by Peter Hartog
They fell into step beside me, heads turning, taking in the scene.
Gaudy lights flooded the street, advertising a wide variety of goods and services not welcome in the nicer parts of town. I walked too close to the entrance of one as a wave of pungent perfume covered me in a cloying cloud. A young woman wearing tight clothes and enough makeup to rival Besim waved at me with a gap-toothed smile. Vacant eyes stared through me. The needle marks along her bare arms told its own sordid tale.
We passed several ragged, homeless people leaning against the old brick of the one- and two-story storefronts scattered along the block. We weren’t accosted, but I didn’t look at any of them. They were beyond my help, scrounging a pitiful life amongst the seedy detritus of this banged-up place. The ugly underbelly of Brighton Beach was a flesh-eating disease, leaving little untouched by its corruption. As a result, police patrols were few and far between.
Not everything was lost, though.
Abner’s Vintage Books was an anachronism from a bygone age living in a neighborhood that no longer cared. The store occupied a two-story brick strip between Frankie G’s Tattoo Parlor and Mickey’s Laundromat. A black canopy hung over the entrance, while a welcoming, warm glow spilled across its threshold.
Several fissures crisscrossed portions of the barred window, forming spiderwebs from where objects had struck the glass. The display held a neat array of genuine paper and ink books, artfully stacked, along with Halloween decorations. A sense of sweet nostalgia settled in my bones like good whiskey on a cold night.
“What’s in here?” Deacon asked, gesturing at the books. “Besides the obvious.”
“Family.” I held the door open. The bright tinkle of a bell on the inside of the doorway greeted us as we went inside.
We stepped into the lair of a bibliophile. The interior was cozy and warm. Soft light from shaded lamps covered various tables and bookshelves filled to the brim with a treasure trove of paperback and hardbound books. Classical music filtered through the store in soft waves, the brooding rumble of Tchaikovsky’s Manfred Symphony lumbering along lento lugubre.
A half-moon-shaped wooden counter anchored the center of the store, its surface holding more books and other odds-and-ends for sale. An old-fashioned cash register, the kind with push buttons and a drawer to hold hard currency, squatted on the counter between a drooping potted plant and a sign bearing the instructions to “Ring for assistance.” Before the sign rested a grinning porcelain jack-o-lantern and a cheaply-made metal hand bell with a worn, flower-patterned plastic handle. The far wall held built-in shelving and an open doorway leading into the store’s back room. A wrought-iron staircase spiraled up to a landing and another doorway. I caught the flash of a fuzzy tail as it fled from the landing in a puff of fur.
An old man perched precariously on a stool by the counter, his head bowed, arms folded, and his eyes closed. He wore a faded brown tweed jacket with patches sewn at each elbow, tan dress shirt, tan pants, and sensible shoes. His close-cropped, salt-and-pepper mustache and beard were matched by the same fringe surrounding a smooth head covered with liver spots. As we approached, I caught the faint buzz of his snoring. I strode to the counter, grabbed the hand bell, and shook it vigorously in his face. Startled, he jerked awake and almost toppled from the stool, but planted his feet on the floor in time.
“Rise and shine, Abner.” I returned the bell to the counter. “You’ve got customers!”
“Thomas Henry Holliday,” Abner grumbled in exasperation. “You of all people should know it is very impolite sneaking up on an old man while he ruminates upon the universe.”
“Is that what they call sleeping on the job these days?” I asked with a fond smile, clapping the old man on the shoulder.
I made with the introductions.
“As I live and breathe!” Abner said with wide eyes. “A Vellan, and in my store! I’m quite certain my father never had a Vellan visit the store back when he was alive. I am honored by your presence.” He bowed at the waist.
“The pleasure is mine, sir,” Besim returned the bow with a polite nod.
The old man waved her away with a smile. “Please, call me Abner.”
Abner Horowitz and my grandfather Harry had been friends since they were schoolboys. The bookstore had been with Abner’s family for generations, surviving the Russian bratva, civil unrest and several drug wars. It was my second home.
With Mom dead and my asshole of a dad hopelessly drunk, my grandfather provided for most of my formative learning. When he worked nights, I’d get dropped off here. Between Abner and my grandfather, they taught me so many things about life, being a man, and the importance of family. As for Abner, he gave me the greatest gift of all: books.
I spent hours devouring every little literary bit I could swallow. I’d build small nests in a corner of the store, out of the way of the customers, and read until my eyes crossed. The bookstore was my sanctuary, a home away from home where I could flee into my imagination and forget life’s travails for a while. After my grandfather died, I kept up with Abner, ensuring the neighborhood riffraff were aware the place was under my protection.
Abner was family, but he wasn’t the reason why I was here.
“Is she around?” I asked the old man, a serious expression on my face.
“I presume you got my message?” Abner asked, his dark eyes wide with worry. “She didn’t get home until late this morning. What’s this all about, Tom?”
“The two of you, stay here,” I addressed the others. “Besim, earlier you suggested we should do some research on our killer. Well, this place is as good as any library I’ve ever seen. Maybe you’ll find something useful here. I won’t be long.”
And before they could respond, I ascended the spiral staircase.
Chapter 13
I found Leyla sprawled face-first on a bed littered with loose clothing and four cats. She wore a tight-fitting halter top, leggings, and a short skirt. Leyla’s soft snoring was nearly indistinguishable from the purring symphony surrounding her. I caught the tang of cigarette smoke and other, less savory, things.
Beside the bed leaned a makeshift desk cobbled together from a variety of discarded old furniture. In contrast, a sleek portable holo-rig lay on its surface. I’d seen enough confiscated tech at the precinct to know that rig cost more than my annual salary. Scattered next to it were a few silver bracelets, and several deactivated enclave holo-ID cards. I crossed the room and sifted through them, noting names and faces.
Leyla had been busy last night.
Discarded beneath the desk were a black nylon bag and a pair of faded running shoes. There were no chairs in here, although one gray cat was fat enough to second as a nice cushion. A cold, damp wind blew through the open window.
The gray sauntered up to me and rubbed against my leg, purring like an overclocked engine.
“Hello, Carter,” I greeted him fondly, scratching behind his neck.
Kneeling beside the bed, I regarded Leyla for a few moments. Her pale skin glistened from the flecks of misty rain blown through the open window, but she slept soundly as if wrapped in heavy blankets. A palpable chill radiated off her that made me shiver despite the layers of clothing I wore.
“No,” she whispered suddenly, a small child’s voice filled with fright. “Mom? Dad? Where are you?”
Leyla’s body balled into a fetal position. The temperature in the room dropped, brought about by something more than the October weather.
“It’s so dark. I can’t see you.”
She twisted on the bed. Her eyes moved rapidly beneath their lids. I was locked in indecision, unsure whether to wake her, or to let things play out.
“I’m cold. So cold. Why did you leave me?”
“I’m here. It’s okay. I’m here.”
“Why didn’t I die?”
I made my choice. Reaching out carefully, I gently stroked her face, willing the terror she was experiencing to release her. My fingers went numb. At my touch, Leyla’s eyes flut
tered open.
“Hey,” she murmured, her words slurred from sleep.
“You were dreaming again,” I said.
“I was?” She blinked a few times. “I don’t remember.”
“Yeah.” I hesitated, then said. “About your family again. You know, if you ever want to talk about what happened…”
“I know, Doc,” she said. “I’ll tell you, but when I’m ready, okay?
“Okay,” I sighed.
“What time is it?”
“Time for you to get up, kiddo.”
Leyla rolled over and propped herself up on one arm. Her snow-white hair held tiny frost crystals which drifted to the floor. She appeared no older than a kid in her mid-teens, but I knew better. Tired, icy blue eyes regarded me curiously.
“Where’s Abner?”
“Downstairs.” I rubbed my hands together for warmth. “How are you feeling?”
“Tired,” she yawned, rising from bed, the nightmare all but forgotten. “Anton’s was doing another ten-credit beer night. I couldn’t pass it up.”
“Plenty of easy marks, eh?” I grinned.
Leyla returned the smile with a sly one of her own. “Guys wanted to buy me drinks. What’s a girl gonna do?”
She stretched, clasping one hand to the other, and raised both arms over her head. Her back popped like soft gunshots. She walked barefoot to the desk.
“They’re just a bunch of nobodies,” she offered, gesturing at her collection. “They don’t work for anyone important, and none of them are loaded.”
“They’ll be pissed once they realize their IDs were lifted by the pretty white-haired girl,” I chuckled. “You’re a hard one to forget, kiddo.”
Leyla laughed and twirled like a mischievous sprite.
“Aw, c’mon. It’s all in fun. I’m not actually going to do anything with them.”
“Promise me you’ll return them to Anton’s.” I was stern, but my eyes danced.
Leyla gave me an exasperated look. “Fine, Doc. I’ll drop them off later.”
“And no messing with their profiles either, young lady,” I admonished, wagging a finger. “Remember what happened to the last guy?”
Her grin was wicked.
“Yeah, but that asshole deserved it,” she sniffed indignantly. “He groped me, and then didn’t tip Holly, which really pissed me off. Holly’s a friend, Doc. You mess with my friends, then I’m going to fuck you up, my way. Besides, I’m sure the EC IRS is done auditing by now. I mean, it’s been a year, right?” She scooped up the cards and put them in an inner pocket of her skirt.
“That has pockets?” I asked in surprise.
“Where else am I going to put things?” she replied, all wide-eyed innocence.
I left that one alone.
She gave me a critical look and said, “This isn’t a social call, is it?”
“No, kiddo.” I stood, folding my arms. “I need your help with something.”
“Now there’s a twist,” she replied. “Usually I’m the one coming to you. Are you in trouble?”
“No, nothing like that,” I smiled. “I’m working a case, and it’s an unusual one.”
“That’s great, Doc!” she cheered. “About time those morons gave you something to do!”
“Not exactly, kiddo.” I recounted the events of the past two days, leaving nothing out.
Leyla gazed out the window, chewing on her lower lip as she worked the angles in her head.
“You’ll be my own consultant,” I added. “Mahoney and Deacon won’t like it, but they won’t have a choice. I’ll even pay you.”
Turning back to me, her icy blue eyes glittered.
“Doc, you need my help, so I’m gonna help. How many times have you bailed me out of trouble?”
A warm feeling filled my heart as I regarded her with a soft smile.
Leyla might be a thief and world-class hacker, but I loved her all the same.
We weren’t blood-related, but Leyla and I went way back, around the time I joined the 98th. I had worked a case involving money-laundering over in Flatbush. A small-time crime syndicate tried to set up shop using a bank as a front. Independent of my investigation, Leyla made the mistake of hacking into their system to abscond with their ill-gotten gains.
Unfortunately, she’d hacked the wrong family.
They hired a Cy-tracker to find her. When I arrived at the bank to ask some questions, I came upon a couple of thick-necked bad guys about to cause some serious harm to a very skinny white-haired girl in the alley next to the building. They cornered her, but I persuaded them to leave her alone with a heavy dose of Doc Holliday kick-assery.
The girl provided ECPD with a surprising amount of digital evidence to put away the syndicate for about thirty years. Leyla and I had been tight ever since.
I didn’t discover just how special Leyla was until weeks later.
“So, what’s the plan?” she asked, interrupting my thoughts.
“Grab your stuff. We’re going to the decedent’s townhouse.”
Abner was regaling a disgruntled Deacon and an attentive Besim about something as we negotiated the spiral stairs. The Confederate looked up at our approach, dark eyes assessing Leyla with undisguised interest. One glance at her told him everything he needed to know.
“She ain’t coming.”
“That’s too bad,” I fired back. “I’m vouching for her, and that damn well better be good enough.”
“Are you out of your mind?” he countered, eyes blazing. “This is a murder investigation, not some fucking field trip!”
“EVI’s down,” I responded as a strange calm settled over me. Having Leyla along felt right. She needed to be with us, although I had no idea why. “Which means we need an expert at manipulating data and researching things. Leyla is damn good at both. Worst case, she stays in the pod. That work for you?”
Deacon turned to Besim. They shared one of those invisible communication moments again. Abner and Leyla watched in silence.
“Fine,” he grumbled. “But the kid’s your responsibility. I ain’t no goddamn babysitter.”
Deacon stomped from the bookstore.
“‘I ain’t no goddamn babysitter,’” Leyla mimicked with a twang. “Jerk.”
“Give him time,” I chuckled.
She made a face and shifted the bag’s strap on her shoulder.
“Thank you, Abner,” Besim addressed the old man. “You are a wealth of knowledge.”
Abner beamed, thick eyebrows bobbing up and down. Bowing at the waist again, he almost dashed his forehead into the counter.
“The pleasure is all mine, Madam.”
Leyla embraced him.
“You be careful,” Abner admonished as he held her tight. “You heard what Tom said. Stay in the pod, and out of trouble.”
She laughed, pecking him on the cheek. Frost crinkled the skin where her lips touched him, but Abner didn’t flinch.
I nodded to Abner and led the ladies outside.
Deacon stood beneath a burned-out street lamp smoking a cigarette. Rain spat down from above, but he paid it no mind. A few cars trundled past, their engines roaring like prehistoric beasts.
“And then there were four,” I announced.
Deacon flicked the cigarette away, falling in with us as we walked back to the pod.
“Are you not chilled, Leyla?” Besim asked. “Do you require a coat?”
Leyla laughed gaily, turning her face to the sky as the rain washed her face.
“Oh, not at all,” she replied. “I love the rain!”
She skipped ahead, jumping in puddles and soaking her clothes.
“You better be right about her,” Deacon growled in a low voice. His flinty eyes bore into Leyla’s back as she spoke with Besim.
I filled in Deacon on how I’d met Leyla.
“She stayed at my apartment for a few weeks in case anyone came looking for her,” I finished. “She’d been living on the streets since she was twelve. Other than a stolen rig, Leyla had
the clothes on her back and not much else. And she’s a natural at hacking. Self-taught, if you can believe it.”
I glanced around. Her last place was in a seedier section of Dyker Heights, worse than this one.
“Anyway, I knew she couldn’t stay with me forever, so I called Abner,” I said. “He lived alone, and loved to collect strays, so I asked him to take Leyla under his wing. She works at the bookstore during the day, and Abner provides her four walls, a roof, and a warm meal.”
Deacon grunted.
“She’s solid, Deacon. She’ll be fine,” I assured him. “What were you discussing with Abner?”
“Saranda asked about vampires,” he scowled. “The old man recommended a few books, said he’d order them if we wanted. Told him Saranda can do the research on her own.”
“We should go to Vanessa’s brownstone,” I said, changing the subject. “I’ll put in a call to Natalie Bonner and set up a meeting with her tomorrow morning.”
“Fair enough.” Deacon stuck his hands in his jeans’ pockets as he walked. “I reckon Bill is waiting on us to report in. He’ll want to know about Little Miss Sunshine over there, too.”
“Tell him whatever you want, Deacon,” I said stubbornly. “We need her right now, we’re short-handed, and we’ve got shit for leads. If Bill gets pissed because I brought in help, tell him he doesn’t have to pay her. I’ll handle that.”
“Relax, Holliday,” he barked a laugh. “If you think she’s that useful, then she can prove it to me.”
EVI transported us to Bay Ridge. I registered Leyla as an authorized passenger. Deacon parked himself in one of the back seats and made the call to Mahoney. Leyla and Besim sat next to each other, engaged in conversation. I stared out the window but kept an ear on them.
“So, you really are Saranda the singer!” Leyla said, sounding impressed. “What are you doing here with Doc?”
“Singing is but one of my interests.” Besim gave the Leyla a modest smile. “Captain Mahoney is my friend. He required my help, and so I have given it.”
“Yeah, but isn’t it dangerous for you to be working the case, on the street I mean?” Leyla asked. “You don’t look like the fighting type.” She held up a hand. “No offense.”
