CHAPTER THREE


I'd been outside the delivery room when Gray had been born. I paced and saw
the doctor enter, a nurse left, and another took her place. They wheeled a bunch
of machines inside and thirty minutes later, the doctor left. So did the
machines.


The nurse poked her head out and told me that I could go in and I had. That
was the first time my eyes saw my nephew and I melted instantly.


I had known the entire time about Gray. Cherry had cried on my shoulder, but
she'd blamed me first. I was the closest thing to my brother—and I was there in
front of her. It had started a rocky friendship that had turned solid a few
months later. And when I'd gotten the phone call that her water broke, I had
cried for the first time in seven years. Two tears—it wasn't much, but it was
something.


I was freaked. I was scared about what he was going to look like. How he was
going to act. If Krein would ever take notice and take him away.


All those worries vanished when I walked past the curtain and saw Gray's
closed eyes, with his tiny body wrapped in a blue blanket. They had placed a
blue knit cap over the top of his head.


He looked perfect.


Cherry was tired, weepy, and she had the most ridiculous smile on her
face.


"Say hello to your nephew, Maya." She grinned stupidly to me.


My eyes said more than hello.


I loved him. Completely, ridiculously, and he was one of my own.


Cherry asked for my guardianship and I'd granted it. I took it with honor and
the next day I opened an account for Gray Cole Tiegan.


Cherry named him after her brother who died in the war. Cole came from
Krein's middle name. She wanted Gray to have something of his father's. And, as
she smiled at me, Cherry said that Gray now had two things from his father. His
middle name and his aunt.


And now that Brandon had parked just outside their new home, I sat and
remembered my promise to Cherry. My promise to always care for Gray, no matter
what.


"I can't do this." I murmured to myself.


Brandon misunderstood and replied, "Yes, you can. Yeah, he's going to miss
you, but…you're his aunt. You'll be back for visits, holidays. All he cares
about is getting gifts from you."


It wasn't true. Brandon didn't have any nieces or nephews. They liked the
presents, but they loved the presence.


"You don't understand." I whispered to myself. I think I was talking to
myself, but…


"Hey." Brandon said hoarsely.


I looked at him and saw the concern. I saw his love.


"I'm here, okay?"


It didn't help. It made it worse.


I got out of the car and rang the doorbell. Steve came to the door a moment
later in irritation and surprise when he saw who rang the bell.


"Maya? Is everything okay?" He asked as he opened it and stepped back.


I moved past and murmured, "Um…is Cherry awake? I need to talk to her."


Steve was a good guy. He was a smart guy. Anyone else would've asked the
stupid question of 'why are you here' and 'can't it wait till morning.' Not
Steve. He looked once more and then left up the stairs.


I didn't take to surprise nonsensical visits. Steve knew it was important
enough for me to drag Cherry out of bed. Whatever was worth it.


She had a robe on. In fact, she had just pulled the robe on because it was
still untied around her waist when she descended the stairs.


I took a breath and steadied myself.


The house was gorgeous. A real dream house. The stairs and floors were a bare
pine wood and the house was painted in a pastel green color. Each corner, shelf,
glass were intricately decorated.


That was Cherry. She did the decoration, and she loved it so much she thought
of getting a degree to decorate professionally. Steve encouraged it. He even got
the first brochure for her school.


Krein wouldn't have done that.


All three of us knew that.


The house was gorgeous and Cherry had finally found her home. She got the
right home, the right man, and the right family.


"Maya?" Cherry asked as she ran a hand through her hair. She drew her robe
together and frowned out the window. "Is that Brandon?"


"He's my ride. Yeah."


She heard my voice and frowned at me. There was a slight hitch in my voice.
There was never a hitch in my voice.


"What's happened?" She asked seriously, a little frantic.


"Nothing." Liar.


"What are you doing here, Maya?" Cherry asked again. She watched me and
waited. Alert and alarmed.


"I'm leaving."


She frowned. "Huh?" She looked outside again.


"No. Brandon's not going with me. Just me. I'm leaving."


"Okay, um…" Cherry shook her head and raked a hand through her hair again.
"Kai called me today. She told me that you were going to see your brother. Is
this what that's about? Are you scared of him?"


"No." No.


"Then…I don't get this. Where are you going? Why are you going?" Her voice
trailed off as she frowned into space. "I'm not understanding anything, Maya.
You gotta know that. I don't…"


"I came to say goodbye to Gray." I cut her off. There wasn't anything else I
could do. As sad it was, I hadn't come for her. She'd always be one of 'us.' She
knew the rules.


"Well…" Cherry shook her head in disbelief. "He's asleep, Maya. I'm not
waking him up for this. He won't understand."


"I know." I knew that. "I just want to see him a last time. I want to…can I
write a note? You can read it to him."


"No. No." She said firmly. "Because he's going to cry. He's not going to
understand. He's going to think that you're never coming back. He's…he's three
years old."


He's my nephew. I knew exactly how old he was.


"I know." I murmured. "But…I'm going tonight and I wanted to see him a last
time."


"You're coming back." Cherry frowned and stated. She narrowed her eyes and
said again, a slight question, "You're coming back…?"


"I don't know."


"But…"


"I did see Krein today, yes. And I'm going to find his best friend—"


"Jace Lanser?"


"Yeah."


"Why? He's a narc." She said in disgust.


What could I say to that? It didn't matter that Krein was guilty. That
everyone was guilty. There was still a code. You didn't narc on your friends or
loved ones. That was the code and Lanser broke it. In fact, he went above and
beyond. He led them into their actions and he led them to pay for those
actions.


No one saw what I saw.


"I'm just going to go, okay? If I find him, I find him. I'd like to ask him a
question, but…I wanted to come here first." Actually, Brandon had offered. The
guilt made me accept.


"I don't understand…" She stepped back anyway and gestured upstairs. "He's
asleep so don't wake him up. Just…don't pick him up or say anything. He'll wake
up then."


"I just want to see him. I want to look."


"Just look." She said firmly and stepped back.


I understood. She wasn't going to watch possibly my last time I'd see my
nephew. She didn't want to see the emotion on my face or feel the pain. She was
a mother and she was a friend. She was losing too many roles in one person.


As I tiptoed up the wooden stairs, I glanced down and saw her wipe a tear
away, angrily.


Their bedroom door had been left open with a lamp left on. I saw the outline
of Steve, sleeping once again, underneath the bedcovers. He'd left the bathroom
light on for Cherry. He cared like that.


Krein wouldn't have done that either.


I passed their door and stopped just outside Gray's room. Cherry had painted
the doors and doorfames in white. It accentuated the pastel green perfectly,
giving the whole home a light summer feel.


I heard his humidifier inside running on the lowest mode. There was no light
in his room, but I was still able to see the pattern on his bedsheets. He was so
happy to have graduated to an actual bed. It was a small bed, still not a normal
bed, but he was out of the crib. That's all Gray cared about. That and the Cars
bedsheets that his mom had bought him.


He'd had me watch it six times with him one time. He hadn't force me, he'd
just asked. I'd buckled with the genuine aunt's love that was inside of me. We'd
watched it, watched it again, and watched a sixth time.


His eyes had sparkled each time and he sat beside me with my arm around
him.


He had to watch it on my lap. He really hadn't forced me to do that.
When he crawled up next to me, I would've watched the movie another six
times.


He laid on his stomach, entangled with the covers and he had kicked one of
the sheets to his feet. The stuffed polar bear that I'd bought him from the zoo
laid untouched at the foot of the bed. Cherry told me that he always slept with
the polar bear. If they couldn't find it, the entire house was turned upside
down in their search. Postal, the polar bear, was always found and was always in
Gray's bed when he slept.


I watched him for another minute until Cherry came to stand at the door.


I glanced up, nodded, and left him behind.


Cherry followed me back down to the door and handed the paper for my note.
She even followed me out to their front porch and waved to Brandon.


He waved back, but neither moved to exchange a verbal greeting.


"So." She breathed in and out. "This is it."


"This is it."


"Why? Can you…can you tell me why? I mean, something better than 'I don't
know.'" She laughed and rolled her eyes. "Really. Can you believe me? Here I am.
I moved out. I have a great family, a great guy, and I'm acting like you're
leaving me."


I hugged her. I didn't say anything. There was nothing left to say, so a hug
sufficed.


Cherry gasped and then grasped me back, desperately.


Against my hair, she said, "I wish I understood. I wish…come back, Maya." She
pushed me away, but held onto my shoulders. "Come back." She said fiercely. "I
need you. I know Gray needs you, but I need you too."


Being one of 'us', we didn't do emotional entanglements. We passed along.
It's why goodbyes were rarely spoken. To my credit and Cherry's, I was starting
to think we were no longer one of 'us.' We might've had the same ties, but
Cherry was fast becoming a normal person with a normal life and a normal
family.


I needed the road. I'd stayed in one place too long and the reason I had
stayed was done.


I'd stayed for my brother, truth be told. He'd spoken to me and now I had a
question to ask of his best friend.


"Bye." I whispered.


Cherry didn't reciprocate and I nodded once more, a saddened look in my eyes,
before I crawled back beside Brandon.


When I glanced at the house, she'd gone. That wasn't a surprise, but I looked
to her second-floor window and there she was. Still watching me. She held her
palm against the window and I did the same to mine.


Second window to the soul. That's what hands were.


Brandon pulled back into traffic and we were at the airport too-fast to be
desired.


He insisted on parking and waiting with me until security check-in. He bought
us both coffee and I stood there with my bag over one shoulder and my ticket in
the other hand.


When the announcements came for my registration, Brandon stood up from his
bench.


"Well…I guess this is it." He bobbed his head up and down.


"Yeah." What did I say? Nothing. I didn't love him. I knew I probably never
would, but he loved me. And I knew he'd wait until the right girl came for him.
Nothing needed to be said.


"Maya, I…" He looked away.


"Bye, Brandon." I said simply. "Thanks for the ride and the ticket and the
coffee."


"Yeah. No problem." He grinned self-consciously and looked away.


I took a few steps, but turned back.


"Hey." I called out.


"Yeah?" Hope came first. It was replaced with resignation.


"You know Cora?"


"Uh…yeah. Why?"


"Look, you didn't get it from me, but she's in some trouble. If you want,
could you maybe help her out? And don't sleep with her. She doesn't need help
that way."


"Uh." Confusion crossed his features. "Sure. I guess, yeah."


"Thanks." I left again and he called my name as I crossed the yards.
"Yeah?"


"I hope to see you again." He stated.


I didn't say anything, but jerked my head in a stiff nod. Brandon knew the
rules. He knew I wouldn't guarantee anything. It was why I didn't want to see
Cherry or Gray. It was why Cherry had placed her palm against the window and I'd
done the same.


It was our goodbye.


I just turned and left with my bag over my shoulder and his ticket in
hand.


After I'd checked in at the desk, I looked over and he was gone.


I didn't really feel anything and that saddened me.


Not because I felt like I should feel something, just the fact that I didn't
feel anything. I should've felt guilt. I should've felt something. The truth was
that I had two sides of me. One an all-feeling side and two, a no-feeling side.
There was nothing in between.


I loved Gray with all my heart. I felt that.


I didn't love Brandon. I didn't feel that. And I felt like I should feel
something, but I didn't.


As I boarded the plane an hour later, it was a surreal event. I'd land in New
York City under two hours. Gray would be waking up an hour after that. Cherry
would read him a note from me. And Brandon might be awake or asleep by then.


Cora would probably return to the house again, maybe in a week or the next
morning. It would depend if her hunt had proven successful or not. There would
be no couch. Just a note that I left for her to use the house, but respect it. I
didn't know what her reaction would be, but it would probably be in cautious
acceptance. She'd sleep in the house, in my bed since it was the only piece of
furniture left, but she'd have a party. She always had a party. And the next
morning, she'd leave again because she'd expect to get into trouble.


That was Cora. And that was my life. I had strings still tied behind me and I
hoped to one day untie those strings. I just didn't know how that would
happen.


XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


Landing in New York wasn't to be expected. It was the typical airport, but
with legendary names. John F. Kennedy. La Guardia. Wall Street. Grand Central
Station. Have you ever stood in the middle of Grand Central Station and turned
in a circle? It's amazing. It's liberating. A buzz of conversations, bags,
briefcases, phones, and breaths moved around a frozen point. All had lives
attached to them, stories to be told or left untold. So much activity that
filtered through a porcelain glass castle that had been turned into a port of
harbor of movement. And just down a tunnel, I heard the sweet melodies of a few
homeless who'd seen too-much. Propped on a bench, a war-torn bag at their feet,
they sat and sung, unheeding the mindless gawks from tourists.


I'd been there. I'd been that tourist and I'd been that homeless.


It was a circle.


I had a lot of friends and even though I might not know their whereabouts, I
knew their corners. I knew what they liked and every homeless knew what they
liked. They knew which corner was warm. Which store gave food away. Who had the
best left-overs and charitable customers. Which vents wouldn't dry the skin too
much. Most of all, though they stood and the air moved around them, others saw
through them as if ghosts.


I saw who were invisible and I was in the known. As I moved through Grand
Central station, I saw the homeless. Three had parked on the benches and I
recognized the song. Freedom and living. It's what they sang about. I hadn't
sung that in my day.


They kept singing and ignored my standing stance.


When I stepped closer, the intent to speak with them came across, and one
turned his suspicious eyes my way.


When you're one of 'them' a person didn't know what type of 'them' would
approach. Mostly, it was the angry ones or the ones who thought they were too
saintly to be told how too-self-righteous they were.


He just watched me, but he kept singing. The other two saw me and kept
singing along. To the unschooled, it was as if they hadn't a care in the world
or a clue they were on display. They knew. They knew only too well.


"Where's the best place for a hook-up?" I asked, straight to business.


He was a big man. Black skin. A roughly shaven beard that smattered his face.
His buttoned shirt shone a slightly fading plaid pattern with two missing
buttons. And his jeans were black and frayed at the knees. The sneakers were
new, but he wore no socks.


And his eyes were intelligent and still wary with a cloudiness of
confusion.


He bobbed his head in rhythm and replied, "Why you want to know that?"


"I got a friend who works those corners. So how about you be charitable and
pass it along?" I replied smoothly.


One of the others stopped singing and regarded me in suspicion. I talked how
they talked, but I didn't look how they looked.


I asked again, "She'd like a corner by a fancy restaurant. The owner would be
the friendly-type. And it'd be warm. The best hook-up, but not known by the
po-po."


"Why we tell you?"


"Because I'm friendly." I held his gaze.


The woman stood up and moved to his bench. She was dressed in a
brightly-colored windbreaker and I recognized the look in her eyes. She was
thinking I'd reward with some prescriptions.


I was empty, but I wasn't going to let her know. I understood the temptation
and need. Even though it might've gotten her there, it also got her through the
day until the next. I understood that.


"There too many corners like that in this city." He commented, but he watched
me. I saw that.


I smiled sadly, "But there's always a best corner. I'd like to know the top
five. My friend will be there."


"You a cop?" The woman asked shrilly, but she knew I wasn't. She thought I
had some powder for her, but it was a test.


"You know I ain't."


She shifted closer and he glanced at her, uneasy. He knew what she wanted,
but he didn't want that trouble. I saw all that instantly. He was there for some
warmth, a bench to sleep off the floor, and friendly voices to sing his soul. He
didn't want what she had a taste for that night. He'd seen it enough before to
last him through until he got his own taste…perhaps.


I looked at him and said, "I ain't a cop and you know it. I've been on your
bench and I'm looking for my friend. That's all."


"Hutchinson and Mapley. It's on the eastside of the island. There's some
others, but they'd know the names best."


I understood that too and nodded. "Thank you."


He nodded and went back to singing. He wanted me gone. I was a window to
trouble that his friend would unleash. He wanted that window gone until the next
window approached. He'd cross that barrier then.


His friend watched me with too-keen eyes of thirst. She wanted what I didn't
keep supplied in my pockets.


As I walked out of their tunnel, I felt their eyes on my back. All three of
them. I'd surprised them because I was unclassified. I'd been one of them, but I
wasn't any longer. I could be and I kept that knowledge within me. I still felt
as one of 'them.'


They didn't know how to understand me.


When you're one of 'us' and you're doing your thing, traveling, hitch-hiking,
standing on a corner—there are probably three main types of 'them' that talk to
you. The 'bible-huggers' who want to convert your soul and steer you to Jesus
and His Holy Savior. Then there's the drunken co-ed who's feeling brave, a pinch
of snobbery, and a healthy dose of conceitedness that'll end him in the
hospital. And then there's the angry ones. The ones just barely above us who's
trying to convince themselves they're near the heavenly clouds when they're
really one bill in the mail from our streets. Those are the worst because they
hope to beat at us what they need to beat within themselves.


I wasn't either of them.


I knew the wealth of information they knew. And I needed that
information.


They'd given it, but I had jumped their hoops to get it.


I paid the tokens and I jumped the next train to Hutchinson and Mapley. It
was late as the train wove underneath the waters. There were a few drunken
returning home. The same and ever-lasting tourists. And a few more, still hyped
from their first brush with Broadway. They waved their programs in pride and
even sang a few melodies they half-remembered and whole-heartedly wanted to
remember.


Some of them just slept with heads tucked on their laps or the shoulders of a
nearest friend.


And still others, native to NYC, rode the train like reading the hands of
their clock. Absent-minded. Familiar. And a potential-dose of unhealthy
numbness. Most of 'em were 'third-shifters' returning home from their
eleven-to-seven or their ten-to-six. Tired, fatigued, and generally not in
reality. That was the look that loitered their faces.


If you sat back and read each expression, a story could be resurrected. A few
times when I'd been moved to share my theories, they'd proven too true for
comfort. I'd learned not to share, but I'd yet to squelch the curious mind
within.


My stop came and I switched trains. I did it another time until I came to my
final stop. Hutchinson ran south. The subway was a block from Mapley. As I
walked up the barren tunnels and steps, there were a few others lingering
around. Not many. Most hurried back and forth. Many wore black. It seemed the
trademark color uniform for New York City. I wore black, but not because it was
the trend.


As I came upon the cement, it was if the world had been reborn. Colors,
brightly lit and freshly woven screamed back at me. People were zigzags if I
stood still and watched the distance. They ran this way, that way, and back
again. Some zigzags were right in front of me, some were in the distance, and I
knew others were still behind.


Light and darkness defined two worlds that New York City encompassed. A world
that I had survived and the other world of fairytales and too-far-off dreams to
lead a soul into the ground. If a person lived in the fairytales, they were
clueless of my world.


If a person lived in the too-far-off dream world, they knew of my world
because it'd be their stopping ground at the end of the rope.


I always thought a mind knew where it was going. Deep in the unconscious, we
all knew where we'll end up. It's why we know certain items. Why our unconscious
remembers information. It's all kept in storage to enable the soul when they
arrive where they're going.


Funny thing. I'd always dreamt to be an architect and yet I knew nothing
about building structure. Ask me a question about which type of cardboard leaked
and what brand was the sturdiest—I'd always known that information when I was
little. At the time I only thought forts in boxes were the best playground.


Little had I known.


And yet, as I moved along the sidewalk, I saw another who'd always known
where she'd end.


Her name was Zara and she'd left with me to Pedlam. There were a few
similarities, but a few differences.


I'd been given a choice to leave and I'd chosen foolishly.


Zara had never been given a choice. She'd left to ensure her survival. An
alcoholic mother and too-many boyfriends had found Zara to a point where she had
leapt upon the chance to leave home.


Desperate and eager. That had defined my childhood friend.


When we had both found our lives in Pedlam not to be expected, Zara had
chosen what she'd known. And I'd been inventive with cons that had led to my
current lifestyle.


I'd moved from the small-street cons that got me in jail more than a dozen
times. I was now able to ensure a living, still conning, but legalized. Gambling
and poker earned a rakish lifestyle that was decriminalized, but still frowned
upon by the government.


Zara's choice of career was still criminalized and her integrity stripped.
I'd been able to preserve mine.


A John Doe approached her as I saw her leave the wall and smile seductively
his way. He asked her rates and she answered, but she looked up and met my
too-solemn gaze.


Zara wasn't surprised. She wasn't resigned. She just stepped back and the
John Doe moved on for another target to bulldoze his way through.


I stepped across the alley and leaned against the wall beside my childhood
friend turned stranger. We knew each other too well, but knew nothing about the
other. It was a complexity that summarized so many friendships, relationships,
and kinships.


It was what we had.


"So…" Zara sighed and leaned next to me.


"Want some coffee?" I asked.


"Sure." She shrugged her shoulder. "There's a place around the corner."


As we fell in step beside each other, she looked a little better than the
last I'd seen. She'd gained a little weight, which was usually unheard and she'd
showered recently. It was good sign.


I took it as one.


We were silent as we entered a coffee java named Crisp. I didn't know who
Crisp was, but his coffee smelled better than crisp. It lingered in the air and
seemed to wrap around a chilled body. The comforting aromas were breathed in and
a different world entered the body. Alien, cold, and crisp was left at the door.
Inside was a homey atmosphere that reminded a person what it felt like to enter
a home after too-many hours on the road.


Or so my imagination would've imagined.


Zara wasn't shot covert glances that weren't covert at all. She was greeted
with the same genuine smile that greeted the customers in front of us and those
before them.


Zara gave her order and I realized this wasn't a random stop along the way.
My guess said that Zara was a regular, which warmed me further. She came here
instead of a dealer's corner. That was very good indeed.


I ordered a chai tea and we sat at a table near the warmed window that opened
upon the bustling street.


She shifted comfortably on the chair and asked, "You here now?"


"No." I wasn't going to live in New York. I hadn't moved along my post from
Pedlam.


I asked her in return, "You go to rehab?"


"What makes you say that?" She knew. Zara knew all the tells and she knew
that I'd known them too. She responded as she would to a stranger.


"Don't." My response wasn't that of a stranger's.


Zara acknowledged it and relented, "Yeah. I'm doing good."


"And the corner?"


She shrugged. "Easy money and I've got a different angle going."


"Are you narcing?"


Disgust flashed in her amber eyes first before she grimaced. "God no. Not for
cops."


"The po-po?" I chuckled.


Zara grinned before she shook her head. "I pass messages. That's it."


"You don't look dressed for that."


Another shrug that coincided with nonchalance.


"What are you doing here, Maya?" Her gaze was sober and crystal.


"Truth…" We never told truths. We circled around them, but never showed the
absolute truth. "What've you heard about Lanser?"


"Jace Lanser?" Zara asked, surprised.


"Yeah."


"Not much. What you know."


I countered, "I can find out what messages you're passing and who for."


"Bitch." It was slipped casually. Zara didn't care what I could do. We were
just both playing our side of the game.


"I can do that too."


She grinned and rolled her eyes as the drinks were served.


Zara spoke then, her hands now warmed as she wrapped her thin fingers around
the cup, "He's not in no Witness Protection I know."


That had been the rumor. No one believed it.


"What else?" I pressed and I breathed lightly on the rising steam from my
tea.


She shrugged again and played another move on our checkerboard.


"What's gone down?"


Zara met my eyes again and replied, "A bust went down in Boston last month.
It's been told that Lanser was there and…it's being questioned how DEA he
actually is."


Or if he'd stayed on the other side and just played for his benefit.


"Galverson's dead, right?" Zara asked me, not expecting an answer. She added,
"His accounts ain't. Someone's working his business for a ghost. That's what's
been told anyway."


And that meant that there was speculation that Lanser wasn't as DEA as he
made everyone believe.


I nodded. It was thought that Lanser had taken the reins of Galverson's
business and that had been his perfect checkmate years ago. Cripple two empires
and took control of them.


I read the cards that Zara gave me and I read in between the cards.


"What about Broozer?" I asked.


Zara knew what I was asking.


She shrugged. "He's still active for being in the pen."


I settled back against my chair and said softly, "You looking like you're off
the stuff."


My childhood friend was back at my statement. She responded as one, "I told
you. I've been through rehab."


"Rehab don't stick till the sixth pinprick."


"It was my eighth time."


"Whoever or whatever you're narcing that's not for the cops—it's a
lifestyle that'll take you back there. Mark my words, Zara."


"They're marked. Believe me." She said dryly and sipped her coffee again. "I
love this stuff. I'm saving up money and I'm going to open my own bistro."


"That's what these are called?"


"And I'll be the head Barristo." Zara smiled at me and reminded me of a
six-year old that had been at my side as we played in cardboard forts. She'd
played restaurant back then too.


I'd been the owner/dishwasher and she'd been the hostess/chef/and server all
rolled into one. It never sunk in our roles should've been switched if it was
her restaurant, with her name in the title. Zara hadn't cared.


I wondered if the clouds felt good around her head. If they warmed her ears
as much as the coffee.


"I know. I know." She sighed and grinned. "You're probably thinking I'm
insane and in Nanaland. It's going to happen, Maya. I know it."


"Those must be some messages." I mused.


She had no response, but we both thought the same thing. She was playing a
game that had dangerous rules and just as dangerous consequences if the rules
were broken. What thought we didn't share was that I knew she just a player in
that game. Zara thought she played her own game and her boss was her own
pawn.


She was the pawn and she'd realize that before her bistro dream would meet
the same chilled air that we both had left outside.


"Why all this talk about Lanser? That's not good talk for you."


This time I played my cards and knew Zara wouldn't be able to read between
them.


"Just answering a few questions of my own."


"For your brother?"


Everyone knew of my brother. What they knew set each apart.


"Call it curiosity." I said dryly.


Curiosity killed the cat.


I knew the dangerous and deadly rules of my game, but I also knew how
slippery the slope was to become a pawn. I was hoping my clear eyesight would
prevent that slope from unfolding underneath my legs.


Zara didn't comment and I knew she hadn't connected the lines between my
cards.


Zara had never conned a successful con. I'd conned until the present and
continue for the future.


"How long are you in town?" Zara asked as she finished her drink.


Had we been there that long?


"I got some stuff to sort through before I'll head back."


My truth—I had no idea. I yielded some of the wind, but I was still along for
the ride.


Zara accepted my vague response and stood up, "Well…I'm staying at Huxley and
Dovart. Apartment six, if you need a place to crash."


I didn't ask if she paid the bills or if someone else paid the bills. It
wouldn't surprise if Zara hadn't even thought about the bills.


"What train takes me to Columbia?"


"Columbia?" Zara asked in an alien language. She looked at me as one. "Why
are you going there?"


It was my turn for a nonchalant shrug.


Zara rolled her eyes, "Take the 1 train to 116th street exit." She turned
back to her corner as we left the bistro. "And, hey—I might not be around if you
crash at my place. Sometimes I don't get home for awhile."


The message for me was to not go looking for her. She didn't want that and
I'd interfere.


Zara knew all too well that I loved interfering. Especially when to my own
that had been turned into pawns. I interfered until I was content.


Zara knew that.


My fault, I didn't like others to interfere in my games. Not someone who
couldn't grasp what game I played.


"Don't wait up for me." I replied and Zara got my message. She shouldn't
expect me. There were three reasons for my response. She understood the first
two, or I would imagine she did. Zara knew I had a liking for no one to know my
routine. The second was that I wouldn't know if I'd crash or not.


And the third—Lanser's power had reached to both coasts. Some scorned players
probably lived in New York. I didn't want them to know where Krein's little
sister might rest her head. They might be looking for answers that they
speculated I might know.


That was my survival.