Bad (15 page)

This could be fun,
Heather thought. “Don't bother going to his apartment,” she called.

Gaia turned around, clearly miffed that Heather had guessed where she was heading. “So where is he?”

“He had to leave town for a few days. It's a family thing.” She smiled. “I guess he forgot to tell you.”

Gaia narrowed her eyes. “Are you telling me the truth?”

“Why would I lie?” Heather turned and walked away before Gaia could respond.

So. Ed didn't care enough about his precious friend to tell her that he wasn't going to be around. It looked like she had nothing to worry about.
So what if his sick aunt story was lame?
Whatever reason Ed had for being away clearly had nothing to do with Gaia Moore. That's what Heather called good news.

 

Transcript of Interview with Sam Moon

Forty-second Precinct, New York, New York

Detective Reilly:

State your name and age, please.

Sam Moon:

Sam Moon. Age twenty.

Detective Barnard:

What do you know about the death of your friend Mike Suarez, Sam? Do you mind if I call you Sam?

Sam Moon:

Uh, yeah. Sure. Call me Sam. The night Mike OD'd, I came home and went to bed. When I eventually came out of the room, I found Mike with a needle sticking out of his arm. I couldn't wake him up, so I called 911.

Detective Reilly:

What were you doing that night? Before you came home?

Sam Moon:

I, uh, went to a movie at the Angelica.

Detective Reilly:

Were you with anyone?

Sam Moon:

No, I was alone.

Detective Katz:

What was the movie?

 

Sam Moon:

Uh, let's see. I can't really remember the name of it. Something foreign. There were subtitles.

Detective Reilly:

Uh-huh.

Detective Katz:

Had Mike done heroin before, to your knowledge?

Sam Moon:

Well, he partied a lot. But, ah, no. I don't think so.

Detective Katz:

How about you, Sam? Have you ever used heroin? Speed? Cocaine?

Sam Moon:

No. No. Never.

Detective Reilly:

Can't you tell us anything, Sam? Mike was your suite mate. You guys probably shared a lot together.

Sam Moon:

I'm sorry. I wish I could help, but I really don't know anything. . . .

Detective Katz:

Okay. That's fine. Jut relax, Sam. Okay?

It was easy for Loki to say that because he saw on her face that her decision was final. This was it. A battle had been won.

 

LOKI CHECKED THE TIME ON HIS
Rolex. Gaia was due in less than two minutes. He hoped that she had come to a decision—the
right
decision. It would be so unpleasant if he had to take extreme measures to convince her to leave the country with him. That wasn't how he intended for them to embark on their new life together.

Mindless, Spineless Trolls

To that end, Loki had brushed his robust face with a grayish powder he had ordered especially for the occasion. He had also enhanced the circles under his eyes with expensive stage makeup.
It was crucial that he look his part.
Loki wanted Gaia to respond as viscerally as possible to his . . . “condition.”

When Gaia had suggested they meet in the park, Loki had readily agreed. He had assumed that on a day like today, the area would be deserted. Who ventured outside in this weather, even if the snow
had
stopped? But he had assumed wrong. The park was filled with college students and mothers with their young children, all building snowmen and snow forts and engaging in snowball fights.

Trolls,
he thought.
Mindless, spineless trolls.

He guessed that no one in his vicinity knew how to
order a bottle of fine wine or understood the delicate taste of sea urchin or could argue intelligently about the decline of opera in the twentieth century. Of course not. But that was a part of his mission: to educate Gaia about the more subtle pleasures in life. A small part, yes, but a crucial one. Tom had taught Gaia much—how to fight, how to speak many foreign languages, even philosophy and physics and history.

Still, even Katia hadn't bothered to teach Gaia how to carry herself in a couture gown. Gaia had never had a lesson in diction or etiquette. Loki would take it entirely upon himself to guide her through the final stages of her education.

When he was finished, she would be beyond perfection.

There!

As always, when he caught sight of Gaia, his breath quickened. She was strolling through that pale imitation of the Arc de Triomphe that marked the entrance to the park.
Yes, she definitely had to learn how to dress.
No more of those brown painter's pants, sweatshirts, and combat boots. No. She would trade those in for velvet dresses....

He stood and waved to her.

She smiled and quickened her pace.

“Gaia! You're lovely as always,” Loki greeted her.

As she approached, he watched her take in his newly haggard appearance. The disguise worked. The concern in her eyes was real . . . poignant.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, sitting beside him.

“It's been a little rough these past few days,” he said quietly. He coughed for several moments into his hand. “But don't worry yourself about me.”

“Well . . . thanks for meeting me.” Her eyes flickered over his face, her forehead creased with worry. “You probably shouldn't be out in the cold like this—”

“It's all right,” he murmured.

She nodded, then took a deep breath. “Look, I want to come with you. I want to move to Germany. At least for the time being.”

Loki exhaled. His heart hadn't felt this full since Katia was alive. “Are you sure, Gaia? I don't want you in any way to feel that I've pressured you into making this journey with me.”

It was easy for Loki to say that because he saw on her face that her decision was final. This was it.
A battle had been won.
A battle as decisive as Midway. Winning the war was in his grasp; he could
taste
it. Years of hard work and tedium had culminated in this one joyful moment. Now their paths would converge for good.

“I'm positive.” She paused. “So . . . when do we leave?”

Her voice caught on the last word, but Loki pretended not to notice. He didn't want to make the girl self-conscious.
There were a few loose ends he had to take care of before leaving the city.
Much of it—getting rid of the apartment, disposing of
certain items, making arrangements—he could leave to his underlings. Some matters, however, he needed to handle personally.

“We can leave in two days,” he told her. “That will give you time to get yourself organized.”

“Two days,” she repeated. For a split second she looked almost like a prisoner, a wild animal trapped in a snare. Then her features settled into resignation.

“Gaia, it is imperative that you don't tell anyone about our plan,” Loki stated. “I know you won't tell George Niven. But it's also important that you don't mention it to any of your friends.”

“Why? They won't try to stop me—”

“Our situation is very, very delicate,” he interrupted gently. “Your friends might mean well, but not all young people have your keen sense of discretion.”

“But—”

“Trust me, Gaia. As soon as we are in Germany, you can call and write your friends as much as you like. I'm sure that when they hear the circumstances, they'll understand.” He gave her an intense stare. “They wouldn't really be your friends if they
didn't
understand, now, would they?”

She stared back at him, her eyes narrowing. “I . . . guess not.”

Loki coughed a few more times for good measure, then laid a hand on Gaia's shoulders. “You have no idea how happy you have made me, my dear. Regardless of
what happens with my illness, I will find great peace with you at my side.” He pulled her into a hug. “This is going to be a wonderful time. For both of us.”

GEORGE CHOKED BACK THE HACKING
cough that had plagued him since last night. He had woken up with a slight fever. Keeping an eye on Gaia all day had done nothing to improve his health. Not that he particularly cared.
Life meant little to him now.
He could drop dead of pneumonia within a week and be thankful for it. But protecting Gaia, sparing her from danger . . .
that
had to sustain him. It was all he had left.

Bogus Illness

Hidden behind one of the two pillars of the miniature Arc de Triomphe, he fastened his gaze on Loki and Gaia. The man's resemblance to his friend was horrifying. Obviously—they were twins. But he couldn't separate the two in his mind. Loki
was
Tom, in a way. And vice versa. They were two sides of the same coin, only they had chosen opposite paths. And Gaia was at the crossroads.

The tiny microphone that George had sewn into the lining of Gaia's messenger bag was emitting a bit
of static, but he could still hear their conversation clearly enough.

“. . . love Germany,” Loki was saying.

“What about . . .”

Damn,
George thought. He adjusted the earpiece. “. . . word that you'll keep this between the two of us?” Loki asked again.

“Yeah. Of course.” Gaia sounded so trusting, so naive.

“I'll call you with the details of our departure,” Loki assured her. “Anything that you don't bring with you, we'll buy in Germany. I plan to make sure you have everything your heart desires—”

“All I want is for you to get well. If the experimental treatment works, I'll be totally and completely happy. . . .”

George shook his head. So that's how Loki had convinced her. He had made up some bogus illness. He'd probably convinced Gaia that he might have just weeks or month to live. George wasn't surprised. There was no level to which Loki wouldn't stoop to get what he wanted. But something had to be done. Gaia's life was at stake. Loki was taking her out of the country. There was only one solution: He would get in touch with Tom immediately and pray that his old friend was still in the city. If anyone would know how to proceed, it would be Tom—the man who knew Loki almost as well as Loki knew himself.

Two sides of the same coin,
he reminded himself. He coughed again and hurried from the park.

SAM PICKED UP THE PLASTIC FOAM
cup of black coffee that sat before him on the ancient brown table in the interrogation room. He had consumed almost a quart of the muddy black liquid over the past hour, and he was starting to feel a buzzing in his head from the caffeine overload. He couldn't sit still.

A Real Nice Kid

“I really wish I could help you,” he said for what must have been the tenth time. “But Mike's death is as big a mystery to me as it is to you.”

“I understand all that,” Detective Katz said. “All I want to know is this: Do you have a ticket stub from that movie you went to see, Sam?”

He stared down at the cup, nearly crushing it in his grip. Why had he told them he'd gone to the Angelica that night?
It had been an idiotic thing to do.
Sam
hadn't
done anything wrong. Nothing legally wrong, anyway. But his sense of self-preservation had kicked in, and he had heard himself say whatever would most distance himself from Mike
and that poisoned needle. It made him sick. He was smarter than that.

“Um . . . I don't know,” he finally mumbled. “I'll check all of my pants pockets when I get back to the dorm.”

The detectives smiled at each other. They did that a lot. Like two lovers, sharing a private moment. Every time it happened, Sam felt an urge to jump up and smash their skulls together.

“You seem like a real nice kid,” Detective Reilly said. “You go to a good college. You've got a pretty girlfriend. You're living the American dream, kiddo.”

Sam nodded, unable to look at anything but the cup. His body was so tense, he thought he'd explode. “Yeah,” he croaked.

“So . . . it would be a real blow if something happened to mess with all of that,” Detective Katz whispered. “I mean, if
I
were you, I'd do all kinds of things to keep my life from getting messy. Almost . . . anything.”

“I don't
have
to do anything,” Sam insisted, glaring at him. His eyes instantly fell back to the cup when he saw that smarmy smile. “It
isn't
messy.”

Detective Katz leaned back in his chair. “Fine. I'll tell you what, Sam. We're going to let you go ahead and get back to class now. But we would sure appreciate it if you found that ticket stub for us.”

Sam nodded. “I will,” he lied, hoping he could hang on just long enough to get out of here before he puked.

“Good,” Detective Reilly replied.

Both men grinned.

Sam stood up, so jittery that he knew they could see him shaking. Screw it. What did they expect? They'd plied him with coffee. Now he knew how those perps on
NYPD Blue
felt. These two knew he was hiding something. He could feel their eyes on him as he walked out of the small, dark room. But Sam was sure his secret was far from what they expected it to be. His story was too outrageous. They'd never prove a thing.