Page 10 of A Friend in the Glass

Sam’s posture was stiff. His words were clipped and his gaze locked on the floor as he said, “I didn’t say you were stupid. I said you were being stupid.” He blew out a breath, shook his head,and opened his mouth as though he might say more. Then he shut his mouth again and moved into the tiny bathroom.

Rufus waited until Sam was out of sight before he removed a pair of black winter gloves from his jacket pocket. They were cheap knockoffs of the touchscreen friendly brand and didn’t actually work as advertised. They’d likely disintegrate if they got wet, but they’d been free (lifted from a street vendor in Chinatown) and maybe they’d at least keep Rufus from leaving any fingerprints. He found the woman’s purse easy enough—on the floor near the head of the bunk. It was red pleather, sure, but as far as pleather went, it was nice quality, shiny, with no cracks or signs of wear. Rufus took out the wallet, flipped it open, and stared at the driver’s license for Shareed Baker. Rufus looked from the shitty DMV photo, to the woman, then back at the photo.

It was Shareed all right.

Absently, Rufus thought that even in death, Shareed looked better than the government-issued ID.

Shareed had a debit card, pharmacy card, no credit cards, but in the zipper compartment, plenty of cash.

Rufus hesitated, took out the bills, counted. Just over a hundred bucks in small change. He swallowed his pride, which actually hurt a little, then called, “Sam?”

Sam’s voice sounded resonant against the bathroom tile. “Huh?”

“Come here.”

When Sam emerged from the bathroom, he paused, eyes fixed on the cash, and said, “Shit.”

“There’s more than enough here to buy street drugs.” Rufus held up the wallet. “The wallet and purse are nice. Like, not something she’s been dragging around for twenty years.”

“So she’s not hard up.”

Rufus shrugged one shoulder. “If I was hard up, which I usually am, I wouldn’t carry this much cash on me. I mean, I do, but I buy information, so really, do I even have money?”

After a moment, Sam grunted and returned to the bathroom.

“I’m keeping it,” Rufus called. He tucked the cash into his pocket. “Fuck this day.” That was more to himself.

Returning the wallet to the purse, Rufus crouched and set it back where he’d found it on the floor. He got down on his knees to check under the bed, a habit when rummaging through other people’s lives. There was always good stuff under the bed. Usually porn. Vintage of course, because porn was all online nowadays, only a credit card number away. Not that Rufus paid for porn. Why pay for fantasies when he lived with the real thing?

Momentarily derailed by his own thoughts, Rufus nearly missed the small dark object just out of reach. He wriggled underneath the cramped space to grab… a phone.

Rufus said from under the bed, “I found another goodie.”

This time, when Sam emerged he said, “Bathroom’s a dead end unless you want Vidal Sassoon products. And I realize as I say that that you probably want to take them, so don’t, because you already stole the hotel stuff. What did you find?”

Rufus got himself out from under the bed and held up the phone. “And behold, a dinosaur. A living relic of our past. The Motorola RAZR.”

“Holy shit. Maybe shewashard up.”

Rufus worked hard not to smile as he flipped the phone open. “The days of yore. Remember having to tap three times to get the letter you wanted and fuck if you missed it?” He checked the photos and text history, but nothing. Rufus opened the calllogs next and his brows drew together. “She made some calls yesterday. Back-to-back-to-back. Same number.”

Sam took out his phone, copied the number, and placed the call on Speaker. On the second ring, a youngish man’s voice answered, “Javits Center, this is Kenneth, how may I direct your call?”

For a moment, Sam was silent, his expression calculating. “I’m sorry, I was given this number for…” He let his voice trail off. “I can’t remember the actual name, I’m sorry.”

Kenneth, eager to please, jumped in. “Well, let’s see. We’ve got our signature New York Winter Show, the MoDe US Expo, Habitat for Halibut, and, let’s see, the Northeast Regional Franchise Convention.”

“It must be MoDe, although I have no idea what that stands for.”

“More Defense for a Safer United States, I believe is the full title.”

“That’s it,” Sam said. “The event is still running?”

A note of doubt entered Kenneth’s voice. “It began today, sir. Are you sure—”

Sam disconnected the call. “She didn’t just come here to talk to me. And she didn’t just come here now because the timing was convenient. She called the Javits how many times? And she made a third call this morning from the cybercafé. It all ties together somehow, and it got her killed.”

“You think the State killed a woman who prefers pleather and flip phones because they believe she’s trying to sell Uncle Sam’s secrets?” And then Rufus’s gaze cut to the hotel door as it creaked open and he said, “Oh. Hi, Erik.”

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