Angelology(139)

stacking the fragments of his cup one on top of the other. The white, granular powder from the

unglazed center of the cup crumbled over his fingers. “You’ve got the wrong guy. I’m an

overeducated, left-of-left, soy-latte-drinking, borderline-metrosexual liberal agnostic. I believe in

angels as much as I believe in the Easter Bunny.”

“That is extraordinary,” the woman said. “I was under the impression that these fictitious creatures

were a threat to your life.”

Verlaine stopped stacking the shards of the cup. “Who is this?” he asked finally.

“My name is Gabriella Lévi-Franche Valko,” the woman said. “I have worked for a very long time

to find the letters in your possession.”

Growing more confused, he asked, “How do you know my number?”

“There are many things I know. For example, I know that the creatures you escaped last night are

outside your apartment.” Gabriella paused, as if to let this sink in, then said, “If you don’t believe me,

Mr. Verlaine, look out your window.”

Verlaine bent before the windowpane, a strand of curly black hair falling in his eyes. Everything

looked just as it had minutes before.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.

“Look left,” Gabriella said. “You will see a familiar black SUV”

Verlaine followed the woman’s instructions. Indeed, at the left, on the corner of Hudson Street, the

black Mercedes SUV idled on the street. A tall, dark-clothed man—the same one he’d seen breaking

into his car the day before and, if he hadn’t been hallucinating, seen outside his train window—

stepped out of the SUV and paced under the streetlight.

“Now, if you look to the right,” Gabriella said, “you will see a white van. I am inside. I’ve been

waiting for you since early this morning. At my granddaughter’s request, I have come to help you.”

“And who is your granddaughter?”

“Evangeline, of course,” Gabriella said. “Who else?”

Verlaine craned his neck and spotted a white van tucked into a narrow service alley across the

street. The alley was far away, and he could hardly see a thing. As if the caller understood his

confusion, a window descended and a petite, leather-gloved hand emerged and gave a peremptory

wave.

“What exactly is going on?” Verlaine said, abashed. He walked to the door, turned the bolt, and

secured the chain. “Do you mind telling me why you’re watching my apartment?”

“My granddaughter believed you were in danger. She was right. Now I want you to gather

Innocenta’s letters and come down immediately,” Gabriella said calmly. “But I advise you to avoid

exiting the building through the front door.”

“There’s no other way out,” Verlaine said, uneasy.

“A fire escape, perhaps?”

“The fire escape is visible from the front entrance. They’ll see me as soon as I start down it,”

Verlaine said, eyeing the metal skeleton that darkened the corner of the window and worked its way

over the front of the building. “Could you please tell me why—”

“My dear,” Gabriella said, interrupting Verlaine, her voice warm, almost maternal. “You will

simply have to use your imagination. I advise you to get yourself out of there. Immediately. They will

be coming for you at any moment. Actually, they don’t give a damn about you. They will want the

letters,” she said quietly. “As you perhaps know, they will not extract them gently.”

As if taking their cue from Gabriella, the second man—as tall and pale-skinned as the first—

stepped out of the black SUV, joining the other. Together they crossed the street, walking toward

Verlaine’s building.

“You’re right. They’re coming,” Verlaine said. He turned from the window and grabbed the duffel

bag, stuffing his wallet, keys, and laptop under the clothes. He took the folder of Innocenta’s original

letters from his messenger bag, placed them inside a book of Rothko prints, slid them gently into his

duffel bag, and pulled the zipper shut with swift finality. Finally, he said, “What should I do?”

“Wait a moment. I can see them very clearly,” Gabriella said. “Just follow my instructions, and

everything will be fine.”

“Maybe I should call the police?”

“Do nothing yet. They are still standing at the entrance. They will see you if you leave now,”

Gabriella said, her voice eerily calm, a strange counterpoint to the rush of blood screeching in

Verlaine’s ears. “Listen to me, Mr. Verlaine. It is extremely important that you do not move until I tell