Chương 4
Her voice was thick with sleep.
“Did Emma get her check?”
A long silence followed.
“Yes.”
“She pick it up?”
“No.”
“When will she?”
“I don’t know.”
“You have her number.”
Another silence.
“I do.”
“Give it to me.”
Mrs. Alvarez was awake now.
“I don’t think she would want me to do that.”
I almost reminded her who signed her checks.
The words reached my tongue and stopped there.
“Fine.”
“Mr. Russo?”
“What?”
“She was a good worker.”
“I know.”
“She needed this job.”
“I know.”
“She also has some pride.”
“So do I.”
Mrs. Alvarez sighed.
“That may be the problem.”
She hung up before I could fire her too.
By breakfast, I had decided Mrs. Alvarez was insubordinate, Luke was intrusive, Emma was impossible, and I was not going to think about any of them for the rest of the day.
That decision lasted until nine seventeen.
My phone rang while Peter was setting a plate of eggs on the desk beside me.
Mrs. Alvarez’s name appeared on the screen.
I let it ring twice.
Then I answered.
“What?”
“There’s a problem with Emma’s paperwork.”
Peter glanced at me and immediately found the arrangement of silverware fascinating.
“What kind of problem?”
“She never signed the termination form.”
“She was fired verbally.”
“I know, but payroll needs—”
“Then mail it.”
“I tried calling her.”
I waited.
“She didn’t answer.”
“That’s not a crisis.”
“No.”
Mrs. Alvarez hesitated.
“But she was supposed to work the diner this morning, and her manager called here looking for her.”
My hand stopped on the wheel rim.
“Why would her manager call here?”
“She listed the estate as an emergency work contact.”
“That makes no sense.”
“She works nights here.”
Peter quietly removed himself from the room.
I stared at the untouched eggs.
“What did the manager say?”
“That she didn’t show up.”
Emma struck me as many things, but unreliable was not one of them.
“She probably overslept.”
“That’s what I said.”
“And?”
“He said she has never missed a shift without calling.”
A thin discomfort moved through my chest.
“When was she due?”
“Six.”
It was after nine.
“Did anyone call her house?”
“Her cell is the only number I have.”
“Address?”
Mrs. Alvarez went silent.
“Give it to me.”
“I thought you said—”
“Now.”
She read an address in Albany Park.
I wrote it on the margin of a balance sheet.
After we disconnected, I sat there looking at the numbers as though they belonged to somebody else.
Luke entered without knocking.
“You planning a tax audit?”
I folded the sheet.
He noticed.
“Interesting.”
“What?”
“You hiding paper from me now.”
“Go away.”
He poured himself coffee from the pot Peter had left.
“You’re in a charming mood.”
“Emma didn’t show up for her diner shift.”
The amusement left his face.
“How do you know?”
“Mrs. Alvarez.”
“Call her.”
“She isn’t answering.”
Luke pulled out his phone.
I watched him.
“What are you doing?”
“Calling her.”
“You don’t have her number.”
“Mrs. Alvarez likes me.”
I hated both of them.
Luke listened for several seconds, then lowered the phone.
“Straight to voicemail.”
I looked toward the window.
Traffic moved beyond the outer gates, barely visible through bare branches.
“Send somebody.”
Luke didn’t move.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“To her apartment?”
“Yes.”
“You fired her yesterday.”
“I’m aware.”
“And now you want armed men at her door.”
“When you phrase it like that, it sounds stupid.”
“It is stupid.”
“Then send one man without a gun.”
Luke stared at me.
“Everyone we employ carries a gun.”
“Fine.”
He rubbed the back of his neck.
“Maybe call the building manager first.”
“Do it.”
“You could do it.”
“I told you to.”
“There he is.”
I glared at him.
Luke sighed and made the call.
The building manager answered on the second attempt.
Luke identified himself as a family friend, which earned him a look from me.
He ignored it.
“Yes, sir, we’re just trying to make sure she’s all right.”
He listened.
“When did you last see her?”
Another pause.
“All right.”
Luke’s eyes shifted toward me.
“Thank you.”
He hung up.
“Well?”
“She came home yesterday afternoon.”
“And?”
“Neighbor saw her carrying groceries around five.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
I looked at the address again.
“Take me there.”
Luke blinked.
“You want to go?”
“That’s what I said.”
“You haven’t gone farther than the hospital in months.”
“Would you like a formal invitation?”
He set the coffee down.
“No.”
Thirty minutes later, I hated the entire idea.
Transferring into the armored SUV required a mechanical lift I had refused to use in front of anyone except two nurses and Luke.
The process made me feel packaged.
Straps crossed my chest.
The chair locked into place.
A guard pretended to inspect the vehicle while deliberately not watching.
I nearly ordered everyone back inside.
Then I pictured Emma asleep in my bed with her shoes on because she had been too tired to remove them.
“Drive.”
Chicago looked offensively normal.
People carried coffee.
A man jogged beside a dog wearing a red coat.
Two teenagers argued at a bus shelter.
Nobody knew Daniel Russo had left his fortress voluntarily because a woman he had fired failed to serve pancakes at dawn.
Luke sat across from me.
“You nervous?”
“No.”
“You keep checking the door lock.”
“I like knowing it works.”
“Sure.”
“Talk again and I’ll make you walk home.”
He smiled and looked outside.
Emma’s building was a narrow brick walk-up squeezed between a laundromat and a dental office.
There was no ramp.
I stared at the six concrete steps leading to the entrance.
Luke followed my gaze.
“I’ll go up.”
I hated that answer because it was sensible.
“I can wait.”
“I know.”
He stepped out.
A delivery truck blocked part of the street while its driver argued with somebody about parking.
I watched Luke climb the steps easily.
Six steps.
Nothing.
He disappeared inside.
May you like
I looked down at my hands.
Before the shooting, I had once climbed eleven flights when a hotel elevator stalled because waiting irritated me.
