Diamond White

by Stephanie Andrews

  She gave a low scream, and threw me off her, so hard I went over the back of the couch and onto the floor. I looked up and saw black smoke billowing across the ceiling. What the hell had Ruby done? My thoughts were shattered by an ear-splitting alarm going off. I got to my feet and looked around to see Selena crouched in a fighting stance, face to face with Ruby, who was holding her sword in front of her with two hands. She wouldn’t stand a chance against Salerno, sword or no sword.

  Suddenly, with a hiss, the sprinkler system came on, instantly soaking us all with lukewarm water. Ruby’s hair was hanging in her face, but there was a triumphant gleam in her eye.

  “They are coming!” she taunted, with a laugh.

  For a moment all was still. Selena and Ruby faced off. Marty stood against the wall, eyes ping-ponging back and forth between his aunt and his computers, which were getting wetter by the minute. I stood by the couch, examining Salerno, looking for a way to incapacitate her. I contemplated a flying sidekick at her back, but she seemed to have eyes in the back of her head, and I’d probably end up impaling myself on Ruby’s sword.

  Selena growled, a wolf in her frustration, and took a small step toward Ruby. Distant sirens joined in with the sound of the fire alarm, deafening in the small space.

  “They are coming,” Ruby shouted again over the noise.

  Salerno howled, then turned and raced down the hall and out the door, gone in an instant.

  “Park!” I shouted, running after her.

  Ellery Park was still lying on the concrete floor of the stairwell, but she was moving, the water bringing her back to consciousness. I didn’t see blood anywhere, so I reached down to pull her to a sitting position.

  “No,” cried Ruby, coming up behind me. “Don’t move her; it might be her neck.”

  Elle groaned and turned her head toward the sound of Ruby’s voice. She opened her mouth.

  “Why is it raining inside?” she asked.

  Twelve

  .

  The next evening found me riding through south Chicago in a long black limousine. I still had a headache from the activities of the previous night. I had found a lime seltzer water in the limo’s bar and was sipping it as I slumped in my seat.

  I was wearing a black skirt, with a black silk shirt and a light grey Anne Klein jacket. Trying to make a good impression after failing my first big job for Elgort. I reached over and gave him the pouch of diamonds.

  Uncle Elgort sat opposite me, dressed impeccably as always. Dark grey suit, white shirt, dark blue tie. A fedora rested on his knee. His grey hair was neatly trimmed and the streetlights shone in his spectacles as we glided down the street. He waved the pouch away.

  “You hang on to them,” he said. “Nicky will meet you. I want him to see about making some good replicas.”

  I put the pouch back in my pocket and stared out the window.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “No,” Elgort said gently, as the car rolled to a stop in front of an old three story Victorian house, “you didn’t fail at all. You did exactly as asked. Who could have foreseen this Salerno woman and her tracking device?”

  Eldon, who was driving the limo, exited the car and came around to the passenger’s side as a dark figure came slowly down the front walk from the house. Eldon took his arm and helped him into the car.

  “Thank you, Don,” said the old man, who turned his body and sank slowly onto the seat. Lifting first one leg, then the other, into the car, he added, “I don’t move as fast as I used to.”

  “No worries, Sir,” said Don, shutting the door firmly before moving back around to take his seat behind the wheel.

  Uncle Elgort motioned to the man now sitting next to him.

  “Miss Riley McKay, may I present Captain Alden Earl.”

  “Retired,” put in Earl.

  “Yes, of course,” added Elgort.

  “It’s an honor to meet you, sir,” I said, leaning forward to shake his frail hand.

  Holy crap. Alden Earl was a legend in the police force, even though he had been retired for more than fifteen years. A rough-hewn product of the south side, he made good as a young black police officer who couldn’t be bought. He was, or had been, a big man with wide shoulders. I’d seen plenty of pictures of him. Hell, there was even a statue of him in Ogden Park. He became a hero during the 1968 riots, after the assassination of Martin Luther King, and later that year at the Democratic Convention as well. Tough year, 1968, I guess, but this all happened before I was born. I’d kind of assumed Earl was dead, to tell you the truth.

  What the heck was he doing with Uncle Elgort?

  “Strange times make strange bedfellows,” said Elgort, clearly anticipating my question.

  “Indeed,” agreed Earl.

  “Captain Earl has been working with me on this project regarding Jared Dexter. He agrees with me that Dexter is somehow involved in the increase of guns flooding into the south side. I trust him, implicitly.”

  Hmm. You do, huh? I mused. But you introduced me as McKay. Interesting.

  “So,” I said, “you said on the phone that the surveillance was blown. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be, my dear girl,” said Earl. “Miraculously, they did not discover the transmitter until almost sixteen hours after you planted it. Apparently, this woman that you are tangled up with—”

  “—Salerno.”

  “Yes, that’s right. Apparently, Miss Salerno gave her initial report to Dexter over the phone. She was at the hospital having her wrist x-rayed. It wasn’t until earlier this afternoon that she reported directly to Dexter in his office.”

  “So?” I asked.

  “Well, she had chased you through the night, and at Martin’s office she had seen the Degas statue on his kitchen counter. Imagine, then, her surprise when she saw the same statue still sitting in Dexter’s office.”

  I snapped my fingers.

  “Right. Dexter probably assumed we’d just taken the diamonds out of the sculpture and left it behind, but when Selena arrived at his office, she realized there were two.”

  “Exactly,” confirmed Uncle Elgort. “It was then a matter of minutes before they found Eldon’s little listening device and disabled it.”

  “So,” I said, sipping my drink. “All of that for nothing?”

  “Not at all,” said Earl, his voice still deep and resonant despite his advanced age. “That morning Dexter spoke at length to a person in Mexico. We think he’s our man.”

  Earl pulled a small notebook from inside his windbreaker, and flipped it open. He reached into his other pocket and took out a pair of half-frame reading glasses. He set the notebook on his lap and pushed the glasses he was already wearing up onto his dark, shiny forehead, put on the reading glasses, and then picked up his notebook again.

  “Antonio Negron,” he said at last.

  “I’m afraid that means nothing to me,” I sighed.

  “That’s the interesting part, Miss McKay. He means nothing to anyone in Chicago. In Mexico, he is a landowner and considered to be one of the wealthiest individuals in the country, but he has no connection to the crime rings or drug lords down there. None that we can find.”

  “Just like Dexter,” I mulled out loud.

  “Exactly,” said Uncle Elgort. “You see the beauty of it. Neither of them with any criminal affiliation. No one to suspect them in the least.”

  “Which is why they were using a regular phone.”

  “Correct,” confirmed Earl. “You only need to worry about what you say over the phone if someone is listening, and as far as they know, there’s no reason for anyone to suspect either of them of anything.”

  I sat up on the edge of my seat. “Until you two came along and put it together. And Selena! She was in his office. She must connect to Negron somehow. That’s our line.”

  “Yes,” said Earl. “But she’s a ghost. We have no idea how to find her, apart from surveilling Dexter around the clock. I’ve got some people on that.”

  “An
d,” added Elgort, “I know a few trustworthy people in that part of Mexico. I will begin some quiet digging into Señor Negron.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  Elgort leaned forward.

  “I want you to find the ghost.”

  “Easy,” I said with a smile.

  Thirteen

  The limo rolled up quietly to the sidewalk. I got out, then leaned back in toward the two serious old men.

  “Give me a few days to pull a plan together,” I said. “I want to wait until Ms. Park can join me.”

  I closed the door and turned toward the little brick plaza where I had left Gromet, on the outskirts of the University of Chicago. There, leaning against the bike, was Nick Shelby, my favorite forger and artisan. My favorite artisan forger.

  “Nice ride.” I said as I approached. I took the diamond pouch out of my pocket and dangled it from my finger. “Trade you for it.”

  “It’s a nice bike,” he said, pulling himself up to his full height and taking the bag, “but it’s not that nice. It’s all yours.”

  He put the bag in his pocket and I put my arms around his waist, pulling myself in close and putting my head on his shoulder. I felt his arms encircle my back.

  “I’m so glad you’re okay,” he said softly, and I nearly broke into tears.

  I don’t know what the experts say, but I’m not sure you ever become inured to extreme physical danger. Maybe athletes do, maybe firemen do. I don’t think cops do. I know I haven’t. It had been a rough twenty-four hours, between high-rise rope work, a high-speed motorcycle chase, and the invasion and destruction of the bunker.

  My anxiety and self-pity dissolved into Nick’s shirt. So much so that I just about dozed off standing there.

  “Kay?” Nick prompted eventually.

  “Huh? Oh, right. What next?”

  “You should get some sleep.”

  “Is that an invitation?” I pulled my head back and gave him my best mischievous grin.

  “Sure, if you don’t mind giving me a ride.”

  “Actually,” I caught myself, “I have somewhere to be. I need to go look at an apartment. With the bunker ruined, I need a place to crash when I’m not up at Nippersink.”

  “You can stay with me,” Nick offered.

  “I don’t want to be an imposition. I think it would be better to have my own place.”

  “It’s not an imposition,” he insisted.

  “I’m messy.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “I’d eat your food.”

  “It’s good food.”

  “I’d use your toothbrush and not tell you.”

  “Ahhh...”

  “Gotcha!” I said. “It’s too soon. Plus, not entirely safe. For you I mean.”

  He stepped back, his hands on each of my shoulders, and looked into my eyes.

  “Okay,” he said, “too soon. But you are welcome there any time. Toothbrush or no.”

  I reached up and gave him my very best kiss. The one I save for special occasions. It went on a while, until someone walking past whistled at us.

  “It’s 10 p.m.,” Nick said, breaking away. “How can you possibly have an appointment to see an apartment?”

  “Oh,” I said, nonchalantly. “I was just going to break in and spend the night. See how I liked the space. I hate realtors.”

  He raised his eyebrows.

  “Really, really hate them,” I repeated. “You want to come with me and test the mattress?”

  He patted his pocket. “I think I better get started on this right away. Sounds like you and Uncle Elgort are on a time schedule.”

  “You know what they say: Early bird with the fake diamonds gets the scuzball politician and the psychotic gymnast assassin.”

  “Is that what they say?” He grinned.

  “Verbatim. Still want a ride home?”

  He started to walk off toward the campus, calling over his shoulder.

  “I have to meet a friend at the chemistry lab.”

  “Is that a euphemism?” I called back.

  He shook his head and kept walking. Laughing on the inside, I bet.

  Fourteen

  I woke up on a bare mattress, unsure of where I was. Neutral walls and ceiling, beige carpet. Oak dresser, high-end blinds, en-suite bathroom that looked marbly and bright from where I was lying. On the wall was a framed print of the Chicago skyline in silhouette. How original.

  I stretched and sat up, leaned over and looked out the blinds. I was pretty high up; I could see the lake. Down below I could see North Halsted, full of cars all trying to get somewhere.

  That’s right, North Halsted, my prospective apartment. I got up and padded on bare feet into the stylish bathroom. Halogen lights, double sink. I peed in the toilet, cursing because there was no toilet paper. I leaned over and opened the cabinet under the vanity and lucked out. Three rolls stacked one on the other. I grabbed one and put it to use, also finding an unopened bar of soap but no shampoo. Oh well.

  I took off my clothes and looked at myself briefly in the mirror. The redness around my throat was gone this morning, but there was still a good-sized mark on my right side where Park had hit me when she came hurtling down the stairwell. I leaned forward and looked at my face and chest. Yep, freckles still there.

  It was a walk-in shower, so I unwrapped the soap and walked in. There were three(!) separate shower heads, and I was caressed with warm water from all angles. This place really sucked.

  Fifteen minutes later I stepped from the shower and realized I didn’t have a towel. Damn. I walked back into the bedroom. Furnished but no linens. That’s what I get for not taking my towel with me everywhere I went. Sound advice.

  I pulled the previous day’s clothes on over my wet body, found my satchel and searched for a comb or brush. No luck. Well, that’s the beauty of a short haircut. Disheveled is a style. I pulled on my shoes and jacket and slung the satchel over my shoulder. Grabbed my keys off the dresser and opened the door to the living room just as a someone on the other side of the door reached for the doorknob.

  I was surprised, but she was more so, shrieking and stumbling past me into the room. I stepped out into the living room where her matching husband was looking out the window. An older, sharply dressed woman in strappy heels was standing in the open archway to the kitchen, leaning on the jamb and flicking through information on her phone. She looked up and gasped as I strode out.

  The young woman recovered her balance and came back out behind me into the living room. Her husband turned at the sound and his jaw dropped open. I wound my way through the chic, boring furniture and down the beige hall to the door.

  “Hey,” said the man, finally finding his voice. He was small and had a little paunch to him, but a nice suit. Banker. Sits at work all day. Mrs. Banker was too confused to say anything, and Ms. Realtor couldn’t stop me if she wanted to, not in those heels.

  “This isn’t going to work for me,” I said, my hand on the doorknob. “This place has absolutely no soul.”

  I opened the door. “Also, you need some towels.”

  As I closed the door I heard the young woman say, “Ethan, who was that?” in a hilariously accusatory voice.

  A half hour later I was sitting in Oz Park with a coffee and a scone. I had a strange craving for Mexican, but the Taco Joint wasn’t open at 10 a.m., which was probably for the best.

  I’d always been a creature of habit, but becoming a ghost had changed me fundamentally. I found myself trying new and different foods, buying different clothing. I was alone a lot—social media was dead for me—and in addition to all the exercise I was getting, I’d been reading more books and going to more museums and concerts.

  I was lonely, but also raw and alive and ready to try new things. Living in a high-rise luxury apartment wasn’t one of them, though. That was for sure. I was going to have to find an apartment soon, however. Preferably one with laundry.

  I had a moment of fear when I realized that the realtor might ha
ve called the cops after I left. Did I leave any fingerprints? Nah, nothing was missing or broken; I doubt she did anything about it. Still, I should really be more careful.

  I put down my coffee and dug around in my satchel until I found the burner phone I had picked up the day before. I checked to see if I had any messages; I had made quick calls to Elgort, Nick, Marty, Park and Ruby to make sure they could reach me if need be. My social media network—I could list my contacts on one hand. Well, on my right hand I could.

  No calls.

  I finished my scone, wiped my hand on my leggings, and dialed the number of my old phone. It was possible that she wouldn’t answer, that she had thrown the phone into the river. But if she had it, she would answer. I had what she wanted.

  Ring.

  My biggest concern was Ellery Park. She had to make herself disappear, at least while Salerno was on the loose. That hadn’t been the plan. She was a henchwoman for hire. She was supposed to be able to go back to her family and friends when she wasn’t doing jobs for me. I wasn’t trying to breed more loners, that’s for sure.

  Ring.

  Ruby could clearly take care of herself, and Salerno knew nothing about the Shelby family, not as far as I knew, anyway.

  Ring.

  Marty was the only one out in the open, but he had stepped up his security heavily in the forty-eight hours since the mayhem in the bunker, and he had some clever little electronic surprises for anyone who tried to break into his office or house.

  She answered after the third ring.

  “Riley.”

  “Hola!” I said, in a big, cheerful voice. “How are you doing this morning, Selena?”

  She didn’t respond.

  “Can you hold the phone okay?” I pressed on, lightheartedly.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Your wrist. I was afraid I had damaged it so badly the other night, you might not be able to grip the phone properly.”

  “It’s fine,” she growled. “Did you call me to gloat?”