Page 150 of Nobody's Fool

“Just finished class.”

“I thought that was last night.”

“I’m running an extra track now,” I say. “For new students. Like one is regular No Shit and one is Advanced Placement No Shit.”

“Come by my place.”

“When?”

“Now.”

“Can I go home and check in with Molly first?”

“Call her on the way.”

He hangs up.

I don’t like that either.

I get to the subway station and call Molly before I descend. She answers with a happy, “Hello, handsome.”

I will tell you an unpleasant truth. Molly and I are enjoying our life with financial freedom. We are relaxed. We breathe easier. We sleep better. And that sucks. Has the Belmond money influenced what I’m doing in terms of Victoria? Hard to say. Money can warp perceptions though, so this analysis may be too kind to myself.

“I’ll be late.”

“The Dead Hots talk you into clubbing?”

“They tried again, but no, it’s Marty.”

“He wants to see you?”

“Yes.”

“And it can’t wait until the morning?”

“He says no.”

“I don’t like that,” Molly says.

I tell her me neither and hang up. I hurry to the subway and get off at Eighty-First Street and take the elevator up to the penthouse of the Beresford. Marty is waiting for me.

“So what is it?”

“It’s a video from the Victoria Belmond murder scene,” he says.

“Now? It’s been almost a month.”

“I know. I just got it myself.” Marty moves over to the couch. I follow. He tees up the video on his laptop. “So you remember there were kids playing baseball there?”

“Yes.”

“A father was filming his son at batting practice—right before you and Victoria got shot. He didn’t think to hand it over until now because his camera was facing the other way.” He types something on his laptop. “Look at the guy leaning against the backstop on Hudson.”

He spins the monitor, so it faces me.

I expect to see Brian Powell or Tad Grayson.

But I see neither.

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