John Lutz - The Ex

“I said it was a perceived threat.”

“How do you know all this?”

“An acquaintance of mine has talked to me about you. This person is dangerous.”

“Is it a man or a woman?”

“I can’t tell you. I don’t want anyone to find out we’ve talked.”

“How could anyone find out?”

“You might tell them.”

“Don’t be absurd. If you help me, why should I do anything that would hurt you?”

“It would be an accident.”

“What’s your name?”

“You don’t need to know.”

“You might call again,” Lisa said. “If you do, how will I know it’s the same woman?”

There was silence for such a long time that Lisa thought the woman might have hung up without her hearing the distinctive double click of the connection breaking. Then the voice said, “My name’s Darlene, Lisa.”

“What about a last name?”

“No. I’ve warned you because I saw it as my duty. I’ve fulfilled my obligation. That’s enough.”

“I promise I won’t-

But now Lisa did hear a sharp double click that might have been a hang-up, then only a thrumming silence.

“Hello,” Lisa said tentatively into the void.

The phone company took her voice and didn’t give it back.

They’d argued much of last night about her visit with Dr. Mindle. Perhaps that was why David had phoned this morning and suggested in an apologetic tone that they meet for lunch.

Molly had left Michael with Julia and was caught up on her work, waiting for another assignment from Traci, so she left the apartment at eleven-thirty and walked toward the subway.

She first noticed the man watching her while she was walking along Eighty-sixth Street toward the station at Central Park West. He was well over six feet tall and very thin, with a narrow face, sad eyes, and straight red hair that hung lank almost to his shoulders. He was wearing jeans and a baggy black T-shirt lettered GREAT GOTHAM below an outline of the city skyline in yellow. Molly had sensed that someone was staring at her, glanced to the side and saw the man, and he quickly and somewhat guiltily averted his eyes.

She figured she knew what he’d been thinking; he was sizing her up, gauging her sexuality. That wasn’t unusual in New York. It was as much a part of subway travel as tokens and turnstiles.

She noticed, though it didn’t greatly concern her, that he’d descended the subway station stairs behind her. Now he was standing well away from her on the platform. She might not have seen him if it weren’t for his height. He was looking away from her, in the direction from which the train would make its approach.

Within five minutes Molly felt the cool breeze that meant a train was bearing down on the station, pushing the air before it. A single white light became visible down the tunnel, and with a thunderous roar the train flashed in a blur along the tracks and appeared to be an express speeding past this station. But it slowed and squealed and clattered to a stop.

Molly was standing within a few feet of the train, and she boarded the sleek steel car as soon as the doors hissed open. She sat down on one of the plastic seats on the opposite side of the car, near the end, across from an old woman with a large shopping bag resting on the floor between her legs, and a man who appeared to be sleeping despite the open magazine spread out on his lap. The glossy cover of the magazine featured a blond woman wearing a skimpy red outfit and wielding a whip. Above the woman with the shopping bag was an ad with a phone number to call if you needed repair of a torn earlobe.

There was a nasal, indecipherable public announcement concerning the route and the next stop, then the train jerked and accelerated away from the station, and Molly settled back to ride.

As they were running through darkness, the door at the opposite end of the car opened, the one that allowed access from the following car. There was a momentary burst of sound-steel wheels thundering along the tracks-then the redheaded man stepped inside and slid the door shut.

Molly stared at him, but he merely glanced at her as he gripped a pole to keep his balance and sat down.

She remembered him standing far away from her on the platform. Which meant he must have made his way through at least two or three cars to get to this one. And apparently he was going no farther.

When she got off at the Seventh Avenue stop and transferred to an E train that would take her to the Lexington station, she lost sight of the man.

But when she surfaced to the street near the Citicorp Building, there he was, standing on the opposite sidewalk.

She ignored him, tried not to think of him, as she walked down Fifty-third toward Second Avenue, where she was going to meet David.

Near Third Avenue she paused to pretend to look in a shop window, and there was the man’s reflection, along with a cluster of people waiting to cross the intersection. He was staring at her, but when he realized she was watching his reflection, he looked away and moved out of sight.

She was scared now. And angry. But at least she knew the man appeared in reflection, unlike vampires and imaginary figures of the mentally unbalanced. And he was certainly following her.

What would Dr. Mindle say if she told him about this? Paranoic delusion, he’d probably say.

Deirdre would undoubtedly say the same.

David might agree.

Though she was on the lookout, she didn’t see the redheaded man again as she made her way to the diner where she was to meet David.

As she walked across Second Avenue, she saw David through a diner window, seated in a booth. She waved to him, but he didn’t see her among the still tightly knotted crowd of people who’d just crossed the intersection.

Molly felt better as soon as she entered the Apple Blossom Diner. It was a sunlit, hamburger kind of place, with Formica-topped tables and a stainless steel counter with red vinyl stools. A few dozen customers sat in booths or at tables, another half dozen at the counter. As she walked toward David, she heard the sizzle of something cold being placed on the hot grill.

She slid into the booth to sit opposite him.

“You’re late,” he said, looking up from a brightly colored pamphlet he’d been reading-something about a medical plan. He didn’t seem irritated by her tardiness; it was merely an observation.

“Sorry, had to wait awhile for a subway.” In truth she’d simply lost track of time and left the apartment ten minutes later than she’d planned. Another symptom of her slipping mental faculties?

A waiter came over and set two glasses of water and menus on the table. Molly and David had been to the diner often and knew what they wanted, so David handed back the menus, and the waiter took their order without having to leave while they made up their minds. They both ordered hamburgers and Beck’s dark beer.

When the waiter had jotted kitchen code on his order pad and left, David stuck the medical plan pamphlet into his suit coat pocket. “How late can Julia keep Michael?”

“Two o’clock. We’ve got plenty of time. Is there a reason why you invited me to lunch today, David?”

“Does there have to be?”

“Yes. And I think I can guess what it is. We both feel bad about arguing last night over my visit with Dr. Mindle. And you still don’t like the way it turned out.”

“The visit or the argument?”

“Both, maybe.” She hoped he wasn’t still angry, determined to play diversionary word games. Like Dr. Mindle’s games.

He took a sip of water then set the glass back down carefully in its ring of condensation, as if that were required by Miss Manners. He shrugged and smiled. “You’re right, I guess, but at least you went to see him. I can’t ask you to do more than that.”