Lev Rosen - Depth

“Maybe,” he said. He sipped his tea. “So you have lived in the city your whole life?” Simone nodded. “Have you been to the EU?”

“No. Only left New York once, to visit the Appalachian Islands.”

“The mainland?”

“Yeah, kinda. Eastern islands, connected to the Chicago coast by a giant bridge with a maglev train. Still takes a long time to get there from the mainland, though. So only the really wealthy have homes there. It’s like a vacation spot that’s still part of the mainland. Beaches and mansions and little hotels, but still well policed by the mainland, still safe from ‘corrupt influences.’ My dad took me there when I was little. We stayed at a B&B for a weekend and played on the beach a little. Then we got ticketed for indecency because his bathing suit rode down a little in the back. He didn’t have one of those fancy no-slip kinds. Showed a little crack, and he got charged as much as the vacation cost altogether. That’s mainland life.”

“I’ve never been to the mainland. They say it’s… unwelcoming. Make one social mistake and you’re in prison.”

“That’s about right.”

“So why is it different here?”

“Well, we’re technically still the US, I guess, but everything is decentralized here. We have our own government, and while the mainland decency and morality laws apply to us, no one enforces them. Which makes it a great place for foreign businesses to set up shop. Still America, but with none of the pesky rules.”

“No rules?” One corner of his mouth rose up mischievously.

Simone cocked her head. “Our own rules. Truth is, we don’t get many people moving in or out of New York. You’re born a New Yorker, you stay one. Some people move in, but they tend to leave one way or another after they got what they came for or realize they never will.”

“One way or another?”

“Over the water or under it,” Simone said, using her coffee cup to hide her inadvertent frown.

“And what is it they come for?”

“Money,” Simone shrugged. “Power, fame.” She stared at deCostas over his coffee, and he took a long sip. “But New Yorkers don’t like leaving.”

“You say that with pride.”

“Yeah.” Simone drained her coffee and leaned back in her chair. “So what’s the EU like?”

“Nice. Liberal, obviously, by America’s standards.”

“What isn’t?”

“Not too different from here, socially, but we have more…”

“Buildings?”

He laughed. “Yes, and we have an older culture. A relaxed one. One that knows it is in its golden years and so tries to enjoy the time it has left, with music and art, sunsets and sex. In the north we have great dykes and walls, like the one you have on the Chicago coast, but they feel natural. And in the south we have pumps and canals—more like here, but different somehow. Like old photos of Venice from before it sank. America is still like the adult who just realized he will not live forever and so is trying to hide himself from danger. It has been this way since before the flood… but the flood lengthened it. A very long midlife crisis, decades past its prime, trying to recapture its elusive youth. Europe is past this. We enjoy ourselves and the beauty of the world, even as the waters threaten to cover us.”

“Sunsets and sex?”

“It’s a line from a movie,” deCostas said, pushing his hair back from his face, “but an accurate one. You should visit sometime and see.”

“We have sunsets and sex here.”

“Really? Perhaps I shall find out for myself,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“Do these lines work on European women?”

“Some.”

“Now I know you’re lying.” Simone stood, and deCostas squinted up at her. She was enjoying his company, but she wasn’t dumb enough to enjoy it for very long, and it was getting late. She thought about inviting him back with her. She was probably going to fuck him eventually, after all. He was hot and willing, and she didn’t turn down easy sex if she thought the guy wouldn’t try for anything more; and in this case she didn’t think it would interfere with the work she was doing for him. The sun was behind her, and it felt warm on her back. But something distracted her. She was facing the Mission, and the door was opening. Out stepped The Blonde. The legs in the waiting room—no wonder they’d seemed familiar. Simone had tailed them the other night. “I should go,” she said. “Send me some more buildings. I’ll set up some more viewings.”

“Why the rush?”

“Other cases.” He looked over to where she was staring. The Blonde had put on a pair of sunglasses and was walking away.

“Can I come?”

“What?” Simone glanced down at deCostas for a moment, annoyed. “No.”

“I’m not even sure where we are. I need you to show me how to get home. It’s what I’m paying for, isn’t it?” Simone pursed her lips. The Blonde was hurrying out of sight. She grabbed some cash from her wallet and put it down on the table.

“Fine, stay behind me, do exactly what I say. This shouldn’t be dangerous, but…” she started walking quickly after The Blonde. Behind her, she heard deCostas scramble up from his chair and follow her.

“Can you tell me what the case is about?” he asked.

“No. And shut up.”

She darted quickly through the crowds. The sun was getting lower, and the sunset fog was starting to rise, giving the city a gauzy orange look. She was impressed by how deCostas managed to weave behind her, but she still had to put her arm up to block him once or twice. She didn’t like where this was going. Bringing deCostas was bad, of course, but she didn’t want to lose the client. She also didn’t want to lose this lead she’d gained by luck. This was why she didn’t like working two cases at once.

The Blonde was heading along the far-western reaches of the city, edging along the bad areas if not quite entering them. It was less populated here, with too many empty buildings and worn-out bridges. Simone didn’t like it. The Blonde walked around a corner and into a large, crumbling building that Simone knew to be abandoned. After sunset, it was a spot to score drugs, but now, with the sun still setting, it would just be an abandoned room with a door to another bridge.

“Stay here,” she whispered to deCostas.

“Why?”

“Just stay here.” Simone walked ahead and into the building. It had been an office once. Three fluorescent lights flickered on the ceiling; the others had burned out. The carpet was torn and moldy, and whatever color it had been was now gray. Discarded newspages stuck to the floor here and there, old and peeling like dry skin. There were a few cubicles scattered around and shoulder-high, white walls lined with trash, but there was a path through them to the other side of the building where another window had been made into a door like the one she’d just come through. Between her and that door stood The Blonde, waiting. She was backlit by the sun, and the little light from the ceiling that shone on her face flickered, as if afraid to rest there. She held her hands in front of her, clutching a small strapless purse, relaxed. Amused maybe.

“Hello,” she said to Simone. “Oh, and you brought a friend.” Simone looked behind her. DeCostas had followed her. Shit. Simone reached for the gun in her boot and pulled it out slowly. “Oh, we don’t need to do that, do we?” The Blonde raised an eyebrow. Simone looked her up and down. The Blonde had a gun, too. Simone could feel it—an instinct for firearms honed over the years. Maybe she was holding it behind her clutch and could shoot her through it. Probably. She’d had time to prepare. The pose with the one hand clasping the clutch, the other hand just behind it, looking like it was clasping the purse, too. It was too staged.