Page 38 of NYPD Red 7: The Murder Sorority

“You’re thedirector, Theo,” Kylie said sweetly.

And just like that, round one was over. Relentless detective: zero.Kick-assproduction manager: one.

Carly flashed a victory smile.

I gave Theo a silent nod.Good call, kid.

CHAPTER 25

At the very samemoment that Detectives Zach Jordan and Kylie MacDonald were listening to the Manchester twins bicker about whether the two apparitions they saw one All Hallows’ Eve were ghosts or albinos, the man who put a bullet in Shane Talbot’s chest slid his key into thetop-of-the-line Schlagedead-boltlock, turned it, and opened the door to his apartment.

“Vincent, is that you?” Priscilla called out from the kitchen.

Of course it was him. Ever since their sick, twisted fuck of a father took his last breath and went straight to hell last Christmas, it could only be him. But Priscilla always needed reassurance. Old wounds die hard.

“No, it’s Johnny Depp,” he sang out in his best Captain Jack Sparrow imitation. “And I’m here to ravish you.”

“I think you mean ‘ravage,’” she yelled back, “but in your case, I’ll tolerate bad grammar. Did you bring ice cream?”

“Does Nicolas Cage make lousy career choices?”

She laughed. She loved it when he put celebrity names in his jokes. “I’m making chicken paprikash with dumplings for dinner.”

He entered the kitchen and inhaled deeply. “It smells like Mom’s recipe, only without the constant ridicule and toxic criticism.”

They despised their parents—wished them dead from the time they were kids. Their mother had cooperated by smoking herself to death seven years ago, but their father, despite hisself-destructivelifestyle, refused toself-destruct. Priscilla had decided he needed a little push, and she recruited her brother to do the pushing.

Vincent put the ice cream in the freezer, opened the fridge, and took out a beer. It was the last one. “What the fuck, Prissy? There was a fullsix-packin here when I left for work this morning.”

“Father Niedenthal stopped in to see me. You know how he is—always trying to help me get back out there into the world.”

“Bullshit! That old lush only comes by so he can help himself. He knows I spring for the good stuff instead of that weasel piss they have at the rectory.”

He popped the top on his beer and took a long swallow.

“Sorry,” she said. “Did you find anything good at work today?”

“Yeah,” he snapped. “I found the keys to abrand-newTesla, and ten thousand shares of Apple stock. It’s amazing what people will toss onto the subway tracks these days.”

“Look, I said I was sorry. Next time Father Niedenthal comes over, I’ll hide your beer. Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes. Can I show you something while you’re waiting?”

She didn’t wait for an answer. She handed him her phone. On the screen was a woman in her twenties. Her face was battered, swollen, lacerated; her skin was black, blue, brown, and yellow where the blood vessels underneath had ruptured.

“Her boyfriend did it,” Priscilla said. “Her post was trending on HHNF. I messaged her to say how bad I feel for her.”

“Forget it,” Vincent said. “We can’t help her.”

“Why not? Look at this poor girl. Why can’t we help her?”

He took a swig of his beer. “I fucked up, Prissy.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Yesterday at the Hunts Point Market.”

“You said it went well. I already crossed Redheaded Monster off my list.”

“Well, you’re going to have to uncross him, because it didn’t go as well as I thought.”

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