“And they would be right. Anyway, I know where the Pearson is.” Her choice of hotel told him a little more about her. The Pearson was on the seedy side, but safe enough for a woman traveling alone. The combo of the Pearson and the tuna meant that his passenger was pinching pennies.
In the backseat, the redhead cleared her throat. “Uh, Mr. Capelli?”
That startled him, until he realized she’d taken the time to read his name on the license displayed on the dash. “I usually go by Mario.”
“Okay, Mario. You-”
“I know. I changed lanes kinda fast back there, but trust me, it’s how you have to do it if you want to make good time.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything about your driving. I thought you must be wondering about all those cans of tuna.”
“I’m sure you have a good reason for them.” He hoped to hell she wasn’t a skinflint. A skinflint wasn’t the right personality type for Zach.
“They’re for the homeless.”
“Oh.” Okay, so she had the generosity gene. That was good, although most of the street people he’d known would prefer a fifth of vodka to a can of tuna.
“See, I knew that I’d want to give them something, but if I gave them cash, they might use it to buy booze. At least the tuna’s nutritious.”
“Provided they can get it out of the can.”
She sighed. “I know. I thought of that, too, but I couldn’t afford to buy a can opener to go with every can of tuna, so I hope they can figure that one out.”
“It’s a nice idea, cans of tuna.” Mario wondered what Zach would think of such a thing. He’d probably say it was impractical to be hauling tuna cans all over creation, but Mario hoped the generous impulse behind it would impress Zach. Still, Mario decided that when he mentioned this woman, he wouldn’t lead with the tuna.
“They were having a big sale on it at the Safeway near my apartment in Phoenix.”
Phoenix. Mario made a mental note. Zach might be intrigued by somebody from Arizona. If Mario remembered his geography, Phoenix wasn’t too far from the Grand Canyon. Surely Zach had some interest in the Grand Canyon. Everyone did.
Time to trot out one of his stock questions. “What brings you to New York?”
“I’m interviewing for a job in publishing.”
Mario smiled. She wasn’t a tourist. She intended to get a job and stay, which meant his instincts were still working. “Who are you interviewing with?”
“I was able to get appointments at two of the houses, and the others I’ll try to set up while I’m here. I just got my English degree at ASU. I probably seem a little old to be graduating, but I had a few interruptions. Oh, look! The skyline!”
Mario’s heart squeezed at the reverence in her voice. He didn’t have to ask if this was her first trip. Or whether she had the faintest idea how competitive the job field was. He was no expert on publishing, but this time of year a hoard of Ivy League graduates descended on the city looking for jobs. And they all had connections.
“Do you know anybody here?” Mario hoped she knew somebody. Or maybe Zach had clients in the publishing world.
“Nope. I’ve lived in Arizona my whole life. My brother and sister thought I was nuts to want to move here. But I love books, and if you love books, New York is the place.”
“That’s a fact.” Mario decided that even if the redhead didn’t take to Zach, or vice versa, she could use some help with this job quest. “I know somebody who might have a connection at one of the publishing houses.” That was stretching things a bit, but odds were it was true. A glance in the rearview mirror told him the redhead was smiling again.
“Look at that,” she said. “I’m already networking.”
“This guy I know is an investment counselor. Name’s Zachary Evans, but he mostly goes by Zach. I’m pretty sure one of his clients works for a publishing house.” Put that way, it sounded kind of lame. Mario wondered if she’d question the value of talking to Zach.
Instead she seemed eager. “Great! Do you have his number?”
“Not on me, but I should be seeing him this morning. I can give him your name and have him call the Pearson.”
“That would be terrific. My name’s Hannah Robertson. I don’t have any business cards, but I could write it down for you.” She rummaged in her purse.
“That’s okay. I’ll remember.” As a cop, Mario had been famous for his recall. He still prided himself on that.
“All right, then. I’ll look forward to hearing from Zach Evans.”
They rode in silence for a while. Mario could have asked a bunch more questions, but he’d learned that too many questions could make a passenger suspicious of his motives. So he waited for her to make the next conversational move.
Finally she spoke again. “You know, it’s nice that you have pictures of your family taped on your dash. It makes the cab look homey and cheerful.”
“They’re not exactly my family.” So she’d been studying his pictures. Ordinarily Mario was happy to talk about his matchmaking hobby, but not when he was in the process of trying to hook people up. People got hinky if they thought he was doing that. “Just a bunch of good friends.”
“Well, that’s still nice. Everybody looks so happy in those pictures. You must have a lot of good-natured friends.”
“Life’s too short to have bad-natured ones.” Mario only matched up people who were pleasant. Maybe that was why he had such an astounding success ratio, ninety percent.
“Is Zach Evans in one of those pictures?”
“No, I don’t happen to have a picture of him yet.” But if everything works out the way I’m hoping, I will soon.
IRIS DIDN’T USUALLY GIVE Zach a hard sell, so he wondered why she was suddenly pushing the pastelitos and urging him to buy a second cup of espresso. He hoped she didn’t have money troubles. A woman as fiercely independent as Iris would die before admitting that she had problems in that area, but she might increase the sales pressure to generate better cash flow.
What the hell. He’d started going into the office an hour early, so it wasn’t like he’d be late to work if he hung around the coffee stand a little longer. There’d be another bus along later. And two espressos might be exactly what he needed today to nail his monthly quota and secure his move to that corner office Drake Medford had promised him.
An image of Ed, the guy currently in that corner office, flashed through his mind. Ed had been around for years and no longer seemed to care about his monthly quota. If you worked for Drake Medford, that was a bad thing. Zach told himself not to think about where Ed would end up. That wasn’t his responsibility.
So he drank his second espresso, munched on a flaky pastelito and listened to Iris’s favorite Celia Cruz CD while some guys in dreadlocks went strolling by. At times like this he wondered what the folks back in Auburn, Illinois, would make of it all. No one in his family had expressed any desire to visit, so he’d had to make trips home in order to see them.
Because that only happened about once a year, he’d constructed his own little support group in Manhattan, and Iris was definitely included. He would hate to think she’d fallen on hard times. Maybe he could smoke out some information on her financial picture and see if he could guide her in some way.
He waited until she’d served a couple who looked like they might be honeymooners judging from the way they held hands and couldn’t stop gazing at each other. Their obvious affection sent a pang of regret running through him. Adrienne had never looked at him that way, which should have given him a clue.
When the coast was clear, he wandered closer to the coffee stand. “I hope your tax guy advised you to take a deduction for your CD player and the music you buy,” he said. “That’s an integral part of your business.”