But knowing for sure would be even more fine.
Brandon walked into the locker room wearing a blue tennis club shirt and his bright Pellucid cap. “Do you need anything else, Mr. Tesla? I’m only working a half-day today.”
Joe sighed. He hated what he was about to say. “I need a giant favor.”
“What is it?” Brandon smiled expectantly, a kid willing to go the extra mile to impress his future boss.
“Could you take Edison to a friend’s house for me?”
“Of course!” Brandon looked relieved that it wasn’t more complicated.
“Much appreciated.” Joe rattled off Celeste’s address and handed him another twenty.
Joe snapped Edison’s leather leash on to his collar. Those brown eyes gave him a betrayed look, his whole furry body pleading. Joe handed the leash to Brandon.
“Don’t worry, boy,” said Brandon. “It sounds like you’re going on a doggie vacation.”
“Exactly.” Joe didn’t know how he’d manage without Edison, but the dog was too conspicuous, and maybe in too much danger, to let him stay.
Edison’s head and tail drooped as he obediently followed Brandon out of the locker room. Joe fought down feelings of guilt and panic. Edison would be fine. Celeste would spoil him terribly. And Joe would be fine, too. He’d lived most of his life without a psychiatric service animal, and he’d last a few days until he got this sorted out.
The cold truth was, he’d be in greater danger if Edison came with him.
Joe packed everything up and put his gym bag back into his locker. He’d head down to check out the crime scene, but first he wanted to watch Edison leave. He circled the blue tennis court, likely annoying the players, to stand in front of the rounded window that ran along one wall. The windows were set in sturdy frames, which made it easy for him to look through them without panicking. Ridiculous that such things mattered.
Hiking his backpack up on his shoulder, he looked down on the entrance to Grand Central. People walked in and out, coming and going, a simple thing that he couldn’t do anymore. He had been just like them, before his ill-fated trip to New York. What use was he to anyone wasting away here underground?
Maybe Edison should have a real life as Celeste’s pet.
He spotted Brandon’s bright blue baseball hat, and his eyes lingered on the yellow dog walking dispiritedly next to him. Brandon swung his arms and talked to Edison. The dog looked over his shoulder at the front door as if he expected Joe to come for him. Celeste would take good care of him until Joe could take him back. He’d call her in just a second. It would be good to hear her voice.
Brandon, as energetic and cheerful as ever, made it down the front stairs and onto the sidewalk, where a short man wearing a dark blue parka and a Yankees cap jostled him. Edison’s leash dropped to the ground as Brandon turned toward the man. Joe leaned closer to the window. What was Brandon thinking, letting go of Edison like that?
Brandon’s legs buckled, and he crumpled to the ground. The man in the dark parka melted into the crowd. Blood spread out from Brandon’s body onto the sidewalk.
Chapter 19
Ozan wiped the blade on an antiseptic tissue and slipped the knife back into his ankle sheath. The time he’d spent sharpening it had paid off — it had slid between the man’s ribs with an ease he’d learned to appreciate. Clean and fast.
Happiness radiated from the hand that had done the job into his entire body. His favorite sensation after a successful kill. He’d never taken anyone down in such a public spot before. He’d wanted to wait, known that he should wait, until the man was somewhere private, but in the end he couldn’t resist. The blade had needed to slide through the jacket and between the ribs. The man had needed to fall. Right then. And he had, like an actor in a well-rehearsed play. Tesla had, in the end, played his part with perfect timing.
Even the dog had missed the moment.
Ozan paused to watch oblivious passers-by, another first. Why should he, of all people, be denied the aftermath of his actions? That pleasure was always robbed from him because he never stayed. He leaned against a light pole a few feet away and waited, not minding the cold seeping into the soles of his shoes.
The dog suddenly realized that no one held his leash. He turned and nosed the fallen man as if he could make him wake up. But the dog was smarter than the people around him. He knew right away that the man would never wake up again. He barked, running in a circle around the fallen man, dangerously close to the traffic rushing by on Forty-Second Street.
A child stopped first, of course, because they still saw things for what they were. His mother tugged on his mittened hand, followed his gaze to the fallen man, and screamed.
The scream lanced into Ozan’s aching head, and he fell back with a gasp. She screamed again, like an actress in a bad movie. He hadn’t thought that people responded like that in real life. It was simply a man lying on the sidewalk, a red pool spreading out from his body, melting the thin layer of frost. He’d seen so many dead men that this one seemed as natural as the yellow cabs driving by or the long green tassel on the child’s cap.
A man stopped next to the screaming woman, then another. She choked out another scream, a mitten clutched to her mouth. Soon, a circle formed around the outstretched body, but no one wanted to touch it. Ozan joined the circle, wanting to get close to them, struck by their ordinariness. Had he ever been like them?
A woman in a camel-colored coat knelt next to the body. There was nothing that she could do. Ozan had killed cleanly, swiftly, the man dead before he’d hit the ground. But she didn’t know that. She pulled aside the man’s coat collar and felt for a pulse on his neck, her dark eyebrows drawn down with worry. The dog whined and paced in front of her.
As she leaned back, shaking her tawny head, Ozan looked to the victim’s young, fresh face. It was not Joe Tesla. A stranger lay dead on the ground.
Shock caused him to stumble, to stare, seemingly as upset by the man’s death as those around him. How had he made such a mistake?
Misdirection. Respect welled up in him at his target’s ingenuity. He rarely dealt with anyone so interesting. And he had been fooled. The man wore a cap from Tesla’s company. He had Tesla’s dog on a leash. He was a decoy. He wasn’t Tesla.
And, of course, he couldn’t be.
Tesla didn’t go outside.
A laugh bubbled up in Ozan’s throat and burst free. He wanted to clap, but stopped himself as people were already turning to stare at him. But he couldn’t stop grinning.
This was extraordinary. Ozan could hunt his quarry in the tunnels as long as he wanted. He closed his eyes from the joy of it. After all, Tesla couldn’t leave. And he would have more tricks in store. Ozan didn’t remember the last time that he’d been so excited by his work. Part of him knew that his reaction was out of proportion, but he didn’t care. He worked hard. He deserved a little fun.
In front of him, the woman unzipped the corpse’s navy blue jacket. He wore a blood-stained blue shirt with a silver tennis ball embroidered on the left breast, above his heart. Even from his position a few feet away, Ozan could easily read the words underneath.
Vanderbilt Tennis and Fitness Club
Grand Central Terminal
Ozan’s eyes were drawn to the Beaux-Arts-style terminal building. He’d learned the grand old dame’s ins and outs while researching the hit on Subject 523. He knew the location of every store and bathroom. His eyes went straight to the third floor, where the tennis court was located. He’d visited it once, but had not been able to find out if Tesla was a member. Apparently, he was.