Like magic, the circle of people melted into the shadows. Maeve waited for the last footsteps to fade away, then she reached for a crate and shoved it toward M. J. "Sit," she said.
"I'll stand, thank you," said M. J., unwilling to yield the advantage of height.
Maeve, unruffled, propped one black boot on the crate and regarded her adversary with new interest. "Where did you meet my father?"
"The city morgue."
Maeve laughed. "That's a new one."
"He came in to look at a body. We thought it might be yours."
"He must've been disappointed when it wasn't."
"No, as a matter of fact, he was terrified by the prospect. As it turned out, it was someone you probably knew."
"Eliza?" Maeve shrugged. "Everyone knew her. You couldn't avoid it. She'd bum you out of your last dime."
"And your last matchbook?"
"What?"
"She had a matchbook. L'Etoile Restaurant. Had your father's phone number written in it."
Again, Maeve shrugged. "She needed the matches. I didn't."
"What about Nicos and Xenia? Did you know them too?"
"Look," said Maeve. "They were stupid, that's all. Took some bad medicine."
"Who passed it to them?"
Maeve didn't answer.
"You know, don't you?"
"Look, it was a mistake-"
"On whose part?"
"Everyone's. Nicos. Xenia-"
"Yours?"
Maeve paused. "I didn't know. The bastard never bothered to tell me. He just said he wanted to make a delivery, needed a runner out to Bellemeade."
"And you told him Nicos was available."
"I didn't know Nicos was dumb enough to snitch a sample for himself. Pass it to his girlfriends."
"So you arranged it all," said M. J., not bothering to keep the disgust out of her voice. "You do this sort of thing all the time?"
"No! It was a favor, that's all! Old times' sake. I didn't know-"
"That it was poison?"
"He said it was a one-time thing! All he wanted was a delivery boy."
"All who wanted?"
Maeve let out a breath and looked away. "Herb. Esterhaus. He and I, we used to be…"
"I know, Maeve. We saw the photos."
"Photos?"
"You know. All that X-rated posing you did for your good friend Herb."
There was a flash of regret in Maeve's eyes. "Dad saw them too?"
"Yes. He wasn't pleased. Would've strangled Esterhaus if the man wasn't already dead."
Maeve snorted. "I'd like to strangle him myself. For using me."
"Did he use you often? For these deliveries?"
"I told you, it was just a one-time thing." She shook her head. "And I thought he was clean, you know? After he got busted last year, he was real careful to-"
"Wait. Esterhaus was arrested? When?"
"About a year ago. It was small time, a few pot plants in his backyard. I don't know how he squirmed out of the charges, but he did. I figure, the feds stepped in and helped him out. They look after their witnesses."
"You knew he was in the Witness Protection Program?"
"He told me about Miami. When he got busted, that really scared him. He didn't want Miami to find out. And he didn't want to lose his job. Hell, he liked being cooped up in that lab! Me, I hated it. After awhile I couldn't take him either."
"So you left him."
"I wasn't mad at him or anything. I just got bored."
"The police say you're a suspect in his murder."
"They'd say anything."
"You have a better suspect?"
Maeve moved away from the crate and began to pace, weaving in and out of the shadows. "Herb was just your average Joe, trying to make a buck. And trying to stay clean."
"Then why was he stealing Zestron-L? Moving it out onto the streets?"
"He was being squeezed."
"By whom?"
Maeve turned to look at her. "Try the people at the top. The ones who'd like to wipe South Lexington off the map."
"Who, City Hall? The cops?"
"The list goes on and on. People at the top, they look down at us and we're like rats, crawling around in the sewers. And what do people do with rats? They exterminate them."
M. J. shook her head. "Wild accusations won't earn you any points, Maeve."
"No. People like you never listen to people like us."
"Hey, you're not exactly scraping bottom, okay? You're a Quantrell."
"Don't remind me," snapped Maeve. She turned and started to walk away.
"Your father's waiting out on the street," M. J. called after her. "He wants to talk with you."
Maeve turned around. "Why? He never bothered to talk with me before. It was always at me, not with me. Ordering me around. Telling me to clean up my act, toss out my cigarettes. Hell, he's not even my real father."
"He wanted to be."
"But he isn't, okay?"
"So where is your real father? Tell me that."
Maeve glared at her, but said nothing.
"He isn't here, is he?" said M. J.
"He's living in Italy."
"Right. In Italy. But Adam's here."
"He's not my father."
"No, he just acts like one. And hurts like one."
Maeve shoved away a crate and sent it toppling.
"Oh, great," said M. J. "Now we're going to have a tantrum."
"You're a bitch."
"Maybe. But you know what I'm not? Your mother. And I don't have to take this crap." With that, M. J. turned and walked away. She heard, off in the shadows, a scrambling of footsteps, then Maeve's command: "Forget it. Let the bitch go."
M. J. managed to navigate her own way out of the building. It took her a few wrong turns, a half-dozen rickety flights of stairs, but she finally found her way outside. Looking back, she realized she'd been in the abandoned mill building. Boarded-up windows and grafitti-splashed brick was all one saw from the street. She wondered how many pairs of eyes were watching her from behind that wall.
She walked on, heading briskly back to South Lexington Avenue, back to Adam.
She saw him pacing by the car, his fair hair tumbled by the wind, his hands deep in his pockets. The instant he spotted her, he started toward her.
"I was about to call the police," he said. "What happened?"
"I'll tell you all about it." She opened the car door and got inside. "Let's get out of here."
He slid in beside her. "Did you see Jonah?"
"Yes."
"And?"
"It was an unforgettable experience."
He started the engine and muttered, "So was waiting for you."
They pulled onto South Lexington and headed north.
"I saw Maeve," said M. J.
Adam almost slammed on the brakes. "She was there?"
"Celeste got it right. She's Jonah's lady." She glanced back at the line of cars honking behind them. "Keep moving, you're holding up traffic."
Adam, still rattled, turned his attention back to the road. "Did she seem… happy?" he asked.
"To be honest?" M. J. shook her head. "I don't think that kid was ever happy."
"Will she talk to me?"
M. J. heard it in his voice and saw it in his face: a father's fear, a father's despair. All at once she wondered about her own father, that nameless man with the green eyes. She wondered where he was, if he knew or cared he had a daughter. Of course he doesn't, she thought. Not the way this man does.
She looked ahead, at the line of traffic. "She isn't ready to see you," she said.
"If I tried to-"
"It isn't the time, Adam."
"When will it be the time?"