He scowled. “That’s coming out of your pay.” The phone rang, and he crossed the kitchen. “And I still ain’t paying you for last night.” He picked up the phone. “What?”
His demeanor changed, became almost deferential. “Oh, hi. Yes . . . Yes, I know. But I’m having a discussion with my new bodyguard . . . Yeah, the one I told you about.” He looked up, scowled at me, and waved his hand to shoo me out of the room.
I left, letting the door swing shut behind me. No sense in annoying my client, now that he was my client again. I sat by the door, in Wendy’s chair, and waited. A few minutes later, Lucado came out of the kitchen and went upstairs. A few minutes after that, he came downstairs dressed in a dark olive suit with a beige shirt and a green-and-brown-striped tie.
“Come on,” he said. “Limo’s waiting.”
I COULD GET USED TO THIS, I THOUGHT, SINKING INTO THE leather seat. “You can drop me off at Milk Street again,” I said.
“Uh-uh. You still owe me a couple hours’ work, seeing as you were so late last night.”
“You said you weren’t paying me for last night.”
“If you can manage to keep from annoying me for the next hour—which I doubt—I’ll forget I said that. I’ll forget about the door you smashed, too.”
One hour for all that? I’d be on my best behavior.
“So where are we going?” I asked, settling back in my seat.
“Out for breakfast. Ain’t you hungry?”
“I had coffee back at your place. That’s plenty of breakfast for me.”
“Humor me.” Lucado looked out the window, making it clear that the discussion was over.
It was early, about seven fifteen, but there was a lot of traffic. The limo sat behind a double-parked delivery truck while the truck driver stacked boxes on a dolly and rolled them around the corner into an alley. We were on a one-way street, cars parked on both sides, so there wasn’t enough room to ease past the truck.
Frank leaned forward, knocked on the partition between us and the driver, and then saw that there wasn’t a damn thing the driver could do. “Never mind,” he growled, then sat back hard, huffing. He looked out the window, drumming his fingers on his knee.
When the truck driver reappeared, wheeling an empty dolly and with his clipboard tucked under his arm, Lucado pressed a button and his window glided open.
“Hey, asshole! Think you own the street or sumthin’?”
The deliveryman gave him the finger, then climbed into his truck, whistling.
“How do you like that?” Lucado said. “Guy’s mother never taught him any damn manners.”
Once the truck started moving, we inched forward, although pedestrians were easily passing us. When we’d moved up half the block, I could see why the parking was so tight here. News vans lined the street; one was parked on the sidewalk. We turned the corner and stopped in front of the Liberty Diner. Even from the limo, I could see that the reporters from all those vans were packed inside.
“This is the place,” Frank said.
I stared at him. “In there? With all those reporters?” I shook my head. “Uh-uh. Not me.”
He scowled, turning his head so the scar dominated his face. The guy had a hell of a scowl. “Don’t be ridiculous. There’s someone in there wants to talk to you.”
“Yeah, I can see that—about a dozen reporters. I’m not being interviewed. I wouldn’t do it for Kane, and I sure as hell won’t do it for you.”
I sounded angry, but inside I was panicking. What if Lucado tried to drag me out of the limo? He wouldn’t win, but we’d make a lot of noise, and reporters would come running. Wouldn’t Kane love seeing that on today’s news? Lucado trying to haul me ass-first out of a limo? I braced myself.
But instead of arguing, Lucado started to laugh. “What makes you think those reporters want to talk to you?”
I must have looked flabbergasted, because he laughed harder. He laughed until he had to wipe his eyes with his handkerchief.
“Didn’t you see me on CNN yesterday?”
“What, that freak show in the Zone? Honey, that’s yesterday’s news.” He wiped his eyes again, then stuffed the handkerchief back in his pocket. “The reporters ain’t here for you; they’re here for the guy inside, the guy who wants to talk to you.”
“Who’s that?”
“Aw, now you wanna ruin my surprise. Okay, okay. It’s Seth Baldwin, our next governor.”
Baldwin? Oh, my God. I’d rather have a nice little chat with Difethwr. The only thing Kane would hate more than seeing me getting out of a limo with Lucado would be seeing me cozy up to his idea of the Antichrist over a plate of scrambled eggs and sausage.
“What does Baldwin want to talk to me for?”
“That’s what we’re going inside to find out.”
I shook my head. “There is no way in hell I’m going in that diner.” Last night’s pay be damned.
“Look—”
“No, you look. Baldwin’s in there doing one of those campaign breakfasts, right? Meet everyday folks, listen to the little guy. That’s why the cameras are there.”
“Yeah, I suppose so.”
“So he’s not going to have a conversation with me while that’s going on.”
“I never said you had to talk to him on camera. Just talk to him afterward.”
“Okay, fine. I’ll talk to him after. In here.”
“But I gotta go in there. Baldwin’s expecting me.” He checked his watch. “I’m already late, damn it.”
“So go in. I’m not stopping you.”
“I said I’d have you with me.”
I crossed my arms like a stubborn two-year-old. “I’m not getting out this limo, Frank.”
“Two rides in my limo and she acts like she owns the damn thing.” Lucado closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Headstrong broads give me a headache.” He leaned forward and rapped on the partition again. It slid open. “Ain’t that right, Gordon?”
“What, sir?”
“That headstrong broads give me a headache.”
“Yes, sir.”
Lucado made a face at me, as if to say, See? Then he opened the door and climbed out before I had a chance to tell him I wasn’t a “broad.” He pushed through the crowd on the sidewalk, half of them craning for a glimpse into the diner and the other half trying to peer into the limo. Then he disappeared inside the diner.
I leaned forward. “Hey, Gordon.”
“Yes, madam?”
The head didn’t turn; the eyes didn’t flick to the rearview mirror. I spoke to the back of the chauffeur’s cap. “Didn’t anyone ever tell Frank not to call women broads?”
“Apparently not, madam.”
“Well, somebody should.”
“Yes, madam.”
I could see that Gordon and I were not likely to have much in the way of a scintillating conversation, so I sat and stared out the window. Commuters hurried by on their way to work, some pausing to see what was going on in the diner, others rushing past without breaking their stride. Kane must be on his way to the office now, too. I wondered how he’d reacted when he found out his kidnapping scheme didn’t work. He must’ve been mad as hell at those norms for bungling it. I’d bet his next move would be to call me up, pretending to play nice, like nothing had happened. He’d be in for a surprise.
A tall blonde emerged from the crowd in front of the diner. I couldn’t tell whether she’d been inside or was one of the gawkers. But I knew who she was—Sheila Gravett, the biogeneticist. I ducked down in my seat, then realized she couldn’t see me through the tinted glass. I watched her pull out her cell phone and talk for a minute, one hand to her ear to block the noise. It was likely she’d been in there, chum ming around with Baldwin. She must love the guy, with his promise to take away PAs’ limited rights. He’d make it open season on monsters like me.