Page 21 of Hero

And what was now? He looked at his phone screen. Over ten minutes had passed. She was apparently just another of those women who used restrooms as their personal salons for redoing their hair, makeup, and so on. He noticed the sweat from her iced drink was slowly spreading toward her jacket. He lifted the jacket to set it on the chair next to his. It felt heavier than he had expected and he wondered what was in the pocket.

He sat there and determined not to look impatient. He assumed a studied expression of thoughtful calm.

A telephone rang and after a moment he realized that must be what had made her jacket feel heavier. She’d left her phone in the pocket. It rang again. What should he do? He looked down at the jacket and saw there was a zipper on the side pocket. He touched the pocket and felt the vibration as the phone rang a third time. He unzipped the pocket and slid the phone out, planning to simply shut off the ringer so the caller would run out of rings and leave her a message.

He looked at the screen and pressed the minus sign to make the symbol of the bell and the sound bar appear, but staring back at him was the face of the woman, apparently aiming another phone at her face. He hit the answer icon and she said, “Thank you, love. Can you please come around to the back of the building and bring my jacket?”

“Sure,” he said, silently congratulating himself for ending the call with one syllable. He slid the phone back into her jacket and walked out the side door around to the back. He was in the coffee shop’s patch of the parking lot, a short strip of asphalt that was occupied by a dumpster and two cars that probably belonged to the baristas who came to get the place ready to open by sixA.M. He didn’t see the woman.

Justine saw him. While she had waited by the dumpster for him to come out, she had wondered what to say to him. She couldn’t say who she was or why she was acting strangely. He probably wouldn’t believe her and if he did, he would mess everything up and get himself killed, or at least think it was his duty to call the police and get her into more trouble, or leave her here in the place where her killer would find her.

She was scared and she was out of time. She needed to be cheerful to keep him on her side and she had to show herself now. Maybe she could be funny. Her memory search for how to do that brought back a role she had sometimes assumed to amuse friends. She would become Anna Kepkasovanovich, a girl with a Balkan accent who thought of herself as a captivating beauty with sophisticated tastes and a world-weary demeanor. If anyone mentioned a popular boy, she would say “He’s just like all the others. He calls me every night to flatter me. I get no sleep.” She needed to be someone like that now.

She stepped out from the other side of the dumpster, gave him a quick wave and an engaging smile. He stepped to her and held out her jacket. She looked deep into his eyes as she said, “Thank you so much,” which made her accidentally touch his hand as she reached for the jacket, but because clumsiness seemed worse than flirtatiousness, she gave the hand a quick squeeze, slung her jacket over her shoulder and set off. After two steps she stopped and looked back at him. She said with a slight accent, “Are you staying here? In an empty parking lot? Why?”

“I hadn’t made a plan.”

“Then you can follow mine. Come on.” She hurried away along the lot. In a few steps he caught up with her, not sure why, except that she was more appealing than he had thought. Seeing her in the bright sunlighthad made him curious. He also had to acknowledge that he had no reason to remain standing in the parking lot alone.

He said, “Why did you do that?”

“I saw a guy take the turn up the street to look for a parking space. I didn’t want him to see me.”

“A boyfriend?”

“A possibility. Not for a long time.”

“Not for a long duration or a long time ago?’

“More like a stalker,” she said.

“So you went out the back way?”

“There is no back way. I went out the restroom window. The only other door is next to the counter. You can see it even from the street.”

“Did you leave the restroom door locked?”

“No. Do you think I’m a monster?” she said.

“What’s in your jacket that I was holding for you? Drugs?”

She looked at him with exaggerated surprise, her eyes and mouth wide open. “I would never do that to you—leave you holding the bag. And look at my skin. My teeth. Do I use drugs?”

“Probably not.”

“Do you?”

“No.”

“How old are you, anyway?”

“Thirty-two.”

“I’m twenty-five, but I’m smarter than you are.”

“That’s evident.”

“So we’re well matched.”

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