Whiz nodded. “I’ve synched a key code to your holoband, Mr. Mastrogiovanni. You will be on the second floor in room 2015, right down the hall from Mr. Trubble.”
Benny gave me a perplexed look as we entered the elevator. “How’d that can opener know my name?”
I tapped his holoband. “Long as you got one of those on your wrist, your public info is spilled to anything with a digital reader. Thought you knew that, Ace.”
He fiddled with the thick strap. Holobands come in all shapes and styles, ranging from artsy to fashionable to standard. His was a steel and tungsten version with an oversized display. “My band is supposed to be fixed,” he muttered. “It’s not supposed to be tracked by any standard systems.”
“Well, there’s fixed and there’s off the grid. Even when a band is fixed, it still has to feed the basic info or it will raise some eyebrows and attract unwanted attention. But if my instinct serves me right, I’d guess you’re hooked up with a Ghost system. Works like normal, but the moment someone tries to trace you, all info disappears from the system. A lotta wise guys use the Ghost to keep up appearances while making sure they can’t be tagged when things go south.”
A bell chimed as the elevator doors opened. “Here’s where we part ways, Chief. Nab you a couple of hours of shuteye, ‘cause we’ll be back at it bright and early. Don’t sit up all night plugged into sym-sex.”
“Man’s gotta get some kind of action, Mick. I didn’t see any pro skirts anywhere around the joint.”
“Not that kind of dive, Ace. One vice invites another, and pretty soon the whole joint is filled with rats and cockroaches. The Red Room is just down the street. I hear they have some sweet synoid foxes, but they’ll cost you an arm and leg. Your dibs, though. So long as you can get up in the morning I don’t care how you pass the time. Just remember: bright and early.”
“I heard you, Mom. Bright and early.” Benny hulked down the carpeted hallway in the direction of his room. I stopped in front of room 2046, where I stayed since I first walked in the Luzzatti. There were better rooms on the upper floors, but I was used to where I was. Wasn’t like I needed some cushy suite anyhow. Everything I needed was already on me.
The room was cramped and dimly lit. A single window revealed a scenic view of the alley and the bums that slept there. A ceiling fan span lazily over the unmade double mattress that served as a bed. A heavy punching bag hung in one corner, a small battered desk in the other. My own personal haven. No wonder I drank so much.
The good thing was I didn’t mean to stay there long. By the time I finished a smoke I was already making my way out the door. It didn’t take very long to get to my next stop. It was room 2047, right across the hall. I never came home without checking in on Natasha. Ever since her parents got rubbed out I made her safety a top priority. At least that’s what I kept telling myself.
The door opened after I rapped it with my knuckles. My casual stride halted as soon as I stepped inside. One look and my heart tried to claw out of my chest. Adrenaline surged, hammering so hard my hands shook as I clumsily yanked the Mean Ol’ Broad from her slip and fanned the area, knowing something was terribly wrong.
The room was clean.
Everything was neat and orderly instead of the familiar abstract explosion of creative arts and crafts haphazardly strewn across the floors and counters. The walls were repainted in shades of rich yellows and dark reds. New furniture adorned the living space — minimalist styled amalgams of aluminum, teak, bamboo and glass.
The culprit responsible lounged against the wall in the corner of the room, her oversized auburn sweater exposing one slender pale shoulder. Rumpled gray lounge pants completed the outfit. Her bare toes massaged the newly installed crème-colored carpet. Her long raven locks tumbled over one eye as she looked up in surprise.
“Mick Trubble. Why are you waving that cannon around in my apartment? Put it away before you hurt someone.”
I quickly tucked the Broad back in her holster, feeling a bit embarrassed. “Just gave me a scare with the change in scenery, darlin’. Got used to the place looking like an artistic disaster zone.”
She smiled, her big eyes shining. I knew then she had changed. Her eyes had always been the stuff of dreams, but for the longest they were shrouded by the trauma of her parent’s murder. Her eyes turned the color of overcast skies, shrouding the gruesome memories that haunted her. The real Natasha buried herself deep within her own consciousness, recovering while her creative, unfocused alter ego went on with life.
In the back of my mind I knew it was only a matter of time before the old Natasha resurfaced, but in the bustle of things I hadn’t prepared for it. Her gaze had changed from clouds to silver waters, swirling with all the allure and mystification that had nearly snared me when I was a lost soul and she was an inexperienced girl looking for thrills. I hadn’t changed much, but she had. The eyes that gazed at me weren’t those of a fragile young girl.
Sweet Natasha had grown up.
“It was time for a change, Mick. I can’t just sit around hiding from the world. It’s time to move on.”
I noticed she called me by my first name only. In the past she had always called me by both names, something that amused me to no end. But those days were gone, just memories that danced in the darkness of my mind. I watched her as she moved, graceful and confident. There was a word for the person I saw in front of me. A single word that summed up all the beauty, magnetism, and allure that shuts a man down so he can only marvel at what he desires but can never fully comprehend.
Woman.
“Have a seat, Mick. Would you like some coffee? I just brewed a pot.”
I didn’t need coffee. I needed sleep. But my world has just flipped upside-down, and I couldn’t just beg off without knowing the new person Natasha had become.
“Sounds like a dream, darlin.’”
Moments later we were comfortably stationed on her earth-toned contemporary sofa, seated on opposite ends with our knees nearly touching. She gazed over the rim of her tiny gold-rimmed mug, her expression shrouded by steam. “Why are you looking at me like that, Mick?”
I sighed. “Fast changes, sweetheart. You’re a different lady than the one I spoke to just days ago. I expect that means you’ve come to grips with certain… events.”
She tilted her head slightly. “Certain events like my parents being brutally murdered only a few feet from where I hid? Yes, I’d say that I’ve come to grips with that.”
I sipped the coffee. It was bitter and black, just like her words. “Don’t mean to bring up painful memories.”
Her hand landed softly on mine like a dove that lost its way. “It’s ok, Mick. I can’t run away from the truth anymore. It happened, and I have to live with that.” Her eyes were free of tears, but the windows wept anyway as the storm streamed rain against their surface. It was eerily similar to the storm that raged the night she lost her parents, when I carried a frightened girl away from a scene of butchery into the lightning and stinging rain.
We sat there a few quiet moments, her hand lingering on top of mine while we sipped coffee and brewed in our thoughts. The rain fell on the righteous and the wicked, traffic whipped by, and people went about their business in the midst of it all. Somewhere out there Sophia Flacco’s murderer waited for the opportunity to strike again. But inside it felt as though we were the only two people left in the world. Moments like those are hard to come by and even harder to hold on to, so I didn’t want to spoil it by talking.
But just like coffee in tiny china mugs, it wasn’t meant to last.
“It’s funny.” She stared at the laser lines of air traffic whizzing by. “I remember so much more now.”