Page 70 of Thief of Night
“Whatever happened in the church was bad. Let the Cabals figure this oneout for themselves.” Posey wasn’t wrong, but there was something strange in her expression, something that Charlie didn’t like.
“So I guess you don’t have any theories for me?” Charlie asked.
“Yeah, that it was done by a psycho,” Posey said. “See you at home.” Then she headed toward Malhar’s house, as though she hadn’t been the one pushing Charlie to ask her for help. As Posey went up the path, Charlie noted a dark stain marring the cuff of her jeans.
She thought of the massacre in the church, of the hungry Blight in her backpack, of Rooster’s TikToks. He didn’t seem the type to kill a roomful of people for their blood, but then, she supposed that people seldom did.
They drove to Northampton next. Charlie directed Red to take her to a grocery store, then park across the street from Rooster’s apartment building. Now that she knew his name, finding his place hadn’t been difficult.
“Dare I ask?” Red appeared a little amused, ready to be impressed. He didn’t seem to even consider the possibility that she didn’t know what she was doing, which was flattering enough to make her cheeks redden in a way she pretended was just from the cold.
“Watch and wait,” Charlie told him, glorying in the moment.
They sat in surprisingly companionable silence until the events of the day caught up with Charlie and she yawned. “Talk to me. I don’t want to fall asleep.”
Red leaned back in his seat. “Did you go to college?”
“That’s what you want to know?”
He shrugged. “I asked.”
“It just wasn’t what I expected a monstrous Blight, bound to miserable servitude, to be curious about.” He smiled.
“I went to community college,” she admitted. “Then I dropped out so I could give my full attention to my life of crime.”
“Plenty of criminals with college degrees,” Red pointed out.
Charlie groaned. “I hate that there’s even an old boys’ network of miscreants.”
“That’s a good word.” He was watching her with warmth in his expression. “Miscreant.”
Charlie looked up and saw someone heading toward the building. “You have to stay in shadow for this,” she said, getting out of the Porsche, then grabbing her bags of groceries.
Sprinting across the street, she got through the doors before the approaching sucker. Scanning the buzzers for Rooster’s apartment, she saw that each floor was broken into three units—1A, 1B, 1C, and the same for 2s and 3s—except at the top, there was only 4.
The person she’d seen walking arrived at the building. He used a key to open the second, inner door and, as she’d hoped, held it for her without any questions.
The guy took the elevator, so Charlie headed for the stairs, climbing them all the way to the fourth floor. A metal fire door greeted her. Setting down her groceries, she tried the handle. Locked. Since there was only one residence on the fourth floor, it was possible that it led directly into the apartment. Picking the lock on a fire door wasn’t easy, but at least she had Red.
“Is there onyx?” she asked him.
He moved out of shadow, his legs still blurred as he moved toward the door. Then he was flowing beneath it.
A moment later the lock turned. Red stood, silhouetted in the doorway, still not quite solid. “I don’t think Rooster expected anyone to send a shadow here.”
Looking around, Charlie wondered if it was because he’d been too worried about a line of black flooring ruining his aesthetic. A cloud sofa dominated the living room, aimed at the enormous television taking up a whole wall. Three separate gaming systems had been plugged in, their controllers on a slick black console. On the wall, staggered shelves showed off a collection of Kaws art figures, each one carefully spotlighted. A “KEEP OFF” Supreme x Ikea rug covered the floor. The full hypebeast experience.
She walked to the next room, which turned out to be Rooster’s filming studio—lights, tripods, a mess of expensive camera equipment, a green screen, and a couple of stools and chairs. Down the hall, she discovered his bedroom, dominated by a huge bed—by appearances, larger than a king—as though he was expecting an impromptu orgy. A display of prized sneakers covered the wall over the headboard. A mini fridge sat in the place of a nightstand.
“Charlie,” Red called.
She followed his voice to the kitchen. There, she found a beautiful, huge espresso machine resting on a marble island next to a bunch of stacked BAPE camo mugs. Pulling her gaze from it, she saw Red with a laptop covered in skater stickers.
She raised her eyebrows. After all, it seemed impossible that Mr. Punch hadn’t been here already, hadn’t looked through Rooster’s things before heset her on this trail. A laptop would be the first thing he checked, assuming he’d found one.
“Under the floorboards. Password was ‘PASSWORD.’” Red turned it toward her. “Look at this.”
He indicated the folder on the desktop that was marked BLACKMAIL MATERIAL.
