Lev Rosen - Depth

“And are you?”

“Do you think I’d answer that?”

Mr. Ryan murmured a small laugh. “A good point. Well, if you happen to run into her, please let Ms. St. Michel know that if she is in need of funds and is willing to sell the object she once approached me about, I could put an auction together within a day. It would fetch a hefty price.”

Simone watched deCostas carefully take a water sample.

“Would it?”

“Yes, it would. But I’m not giving you another art history lesson, Ms. Pierce. Either you know the object’s worth or you don’t. I begin to suspect you don’t.”

deCostas dropped the small marble into the water and watched it fall away. Then he took out his notebook and began making notes.

“Linnea doesn’t tell me everything. I didn’t know she had approached you about the object at all.”

“Once. But then she changed her mind. Very disappointing. But if you should run into her…”

“I’ll give her the message. Thank you, Mr. Ryan.”

deCostas put the notebook away and stood back up, turning around to face them.

“All done,” he said. “Thank you.”

“I am a friend of education and archeology, Mr. deCostas. I hope you will remember me if you uncover anything.”

“Of course,” deCostas said. “Thank you again.”

Mr. Ryan nodded and gestured that they should go out of the stairwell ahead of him. He followed them and closed the door. This time he locked it.

“It has been a pleasure as always, Ms. Pierce. And charming meeting you, Mr. deCostas. I hope your expedition to our City on the Sea is fruitful.” He bowed slightly, but did not shake hands. “Ms. Antiphates will show you out.”

The large woman who had opened the door for them appeared and gestured that they should follow her.

“I’m hoping for another art history lesson sometime soon, Mr. Ryan,” Simone said as she followed the woman.

“As am I, Ms. Pierce,” Mr. Ryan said. Simone turned around and flashed him a grin. He was standing exactly where they had left him, watching them walk down the hallway. Simone imagined him staying there, watching, until they were out the door and Ms. Antiphates locked it behind him again.

“That was pretty easy,” deCostas said.

“Yeah. The next one is easier. 590 Madison is residential, no doorman. We should be able to walk in and check out the stairwell. Clinton Tower is the same as the Broecker Building, just not as fancy. I have an appointment for four p.m. We’ll take the elevator, cancel, hop into the stairwell, and then run.”

“I didn’t think I’d be skirting so many security guards. I thought this was a lawless city on the water, with no authority.”

“There’s plenty of authority: security guards, personal enforcers, and the police do an all right job because they have an arrangement with all the private security in town to turn criminals over to them. No one enforces the mainland laws—we’re supposed to, but no one does. But the big stuff? Murder, big robberies? The cops will try to hook anyone who pulls that. The truth is, there’s authority because of who we are. New York is a combination of self-selection and natural selection. People have to be brave, stupid, or some combination of the two to come here. They have to be dangerous—whether with a gun, or money or something else—to survive. And those of us who were born here… we have a special sort of education. You try to mug someone, there’s a good chance you’ll be the one who ends up in the water. Criminals are careful. And it’s easier to get a gun here than almost anywhere else in the world.” She shrugged. “In case you want a souvenir.”

“I don’t think I’d know how to use it.”

“Just point and pull the trigger. Easy as anything.”

AT 4:16 P.M., THEY were running out of the Clinton Tower; 590 Madison had gone off without a hitch, and the Clinton Tower seemed to be going fine until an unexpected pair of security men stepped into the stairwell and walked down to the bottom floor, lighting cigarettes for a quick smoke break. All four of them had frozen for a moment, security men on the stairs, Simone and deCostas standing by the water’s edge. Then one of the guards had remembered his job and shouted, “Hey!” which sent Simone and deCostas running out the door, into the crowded lobby. The guards chased after them but quickly gave up and Simone and deCostas were soon out of the building. They stopped running a few bridges away and Simone raised her eyebrows at deCostas, who was bent over, catching his breath.

“You drop your marble?” Simone asked.

“Yeah,” deCostas said, taking a deep breath.

“We didn’t run that far. You shouldn’t be so out of breath. Or is your stamina lacking?”

“My stamina is legendary,” he said, standing up and grinning at her. He pushed some hair out of his face. “I was scared, perhaps. After Mr. Ryan thinking it was a bomb, I didn’t want to be locked away for terrorism or something.”

“Aw, I could have protected you from that.”

“My hero.”

“Don’t mock it, I’ve got a rep as an excellent hero.”

“Oh? Rescuing fair lads such as myself, holding us in your strong arms?”

“Legs, more often.” Simone smirked. They looked at each other in silence for a moment.

“So, is this where we part ways?” he asked. “Have that other case to worry about?”

“Unless you had something else in mind,” Simone smiled.

“We could always go back to my hotel,” deCostas suggested with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

Simone stared at him for long enough to watch a new sheen of sweat develop at his hairline. “Okay.”

SIMONE STRETCHED NAKED IN the foggy light from the window. The room smelled like smoke and salt. deCostas was asleep, face down on the bed naked, the sheets all on the floor. He held his pillow to his face and curved his body around the imprint where Simone’s body had been. His ass was nice to stare at, but Simone only gazed at it a minute. That had been exactly what she needed. She felt looser again, as though whatever had been stifling her brain and body had melted away. His stamina was almost as legendary as he’d promised.

But now she was ready to get back to the case. She pulled on her clothes and left without waking deCostas. He’d call. Outside it was dark already, just a bare sliver of sun peeking out over the horizon, blocked by buildings, diffused by fog, neon red. Algae generators glowed green under the water’s surface, and the city smelled like salt and mold. Simone loved the nighttime. The world was black and red and green and wet. All these trips with deCostas had had her out during the day; she felt better now, prowling the fog and shadows.

First, she stopped by the Four Seasons. She waltzed by the doorman as if she belonged there and headed to the reception desk. She still looked rough from her tumble with deCostas and did her best to look worried, too.

“I’m supposed to meet my cousin here,” she told the receptionist at the desk. “Short, blonde, really pretty? I’m totally late, though.”

“Is she a guest here?”

“I think so,” Simone said, trying to sound young and innocent.

“And her name?”

Simone pursed her lips, then forced her face to stay cheerful.

“Misty,” she tried. The receptionist blinked, then looked down at his touchdesk and typed on it.

“No one named Misty is staying with us.”

“She checks in under fake names, usually,” Simone said, trying to keep her voice sweet and naïve, “but… oh, here, I have a photo!” Simone took out the photo of The Blonde. She doubted this would work, but it was worth the risk. She had to get to The Blonde—had to figure this case out. The receptionist looked her up and down, an oily smile on his face.