Devine's Providence: A Novel Page 16
“Please don’t be. It’s a good thing, I promise. It’s just…they don’t make guys like you anymore. Like you belong in a different era. It’s refreshing.”
“Got me all figured out, have you? Well I’m afraid I’ve got news for you. I don’t even know me that well, so whatever you think you know about me, it’s probably wrong.”
She wrinkled her nose.
“I don’t know about that,” she said.
“Oh, is that so?”
“I learned a lot about you before I even contacted you. I know what you’ve been through. And I know, personally, what loss and grief can do to people.”
I stopped swaying with the music, but our hands remained clasped.
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” she said.
“I don’t,” I said curtly. We resumed the dancing.
“That’s fine,” she said. “But I’ve been through some shit, too. I can listen if you ever need to.”
“Why?” I asked, smirking. “So you can put it on your blog?”
I played it off as a sarcastic joke, hoping it would come across as at worst a deflection, but she saw right through it to the venom underneath. Her eyes narrowed. She thought for a moment, and then simply said, “No. And stop lashing out like that whenever someone tries to get close to you. It’s not going to work on me. We’re on the same team.”
What followed was the single biggest moment of self-realization that I’d had in twenty years. I quickly tamped it down, lest I learn something from it.
“You’re pretty predictable yourself,” I said. “It’s not like I can’t read you like a book.”
“Oh, really, Mr. Hot Shot Detective?”
“Mmm-hmm. I’ve been listening to your podcast for years now. Almost every one, probably.”
“There’s a lot more to me than my work,” she said.
“Oh, I bet. Care to talk about your past?”
We danced wordlessly for a bit. I was certain I had gone too far, but finally, she sighed.
“It’s funny, isn’t it?” she said.
“What’s funny?”
“No matter how much you want to fix everything…no matter how much you need to make sure everyone else is okay…we refuse to even begin to fix ourselves.”
“Maybe we’re not broken.”
“We’re all broken. But especially people like us.”
“Maybe people like us just know that we don’t matter as much as everyone else.”
“Maybe. Or maybe it’s not as selfless as that.”
Our dancing slowed and my heart sank a little bit as the song ended. But then the opening bassline of Van Morrison’s “Into the Mystic” faded in and Chelsea smiled.
“This is actually one of my favorite songs,” she said.
“Care for another dance?” I asked, already starting to sway.
“I don’t think it’s necessary,” she said, even though she was already swaying along. “We’ve played the part well enough.”
“That was business,” I said. “This one’s for pleasure.”
We were born before the wind…
“Oh, why not. You know what? I haven’t been dancing in a very long time.”
“Me neither,” I said. “I’m generally not the dancing type.”
“Well you’re a natural. I would think the ladies would be beating down your door.”
“I don’t think that was ladies that broke my door in.”
Chelsea laughed. Her laugh was intoxicating. Like a drug I couldn’t get enough of.
“Though I can imagine your dance card must be full whenever you hit the town,” I said, smiling.
She shook her head. “Men are all the same. It gets boring after a while.”
“Are you bored now?”
“No. Not at all. Like I said, you’re not like most men.”
“You know,” I said, gazing up at the menacing Sultan, “if you’re used to being bored, this building has an interesting story. Legend goes that a shopkeeper—”
“I’m sure it’s fascinating,” Chelsea interrupted flatly, her smile turning trademark wry. I frowned.
“Not much for history?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“History’s so…permanent. I prefer things I have some control over. With history, it’s too late to change anything. You can’t write it. It’s already been written.”
“Yeah. I guess you have a point,” I said. “Wouldn’t it be something if we could just rewrite it?”
She nodded thoughtfully.
“Yes…it would be something, alright.”
“I certainly could suggest some edits,” I said.
“I think we all could. But that’s the thing…it’s kind of set in stone.”
“My kingdom for a chisel.”
“Indeed.”
I wanna hear it
Don’t have to fear it…
“On the other hand,” I said, “we can always learn from history. At least that’s what we’re supposed to do. Grow from it.”
She looked up at me.
“For someone with such a grim outlook on themselves,” she said, “you’re nothing but a cockeyed optimist at heart, aren’t you?”
“I guess I watch too many old movies. The ones where the guy always gets the gal after a big romantic dance scene.”
I spun her around in time to the music, and when she was back in my arms I was holding her closer than before.
Nailed it.
“Life isn’t the movies, Harry. You know that.”
“Boy, don’t I.”
“We don’t all get happy endings.”
“Maybe we do,” I said, “If we let it happen. Who’s to say we don’t deserve a happy ending?”
“We?”
“I meant…individually. Independently of each other, of course.”
“Indeed.”
She moved in even closer and rested her head against my chest.
“I like you, Harry,” she said.
“I keep hearing that tonight. But this is the first time I’m actually flattered by it.”
“You’re a very good person. I don’t know a lot of very good people. Not truly, when it comes down to it.”
“You should give me some time,” I said. “I’m confident I can screw it up.”
“Maybe I should.” It sounded like she said it more to herself than to me.
“It would never work,” she said. “You and I.”
“Of course not.”
“We’re just too broken.”
“Definitely.”
“We’d be terrible for each other.”
“Don’t have to tell me twice.”
Our dancing had slowed progressively until now we were all but standing still. Bathed in a warm red light, the figures of the fellow dancers around us had faded away. It was just me and Chelsea and Van Morrison and the Sultan. Providence herself held us both in the palm of her hand, pushing us toward each other, toward an inevitable collision. A supernova.
Chelsea gripped me tighter. Her eyes closed and she leaned her head back. I pushed my body against hers. As often as I thought about this moment happening, there was nothing that was going through my mind except instinct. I wasn’t excited, I wasn’t nervous, I wasn’t awkward or bumbling like I thought I would be. I could only focus on leaning into her and kissing her. It was so natural, it was like it had always happened and was always meant to happen. It was writing history.
My lips were mere inches away from hers.
Too late to stop nooow…
Before our mouths could touch, a firm hand fell on my left shoulder just as the song harshly transitioned into Bobby Darin’s “Beyond the Sea.” The world around us came crashing into focus. Chelsea felt me tense up and opened her
eyes.
I prayed to God that it was Zachetti behind me, but I could tell from her expression that it wasn’t, even behind her mask. Chelsea’s grip on my arm and the unseen grip on my shoulder each grew tighter still.
I spun my head around my shoulder and met the gaze of a tall, lean man with silver hair and a tan, weathered face. He didn’t have a mask, but he did have a full policeman’s dress uniform. He was holding his hat under his arm.
Fuck.
“Is that you, Devine?” he said. “I had heard you were here.”
I had been off the force for fifteen years, but still my initial instinct was to stand at attention.
“Chief Delgado,” I said. “How are you, sir?”
He ignored my pleasantries and turned his attention to Chelsea.
Shit shit shit shit…
“So sorry to cut in, miss. Gerry Delgado.”
He held out a white gloved hand. She reciprocated with a black gloved hand and a bigger smile than I knew she could muster.
“How do you do,” she said. “I’m Sabrina.”
Well how about that.
I watched the chief carefully for any flash of recognition in his eyes, any extra scrutiny, any sort of tell at all, but he didn’t seem too concerned with Chelsea. His steely grey eyes were immediately back on me. Studying me. Sizing me up.
A wolf in chief’s clothing.
“Good to see you, Devine. Come out to support our fine mayor? I’ve never known you to be political at any level.”
“Seemed like a good night out,” I said. “And I heard there’d be booze.”
“Ah, yes,” he said. “Speaking of that, let me buy you a drink. We can catch up.”
“Actually, I’m afraid we were just leaving. This was our last dance.”
“So soon?” His expression remained unchanged. “But the night is still young.”
“And alas,” I said, “I am not. Early morning tomorrow.”
“Oh? Heavy caseload lately?”
His voice was cool and dry and slow and dangerous, like an arctic ice storm.
“Not especially, just the usual snoop jobs. But have to get one in while this guy’s wife and kids are at church.”
I linked my arm with Chelsea’s and started to walk away, but Delgado put on his hat and walked right along beside me.
“I heard you crossed paths with Lieutenant Zachetti recently,” he said nonchalantly. “At that business at the Hyatt.”
“Yeah, good old Jake. Hasn’t changed a bit, has he?”
“He happens to be somewhere around here too.”
“Really? I’ll have to keep my eyes open for him on the way out.”
“Shame what happened to that kid. At the Hyatt.”
I could feel Chelsea’s nails clawing into my arm through her gloves and my jacket. I patted her hand.
“Suicide’s always a shame,” I said. “So senseless.”
“Are you still working for his partner? That Woodstern?”
I tensed up but tried to play it as cool as I could.
“Nah. Too much trouble. And I never even got paid for that job.”
“At your age,” said Delgado, “Probably best to stick with the ‘snoop jobs’, as you call them. Those high-profile cases come with a lot of headaches. Trust me.”
At my age. The nerve of this fucking guy.
“Oh, I’ve come to learn that the hard way,” I said. I stopped and stared at him dead in the eyes. “But I know my place now.”
“Good,” he said, unflinching. “Hate to see something happen to you on the job. You’ve been through enough, wouldn’t you say?”
Chelsea’s grip grew tighter, doing its job of preventing me from cold-cocking him in the face. Before I could say anything, he flashed a weak, forced smile.
“Anyway, Harry, nice to run into you. You folks have a safe evening now.” He tipped his hat to Chelsea and left us, skulking back into whatever wooded lair he slithered out of.
“I don’t think he knew it was me,” said Chelsea.
“I’m not so sure. We need to get out of here,” I said. “Now.”
I scanned the crowd near the dessert table for Terry, but there was no sign of her.
“It’s probably okay,” I said, “but I’d rather not stick around to find out if it’s not.”
“Agreed,” said Chelsea.
We walked a quick lap around the perimeter, searching for Terry. About halfway around, a large figure in an opera cape and a mask covering half his face suddenly blocked our path, appearing out of nowhere like a phantom.
“You’ve been made,” said Zachetti. “You should go.”
“I know,” I said. “But I didn’t know you were such a fan of Andrew Lloyd Webber musicals!”
“Shut the fuck up and get the fuck out of here.”
“We’re trying. Have you seen Terry?”
“Saw her on the dance floor,” he said, then disappeared quickly, presumably to the basement of the opera house.
Sure enough, wading back through the dancing couples, we came across Terry. She was dancing cheek to cheek with the old mustached man who had been hitting on Chelsea earlier.
We scooped her up as we passed and all but bolted to the exit, leaving the stunned man behind.
He must be wondering who the hell I am and why I keep ruining his game.
“I’ll book the Uber,” said Terry.
“I’ll meet you two back at the War Room,” I said. “I need to make a withdrawal from the ATM.”
“I’m coming with you,” said Chelsea.
“Absolutely not.”
“You need someone to watch your back—make sure you’re not being followed.”
“I can handle myself. You need to get out of here.”
Chelsea squeezed my hand and pulled me to a stop.
“Harry, look at me,” she said. “I’m not leaving you alone. As far as we know, you’re the only one they’ve made. And you played it perfectly with Delgado. It would look suspicious, though, if you scurried away by yourself. I’m your date, remember?”
Her logic was sound. I hated that.
“I’d rather you stay safe,” I said.
“I’m not leaving you. Not happening.”
I groaned.
“Fine.”
I turned to Terry. “Will you be okay going back by yourself?”
“Oh, don’t worry about me,” she said. “I didn’t make any enemies tonight. Made a few friends, though.”
She winked at Chelsea.
“Great. We’ll talk back at your shop. Send a message to Zachetti when you can. Let’s go.”
We left Terry and power-walked toward the exit. I felt as if every pair of masked eyes in the place were on me, watching me, waiting to pounce. Even the Sultan’s stony gaze seemed to follow us. We passed the stilt-walkers and the ice sculptures and couples dancing and fighting and groping and drinking.
I saw Ginger emerge from a curtained off area behind the chocolate fountain, adjusting the straps on her dress. Right behind her was a handsome young man making sure his shirt was tucked in. They made zero eye contact with each other and walked off in complete opposite directions.
At least someone had some luck tonight.
As soon as we were out past the black screens and security gate, we took off running, hand-in-hand. We skidded to a stop in front of the ATM vestibule and I threw open the door. Chelsea waited outside.
Oh, fuck.
The lid was off of the garbage bin and trash littered the ground around it. In the bin, right on top, was the McDonald’s bag. I reached inside but came out with an empty hand smeared with what I hoped was sweet and sour sauce. This was up there on the list of “How This Night Can Possible Get Worse.”
So much for responsible gun ownership.
I wip
ed my hand off on a discarded receipt and went back out to Chelsea.
“Got it?” she asked.
I shook my head. “It’s not there.”
“What do you mean it’s not there?”
“I meant it’s not where I left it. Somebody pinched it.”
“You weren’t being followed before, were you?”
I shook my head again and scanned up and down the street. There was nobody around.
“I don’t know. I didn’t think so.”
“I knew that was a terrible place to stash it.”
“Well our options were pretty limited, weren’t they? I didn’t think anyone would be rummaging around in a trash bin.”
“You must have been followed.”
“I really don’t think I was.”
“It was too risky.”
“I was panicked,” I snapped. “And I didn’t hear any better suggestions from you!”
Chelsea pulled her mask off so I could better see the anger in her eyes.
How courteous.
“I’m not the one who brought a gun to a black-tie fundraiser!” she hissed. “You were probably being followed.”
I threw my head back and sighed in exasperation. It was then that I first noticed the cameras.
Idiot.
PPD had dozens of street cameras at certain spots all over the city. There were two mounted on a streetlight pole across the street. And one of them was positioned right on the front of the bank. Right where we were standing now. I had been in too much of a frantic rush earlier, I hadn’t seen them.
You’re slipping, Harry.
I pointed with my chin. “I didn’t have to be followed.”
Chelsea saw the cameras. “You don’t think...”
“I don’t know what to think. But I do know the quicker we get out of here, the better.”
“Indeed,” said Chelsea.
We walked briskly down the street and spilled back out onto Memorial Boulevard, where a current of people was still flowing and classical music was echoing up and down the illuminated river. We integrated ourselves into the flow. I removed my mask and tie, and opened my collar. I took Chelsea’s arm in mine, and we strolled in pace with the crowd.
Just two sweethearts, and the summer wind.
A young couple in front of us made it impossible to walk any faster than a leisurely stroll, despite the caravan of bodies building up behind them. The boy had a hat on that looked like a loose sock, while the girl’s hat was more suitable for herding cattle than romantic walks.