Alex just shrugged.
“I guess I thought that a bunch of Germans running around the city with a plague was something everyone needed to know,” he said. “This was just the easiest way to do it.”
“And to blow your own horn,” Warner said, anger in his voice. “I saw guys like you when I was on the force in Chicago. FBI has a few of them too. It’s never about the job for them, they’ve always got to make a big show. Problem is, while they’re doing their song and dance for the cameras and the brass, the bad guys get away. Sometimes people die.”
Alex straightened up and faced Warner. He was over an inch taller than the young Agent and he stretched himself up to his full height. Something about this was personal for Warner, but Alex had no idea what.
“Don’t worry, Agent Warner,” he said. “I’m not doing this for fame. I’m a P.I. I’m in it for the money.”
For a brief second Warner looked like he might punch him, but he mastered himself and stormed away.
“You look dead on your feet,” Iggy said, stepping up next to him.
Alex nodded. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept.
“The Sorceress will take it from here,” Iggy continued. “Let’s go home.”
Alex rubbed his eyes. Now that he’d sounded the alarm bell to the people who needed most to hear it, and saved his and Danny’s skins in the process, his job was done.
Wasn’t it?
“There’s still three Germans running around New York with jars full of death,” he said. He indicated the detectives and the FBI with a sweep of his arm. “They needed my help to get this far.”
“Do you know anything you haven’t told them?” Iggy asked. Alex wearily shook his head.
“No,” he confessed.
“Then your part in this little play is done,” Iggy said forcefully. “It’s time you slept anyway; you’re no good to anyone in this condition.”
Alex picked up his kit and followed Iggy toward the door, but stopped when Sorsha stepped intro his path. She looked at him with her intense eyes, one eyebrow raised.
“That was very good work, Mr. Lockerby,” she said.
Alex wasn’t sure he’d heard her right, but he smiled and said, “Thanks,” all the same.
“I don’t give compliments lightly,” she said. “Or idly. You should come work for me.”
Alex smiled at the thought of being an FBI agent. It would never work out, of course. He cut too many corners and broke too many rules to be a legitimate law officer of any kind.
“If I decide to pack it in, you’ll be my first call,” he said. “For right now, just find those Germans.”
She seemed to have been waiting for a sarcastic answer, and his frankness surprised her. Before she could pursue any more discussion, however, Danny called her away.
Alex didn’t remember much about the cab ride home. Outside, the sun was beginning to paint the sky shades of pink and yellow, and the buildings went by in a smoky, gray blur. At some point he collapsed onto his bed, still in his clothes, and fell instantly asleep.
20
The Conspirator
Alex’s bedroom had a window that faced the street. The brownstone sat on a pleasant lane, lined with birch trees on either side and cobbled with bricks. It ran east and west with Alex’s window facing south. When he’d collapsed into bed in the wee hours of the morning, the sun had been rising behind the house. The curtains over the large windows were open and Alex had been in no condition to close them.
Over the course of the day the sun marched its path across the sky and, just after noon, a bright ray crept in through the open curtains and shone on the floor. As the afternoon progressed, the shaft of sun and the bright pool of light crawled slowly, silently across the hardwood floor, then up the side of the bed, and then across the bedspread until it shone on Alex’s face.
He grunted, not wanting to return to wakefulness, and rolled over. An hour later, the light shone on his neck and he became too hot for sleep. When he finally sat up and swung his legs down to the floor, the alarm clock on his nightstand read eight forty-five. He picked it up and pressed it to his ear… only to hear silence. He hadn’t slept in his bed for over a day before arriving home, and he hadn’t thought to wind the clock that morning. It had stopped.
He stood and fished his pocket watch from his pants, then wound and set the alarm clock to four forty-five. Moving slowly, his muscles stiff and his arm still sore, he carefully undressed and hung his only suit on a hanger that then went behind the bathroom door. He took a long shower, letting the hot water steam the kinks out of his body and the wrinkles out of his suit. Danny was safe, and the Sorceress was hot on the trail of the Germans and their plague. He’d handled all that extremely well, he thought, but he didn’t feel the satisfaction of a job well done.
Because there was still one thing left to do.
He didn’t want to do it, not the way he would have to. But it had to be done, so he dried himself, dressed in his still-damp suit, and went downstairs. A note from Iggy hung on a cork board in the kitchen, saying he’d been called out to consult with Doctor Halverson at the university and didn’t know when he’d return. Not trusting his ability to cook anything one-handed, Alex left and walked to The Lunch Box.
“Hiya, handsome,” Mary said when she saw him come in. It was too early for the dinner rush and only a few customers occupied the booths. Alex sat at the counter. “What happened to you?” she asked, pointing at his arm in the sling.
“I had a disagreement with a taxi,” he lied. “Don’t worry, though. It’s not serious.”
He asked Mary how she liked being a full-fledged cook and her face lit up as she told him about her first week at The Lunch Box. Alex knew he should hurry, but he just didn’t want to. His heart wasn’t in it, but he had to know the truth. It was his one great flaw, an inexorable, rigid need to know the truth, and to see justice done.
Mary made him a pastrami sandwich and chattered away while he ate it. As he finished, patrons began to come in, just off work and seeking dinner, sending Mary back to the kitchen. With her gone and his plate clean, Alex had no excuses left.
Despite that, he went to the phone booth outside the diner and called his office.
“Finally,” Leslie barked when she heard his voice. “I didn’t know if you and Danny were okay, or if I should start scraping up bail money. Why didn’t you call me?”
“Sorry, doll,” Alex said with a pang of guilt. He didn’t like upsetting her. “I hadn’t slept in over a day, so once I was done, I went home.”
“Did the Captain go for it?” she asked, urgency in her voice. “Are you and Danny safe?”
“Better than that,” Alex said. “The feds took over the case and said they’d put in a good word to the Governor about how essential Rooney’s help was.”
“Thank God,” she whispered. “I was worried. So, are we going to get paid now?”
Alex laughed, which made his ribs hurt. “Don’t make me laugh,” he grunted. “And don’t worry. Lieutenant Callahan said he’d get us a check, so we’re good.”
“I’ve got some more work lined up,” she said. “I can go over it with you tonight if you’re coming in.”
“No,” Alex said. “I’ve got one more thing to do to wrap up the Thomas Rockwell case.”
“You going to give that girl her money back?” Leslie asked, a touch of sadness in her voice. “Or, have you figured out what happened to Thomas?”
“I don’t know,” Alex said. “I’m going to try something tonight to figure it out. Either way, I’ll be done by morning.”