He doesn’t question this. He doesn’t say a word. He steps out of his apartment and closes the door behind him, straightening his tie. I already know the answer to the question, but since we’re having our own version of a DNM, I have to say I’m interested in what Michael thinks to the question he posed me a moment ago. “Just for argument’s sake…” Michael hits the call button for the elevator. We wait in silence a moment, and then I man up and ask the rest of the question. “Do you think she’s forever?”
Michael stares straight ahead, waiting for the doors to the elevator to open. “Oh, I knew you were her forever as soon as I saw the way she looked at you, Zee.” He slides his hands into his pockets, clears his throat. And then he turns and looks me straight in the eye and says, “I’m just really glad you’ve figured out she’s yours, man. Because you deserve that. And so does she.”
It’s almost midnight by the time Michael drops me off across the city at the entrance to a very familiar park. I didn’t give him directions; he just knew where I wanted to go. Well, not wanted to go, per se. I definitely don’t want to be here. But fuck…the woman is the only option I have open to me at this time of night without an appointment.
“Make sure she’s safe, man?” I ask, as I climb out of the generic hatchback Michael’s procured from “the getting place”, as he calls it. He knows which she I’m referring to perfectly well.
“’Course. I’ll see you later.”
“Right.” I slam the door closed and slap my palm on top of the car, and Michael burns off down the street. That leaves me standing in front of a building I quite honestly never thought I’d set foot inside of again. Pippa Newan’s apartment building is the kind with a night guard and concierge—a smart move if you’re a shrink that treats aggressive criminals all day long. However, if you’re buzzed into the building and say you’re visiting a friend, there’s not a great deal anyone can do to keep you out. I pull the Girl Scout trick; I press the first button and drag my finger down the thirty or so call buttons that are lit up on the intercom panel. It only takes a moment for the door to buzz open.
The guard and the concierge don’t even question me as I head straight for the elevator. I’ve often found if you exude confidence and look like you know where you’re going, you don’t get hassled. I guess in this particular case, it also helps that I look like I could bench their combined body weight. My insides are humming as I ride the elevator up to Newan’s floor. I don’t know if it’s excitement or dread cycling through me, but whatever it is, I feel like I’m gonna throw up. Fucking ridiculous.
When I reach Newan’s door, I make myself pause. Is this a great idea? The last time Sloane came here, the bitch turned her over to the DEA. Admittedly, she didn’t believe anything bad was going to happen to her friend; she did it because she wanted Sloane to hand me over. There’s little stopping her from making that phone call again. So no, I suppose it’s a seriously terrible fucking idea, but I have to risk it. Sloane is worth it. It feels like there’s a lot riding on this. I ball up my fist and thump it hard against the solid wood door.
I wait.
Nothing.
Maybe she isn’t home. I’m reaching into my pocket for my lock-picking tools—nothing says surprise! like a convicted felon waiting for you in the dark—when there’s a soft scraping on the other side of the door. There’s a spyhole in the door, but I don’t cover it up. I step back so the good doctor can get a good look at who’s on her doorstep.
“What the hell do you want?” Newan snaps through the door.
I shrug my shoulders. “Your help.” That’s putting it as plainly as I possibly can. “You offered your services not so long ago. I was hoping that offer still stood.”
There’s a long pause while Newan takes this in. She laughs. “You kidnapped me and handcuffed me to a toilet.”
“You betrayed your friend. You earned that.”
More silence. “What makes you think I’d risk letting you inside this apartment? Alone? How do I know you’re not here to kill me?”
“If I were here to kill you, I wouldn’t have fucking knocked. If you don’t want to let me inside your apartment, Dr. Newan, then we can easily talk through the door. I’m fine with that.”
A distinct stillness develops. The kind that makes me think Newan’s slipped away from the door—maybe to grab her phone? Perhaps Lowell will be here sooner than I’d hoped. “What do you think, Newan?” I ask.