Misplaced (86 page)

“I
ca
n
hardl
y
hea
r
a
wor
d
you
’
r
e
saying
.
I
’
l
l
le
t
he
r
know
yo
u
called
.
I
shouldn’
t
ha
v
e
ans
w
ere
d
he
r
phon
e
i
n
th
e
first
place. Goodb
y
e, Mr. Barrón.”

“P
lease
don’t
hang
up;
I
need
your
help.
Y
ou
can’t
imagine
what
this
has
done
to
my
wife.
She
looks
at
me
with
daggers
in
her
e
y
es.
If
I
don’t
resol
v
e
this,
I’m
afraid
I
’
ll
lose
them
both,”
Mieley concluded with the slightest hint of a sob.

“They’
v
e
gon
e
t
o
town
;
yo
u
coul
d
tr
y
bac
k
aroun
d
ten.
V
ictoria
wouldn’t
appreciate
me
interfering
in
family
matters.”

“P
erhap
s
not
,
bu
t
yo
u
clearl
y
ha
ve
mor
e
experienc
e
in
these
matters.
W
e
men
are
such
bunglers.
I
’
d
like
to
thank
you
properly, miss—”

“Don’t get fresh. It’s Mrs.—Mrs. Celeste Barton-Szabó.”

“Suc
h
a
n
unusua
l
na
m
e
!
I
t
ha
s
a
decide
d
l
y
Easter
n
E
uropean
ring
to
it.
Names
are
a
particular
interest
of
mine.
They
tell
so
much,
no?
I
apologize
if
I’
v
e
troubled
you
this
e
v
ening.
I
’
ll
call
tomorro
w
an
d
hop
e
m
y
niec
e
i
s
i
n
a
forgivin
g
mood
.
Thank
you
,
Mrs
.
Szabó
.
Bueno
s
noches
.
”
W
aitin
g
fo
r
he
r
goodb
y
e
,
he
realize
d
th
e
phon
e
ha
d
alread
y
gon
e
dead
.
Ne
v
ertheless
,
a
bolt
of
satisfaction
rushed
through
him.
Celeste
Barton-Szabó.
He
said
it
out loud
se
v
eral
times.
A
name
like
that,
why
it
w
as
practically a bullse
y
e.

Unable
to
fall
asleep
on
the
threadbare,
dingy
motel
sheets,
Mieley’
s
min
d
raced
.
Th
e
combinatio
n
o
f
ai
r
freshene
r
an
d
stale
cigarette
smoke
forced
him
to
open
a
window.
If
he
w
as
lucky,
h
e
coul
d
fin
d
he
r
i
n
a
da
y
o
r
two—thre
e
a
t
th
e
most
.
Mieley
calculate
d
ho
w
man
y
time
s
i
n
hi
s
lif
e
h
e
ha
d
bee
n
luck
y
agains
t
th
e
time
s
fortun
e
ha
d
gotte
n
th
e
bes
t
o
f
him
.
The
n
h
e
looked
int
o
th
e
mirro
r
an
d
sa
w
th
e
ans
w
e
r
writte
n
o
n
th
e
haggar
d
face.

Miele
y
decide
d
t
o
preser
v
e
wha
t
luc
k
h
e
migh
t
ha
v
e
and
lea
v
e
thi
s
dreadfu
l
tow
n
fille
d
wit
h
brow
n
peopl
e
before
anyone
started
asking
questions
about
Elias
Barrón.
He
could
find
the Szabó woman just as easily from New
Y
ork.

By
the
time
he
arri
v
ed
in
the
city,
Mieley’s
ner
v
es
w
ere
in
need
of
a
sal
v
e.
Today
it
would
take
something
more
than
his
usual blue pill.

Th
e
tax
i
dri
v
e
r
slo
w
e
d
an
d
turne
d
around
.
“
Ar
e
y
o
u
sure
you
w
ant
me
to
lea
v
e
you
here?”
he
asked,
pointing
to
the
sign
on
the
door
of
the
abandoned
creamery.
A
faded
orange
sign
read,
“Danger!
Notice
is
Hereby
Gi
v
en
that
These
Premises
are
Declare
d
UNSAF
E
o
r
UNFI
T
fo
r
Huma
n
Occupancy.
”
I
t
had
been posted by the City of New
Y
ork.

Miele
y
di
d
no
t
reply
.
H
e
stare
d
disdainfull
y
ahead
,
guessing
tha
t
th
e
dri
v
e
r
wit
h
th
e
Punjab
i
accen
t
ha
d
tw
o
childre
n
in
medical
school—probably
on
scholarship,
no
less.
Immigrant.
He tossed a few $20 bills into the front seat and got out.

Openin
g
th
e
loc
k
o
n
th
e
formidabl
e
doo
r
w
a
s
a
jo
b
that
require
d
bot
h
hands
,
an
d
the
y
w
er
e
stif
f
an
d
sor
e
fro
m
the
fight
with
Elias.
Inside,
the
odor
of
sour
milk
greeted
him
like
a
n
ol
d
friend
.
Durin
g
a
y
ea
r
whe
n
th
e
marke
t
i
n
antiquities
of
questionable
pro
v
enance
had
been
especially
good,
Mieley
foun
d
wha
t
looke
d
t
o
b
e
nothin
g
mor
e
tha
n
th
e
feti
d
shel
l
of
a
w
arehouse
located
near
the
docks.
The
price
had
been
good,
but
not
good enough.
Tired of the
endless negotiations, Mieley
had
b
ri
b
ed
t
he
a
g
ent
in
t
o
si
g
ning
an
affidavit
s
t
a
t
ing
that
t
he
w
arehouse’s owner had operated a flourishing
meth lab before
mysteriously
disappearing
and
posted
the
orange
signs
a
few
minute
s
befor
e
meetin
g
th
e
realtor
,
a
woma
n
name
d
Lolita
Chin.
He
w
atched
her
jaw
drop
and
her
face
turn
a
color
that
coul
d
onl
y
b
e
likene
d
t
o
somethin
g
o
n
ic
e
a
t
th
e
fis
h
market,
before paying slightly less than half the asking price.