Page 19 of A Friend in the Glass

Rufus’s eyebrows rose and he looked toward Sam. “Maybe. Can you give me a clue?”

“There’s no clue, doofus. You’re my CI. I’m asking you if you’ve heard people talking about something at the Javits. That’s the extent of it.” He paused. “What about the last name Ridgeway? And if you make one of your fucking quips—”

“No quips, daddy, I promise. Should I know the name? Do you want me to?”

“That woman, Shareed, she called her from the hotel,” Erik said. “See what you can find out.”

“I’ve worked with less.” Rufus hung up, sat on the floor again, and crossed his legs under him. “Erik asked if I’d heard anything happening at the Javits. Asked if I recognized the name, Ridgeway?”

“I feel like I’ve heard that name.” Sam shrugged. “I can’t place it. If it comes to me, I’ll let you know.”

Rufus watched Sam stab another dumpling with his chopsticks before he busied himself balancing his noodlecontainer on one knee, phone on the other, and did an internet search while eating. The name Ridgeway brought up a handful of the typical results Rufus expected from such a vague search. Some movie star named Bianca Ridgeway was in hot water over a nip-slip. Census records for a Manny Ridgeway who passed away last Tuesday out in the Rockaways—RIP Manny. A Zillow listing for a house on Ridgeway Street in Michigan. But at the bottom of the first Google page was a link to Conasauga Solutions, the gibberish of keywords underneath the website cutting off midsentence, but the name Evangeline Ridgeway had appeared in bold font.

Rufus clicked and was directed to a very simplistic page with a white and blue aesthetic overlaid with a sans-serif font proclaiming some very expressive talking points. Innovative! Solutions! Spirit! Restructure! He clicked around a moment before finding an option in the dropdown menu for: PROFESSIONALS. He chose that and was directed to a listing of thumbnail images showing off very white-collar folks smiling big for their employee photo. Beside each were bullet points of their education, work history, and accomplishments. Rufus scrolled down to R and found Ridgeway, Evangeline.

“Hey.” Rufus turned his phone around and held it out. “Do you recognize her?”

Sam frowned. “She was on the stage. At the panel, the Conasauga one. The corporate douche was doing all the talking, but she was up there with him.”

Rufus looked at the phone. “Says her role is Senior Business Developer. Hang on—there’s a Twitter account linked. Her last tweet was from this morning. ‘Back in NYC and this year’s MoDe promises to be the best yet!’”

“Hold on, do you still have that convention program?”

“Yeah.” Rufus set his phone and food aside, went to his pile of winter clothing, and tugged free the severely bent program from his sweatshirt pocket. He offered it to Sam while sitting again.

“So that panel was… ‘Tactical Vehicles: Challenges, Opportunities, Sustainment, Modification. Moderated by Delmer Jolly (Conasauga Solutions) and Evangeline Ridgeway (Conasauga Solutions). Col. Leslie Bridges, 194th Armored Brigade, Respondent.’ What the actual fuck?”

Rufus was scrubbing his head with one hand and could feel his shock of hair sticking on end. “I have no idea what any of that means.”

“That woman calls herself a business developer, but my guess is she’s just doing sales. The company guys say, ‘Ra ra, look what we did.’ And the salespeople say, ‘This is how what we did can help you.’ And the colonel says, ‘Here’s the thing they did, and it’s great, so we definitely need more tanks.’ The usual circle-jerk.”

The uncertainty Rufus felt as he tried to wrap his brain around the workings of Big Money and Big Government and big everything—it was the only lame adjective he could think of—was making him break out into a self-conscious flush. “There was that accident—Stonefish. And the company that’d been involved was Conasauga. And now that company is at an expo here in the city, probably pushing similar gear? And Shareed Baker tracked you down to sell information about Stonefish, but is now dead. And my cop-daddy is asking about Conasauga’s hot sales lady. Did I miss anything?”

“Your cop-daddy,” Sam said in an undertone. More loudly, he said, “And Lew’s here. I know you think I’ve got tunnel vision, but I don’t think that’s a coincidence. Shareed said his name. He’d just made captain when Stonefish happened. The shit didn’t stick to him, and now, a couple years later, here he is: at aConasauga panel, where they’re talking about how successful the Army’s partnership with Conasauga has been, all the benefits of Conasauga’s tactical vehicles, that kind of shit.”

“We should go back to the expo tomorrow. I can leave Dr. Donna a message and let her know I have to miss my session.” Rufus grabbed his phone.

“I don’t want you missing your session,” Sam said.

“Well, you’re not going to the Javits alone.”

“We can do both, can’t we? What time is your appointment?”

Rufus hesitated. “Two o’clock.”

“Great. We’ll try the convention in the morning, break for lunch, get you to your appointment, and then see where we’re at.”

Rufus set his phone down. A hint of attitude came out as he murmured, “You’re so thoughtful.”

“It’s important, Rufus.”

“I know. I love poking at old and festering wounds.” Rufus put the lid on his food and pushed the container aside. “Never mind. I was just trying to be helpful.”

“Thank you for being willing to change your plans, but we can make it work.”

Rufus collected two of the three food containers and stood. He brought them to the fridge, tossed the takeout on the mostly bare top shelf, shut the door, then leaned back against it. He stared at Sam, still seated on the floor, dumplings now seemingly forgotten. “Can I ask you something?”

Sam nodded.

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