”
They headed up the stairs and down the hall. The yellow tape on the apartment door — blocking off the murder scene, Simon reminded himself — was torn. Cornelius reached out for the knob. Simon realized that he had — intentionally? subconsciously? — put his hand on the gun in his pocket. Is that what happens when you carry? Is it always there, by your side, like some kind of pacifier that calms or gives comfort in stressful situations?
Cornelius flung the door open. A woman stood there. If she was startled by their interruption, she was doing a good job of keeping it to herself. She was short and squat, maybe Latina, with a blue blazer and jeans.
She spoke first. “Are you Simon Greene?”
“Who are you?”
“My name is Elena Ramirez. I’m a private detective. I need to talk to your daughter.”