“And that’s what happened, the bed?”
She nodded.
Wilde pictured it.
He must have had a look because Alabama punched him on the arm and said, “You’re jealous.”
“No I’m not.”
“Yes you are.”
“No I’m not.”
“Just say the word,” she said.
“What word?”
“Tell me I’m yours.”
Wilde lit a book a matches on fire, let them burn down to his fingertips and threw them out the window.
“I don’t want you to see him again,” he said. “This isn’t a game.”
“See, you are jealous.”
“No I’m not. The thing is, just because he didn’t want to go to a roof doesn’t mean he’s not the dropper. Who knows how these guys think? Maybe he’ll just store it away for a week and jack off to it. Then one night seemingly out of nowhere he’ll say, Hey, didn’t you mention once about wanting to see lights?”
“Jack off to it,” Alabama said. “You’re such a poet.”
Wilde nodded.
“I’m a poet and don’t know it,” he said. “I can make a rhyme any time.” He put a somber expression on his face. “I’m serious when I said not to see him again.”
“He’s a good lover,” Alabama said. “You’re probably better but then again I don’t really know.”
“Alabama-”
“Look at it this way,” she said. “If he’s not the dropper, no harm done and I get a little very-much-needed R amp;R. If he is, he’ll suggest that roof thing at some point. I won’t go up, don’t worry, I’m not that stupid. Either way, we win.”
Wilde lit a cigarette.
“I’ll fire you if I have to.”
“Go ahead and try.”
“Fine, remember it was your idea,” he said. “You’re fired.”
She ran her fingers through his hair.
“Looks like it didn’t work,” she said. “I’m going to pick up some donuts. You want any particular kind?”
He paused.
“White cake with chocolate frosting.”
She tweaked his nose.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Two minutes after she left, the door opened and Secret walked in wearing white shorts and perfect golden legs. She pulled a pink tank top up and rubbed her stomach on Wilde’s.
“Tonight,” she said.
Wilde knew what she meant.
They hadn’t done it last night thanks to Alabama’s little disappearing trick.
“Tonight?” Wilde said. He put his arms around her waist. “What’s wrong with right now?”
“You’re kidding, right?”
No.
He wasn’t.
He wasn’t at all.
To prove it he flung her over his shoulder, locked the door, took her into the adjacent room and kicked the door shut with his foot.
There were no windows.
The darkness was pure magic.
He laid her on the floor, stuck a knee between her legs and kissed her deep.
She responded.
Slowly.
Then she responded more.
Suddenly a terrible thought entered Wilde’s head-Alabama; she’d be back with donuts right in the middle of everything.
He got to his feet and said, “Don’t go anywhere.”
“Wilde-”
“I’ll be right back.”
At the main door, he hung his tie on the outside knob and relocked everything tighter than tight.
Figure out the code, Alabama.
Figure it out or I really will fire you.
Back between Secret’s legs, he picked up where he left off, except the woman had something to say. “I remember what I wanted to tell you. Something popped into my head this morning. I think I read something back in New York a couple of years ago about a woman falling from a building.”
“You mean like here?”
“I don’t know about that,” she said. “All I remember is thinking that it would be a horrible way to go.”
Yeah.
Right.
He didn’t care.
At this second he cared about one thing and one thing only.
His mouth went to hers.
His hand went between her thighs.
44
Day Two
July 22, 1952
Tuesday Afternoon
The talk at Fisherman’s Wharf was small and inconsequential, neither focused on business nor anything of significance. In the end, Waverly wasn’t sure if Bristol’s appearance was planned or accidental. When she got back to the office, however, the top sheet of the scratch pad-the one she wrote Bristol’s home number on-was gone.
Had Bristol spotted it as he walked past?
Did he wonder what his home phone number was doing on Waverly’s desk?
Did he tail her and swing by, as if by chance, to get a feel for her?
Did he connect the dots between the number and the events of last night?
Bolt.
That’s what her gut said, bolt.
Something ugly was headed her way.
The phone rang with calls all afternoon. A good number of them were for Bristol who never tipped a hand when Waverly patched them through. Then an unexpected call came, for none other than Waverly herself, from Su-Moon.
“I’m outside the building on the street,” she said. “Find an excuse to come down here. I need to talk to you.”
Five minutes later Waverly slipped out, bypassed the elevator and bounded down the stairs two at a time to street level.
Su-Moon was clearly excited.
“Big news,” she said. “I wasn’t finding anything, not for a long time, but my mind kept going back to this Land Camera that was stashed in the top dresser drawer. At first I didn’t know why it kept nagging me, then I realized that it was because I hadn’t come across any photos-only the camera, no photos. That’s when I started to dig deeper.”
She pulled an envelope out of her purse.
“I found this taped underneath the bottom drawer of the dresser. Take a look.”
Waverly opened it.
Inside were dozens upon dozens of black-and-white Polaroid film photos.
All of them were of women.
Most of them were naked or close to it, posing in lewd positions.
“There are at least five different women in these photos,” Su-Moon said. “I’ll bet dollars to donuts that one of them is Kava Every. That’s what you need to find out.”
“How?”
“I don’t know, just do it.”
Waverly handed the envelope back.
Su-Moon wouldn’t take it.
“You keep it,” she said.
Waverly shook her head.
“You need to go put it back,” she said. “He’s going to find it missing.”
“Who cares?”
“We care.”
“No we don’t,” Su-Moon said. “Wait, give it to me a minute.” She took it, flipped through the photos until she got to one near the back and said, “These. These are the ones that interest me.”
Waverly studied them.
There were seven or eight photos. In each one the woman wore a dress. A fan was underneath her, blowing the dress up.
They were very erotic.
“What about them?” Waverly said.
“Look at their dresses.”
“I am.”
“And what do you see?”
“They’re blowing up.”
“Does that strike you as strange?”
“They all strike me as strange.”
“Let me put it this way,” Su-Moon said. “That’s what their dresses would look like if they were falling off a building.”
She handed the envelope back to Waverly.
“Go find out if one of these women is Kava Every.”
45
Day Two
July 22, 1952
Tuesday Morning
Alexa Blank was a blue-eyed princess with strawberry pigtails and a spring in her step. Looking into her eyes, River was glad the contract was rescinded. She’d be a hard one to kill. She pulled a pencil and pad out of her apron and said, “What’ll it be, cowboy?”