Page 16 of Edge of Control

A thought struck me. “Did you get any shots of them together?”

“Fuck no. Gio wanted to stay far away from the camera.” He looked away again. What was this guy holding back?

“Did he say anything to you? Anything that personally scared you?”

Stevie rolled his neck. Rubbed the bridge of his nose. Sighed. He walked over to the couch and slumped into it. “He took a call while he was here. He stepped away for it into my bedroom. I couldn’t hear most of what he was saying, but when he came out, he pointed to Ricky. Said they had to go. We still had an hour left of the photoshoot, but Ricky didn’t question him. As they were leaving, Ricky asked if it was another job.”

“So Gio is his boyfriend and his pimp?”

“Maybe. But that’s not what stuck out to me. It’s what Gio said after. He said, ‘No, it was a call from Don Valdoni.’ It sounded very… Mobbish to me.”

My eyebrow finally couldn’t take it anymore. It arched like the Brooklyn Bridge. “Mob? Really? You sure you haven’t been watching too many true crime shows?”

“Listen, I get it—sounds off. But when he said that, it all started to make sense. That’s exactly how he carried himself. Like he was part of the Mob. Someone who doesn’t care about laws and consequences because it’s all beneath him. Maybe you should talk to my friend. Her name is Allecia Norison.Here’s her number. She had a few questionable boyfriends—one of them might have been involved with Gio and his crew. I… I don’t know. But I don’t want to get involved with any of it, okay? I’m not looking to find my dick floating down the Hudson.”

A lead was a lead, no matter how outlandish it may have sounded to begin with. I didn’t have any personal experience looking into the mafia, but there was a first time for everything.

I’m so far out of my league it’s almost comical.

I tried to challenge that thought, just like how my therapist taught me to do. It was a learned skill that took practice.

I was hired for a reason. I closed plenty of cases when I worked as a cop. I have the smarts and the drive. I can do this.

I hope.

Fuck it. I’d deal with self-doubts and confidence issues later. For now, I had to dig for any more information, even though it appeared we were getting to the bottom of this well.

“Did Ricky say anything after that?”

“Nothing.” Stevie stood up, looking at his gold wristwatch. “Listen, I’ve got a model coming here in thirty minutes, and I have to prep. I think I told you enough. Whatever was happening, there was probably some fucked-up shit. That’s all I’ve got for you.”

Stevie was done. I could tell from the way he looked over my shoulder at the door. I wasn’t here to push. I could end up needing him sometime in the future, and it was best not to burn any potential sources.

“Right, well, thank you for meeting with me. If anything else comes up, you have my number.”

“I do.” Stevie paused, his eyes narrowing. “You know, if you ever want to get in front of the cam?—”

“I’m good,” I said. Spotlights were never my thing; neither were photos. I hated taking them. My mother would have to bribe me with a week’s worth of candy just to get me to take my school pictures. Seeing myself reflected back at me always felt off. I didn’t like it.

I left the photographer’s apartment, walked back down the staircase where the couple fighting had quieted down and the couple fucking had only gotten louder.

Damn. It must have been some good dick. The kind you ride until you’ve had your fill, then get back on for seconds after chugging a glass of ice-cold water. Whenever my sex drive was actually revving, I found that I liked to think I had a dick like that. Bottoms always left my house with shaky knees, flushed cheeks, and drunken smiles on their faces. They’d text the next day looking for more, sometimes begging for it.

Unfortunately, the guy from the bathhouse never traded numbers with me, or he’d probably be back for seconds, too. And damn, did I want to give it to him. It had been nearly a week since that night, and I still jerked off thinking about him. Even my Lexapro couldn’t keep my dick down.

Maybe I’d swing by there again today. Wouldn’t hurt. And if I bumped into him again, then I’d ask for his number. Make it a regular thing.

I stepped out onto the busy street when my phonebuzzed in my pocket. It was a message from Caleb, the police officer. All it said was a single word, “Fuck,” with a link attached to a news article.

The headline read: Serial killer dubbed “Nevermore” hunting NYC streets.

I dropped my head back and looked up at the cloudy sky.

“Shit.”

Chapter 7

Theo Glass

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