Murder.com (20 page)

"Where's the butter?" I never ate
cream cheese. I hated it.

"You're welcome," Imogen said,
pointing to the butter, another dairy treat, still sitting in the
bottom of the small brown paper bag that had once housed my
coffee.

"I didn't even hear you
leave."

"I'm sneaky." She smirked. "Walked
out when I heard the shower turn on. You slept in this
morning."

"Sometimes I need to rest these
weary bones. Yesterday's conversation threw me for a
loop."

Imogen was dressed for work. She had on a smart grey
skirt, white button-down blouse, and black high-heeled shoes.

"What time are we going to head
over to the office?" she asked.

I had to pick up her ring, and
while I was at it do a little shopping. Both without Imogen. I
tried to think fast. "Oh, um, I totally forgot to tell you. I have
a breakfast meeting with Jay, about his contract." Terrible answer.
What contract? What did that even mean?

Imogen didn't miss a beat. "Then
why are you eating breakfast?"

"Not really breakfast, per se,
more like a time frame. Morning."

"Oh, right. Well then. Do you mind
if I still head in there? I've got a few things to tie up with
Robert."

"My dear, I would love it! No
worries, I'll be in late morning."

Then it was agreed. I had a few
hours of personal time. The weather wasn't terrible. It was a
clear, cold day. I would be able to walk around for a bit down
Fifth Avenue without freezing, as long as I made periodic pit stops
into some of the shops.

Imogen left the brownstone, and I followed moments
later, walking around the corner to the square glass structure that
sat atop the Apple store that was housed underground. I walked over
to the entrance and then wound my way down the light wood winding
staircase that led underneath 59th and 5th into the store. I loved
it there. After all, I was a tech geek at heart.

I made my way over to the
MacBooks. Maybe I'd buy Imogen one of the new ones. After all,
nothing said merry Christmas like a new MacBook. I played around a
little bit at the MacBook table. The place was jam-packed. Next to
me was a woman in her early twenties, bundled up in her best
hipster gear, with pigtailed braids peeking out of her beret. She
had on 1950s-style oversized black glasses, and underneath her pea
coat I could see a black skirt with candy-cane-striped tights
underneath. Across the table was a man in his late forties, black
hair, a few strands sticking out from under his ski hat, dark
beard, and a black puffy coat.

I moved over to the iPhones. Fiddled with them for a
bit and then over to the iPads. No one asked if I needed help. The
guys and gals in their red holiday Apple shirts were busy running
around ringing up tourists that were buying out the store. It was
unbelievable. I played a couple of games on one of the phones.

After deciding that a MacBook was a bit impersonal
for a Christmas gift, I decided to leave. I waited in the line to
ascend the stairs back to street level. Lazily, the tourists and I
made our way up the stairs, one slow step at a time. Within a few
minutes, I was out.

I moved my way through the crowds
toward Fifth Avenue. I crossed the street to the fountain that sat
outside the Plaza. I could breathe over there for a minute before I
started my trek down Fifth.

Bergdorf was off to my right. I
considered stopping in there, but it seemed very overwhelming. I
didn't shop in stores like that, although I was quite sure Ginny
would like something in there. Fifth Avenue was packed. The sea of
people started to push me along. I was caught in the current. I
didn't think I could have stopped even if I had wanted to. The mass
of people ushered me past Louis Vuitton and straight through to
57th Street. I stopped and then made my way across the street into
Tiffany & Co. Here I would complete phase one of my morning:
picking up the ring.

My body was starting to warm up as I headed to the
second floor in the elevator. I unbuttoned my coat and undid my
scarf, letting it hang around my neck. The ride was short, although
I had to share the elevator with a couple that was utterly
bewildered that they were actually in the elevator at Tiffany. The
door opened, and I walked over to one of the salesmen. His nametag
read Fernando.

I told him that I was here to pick up a ring. He
told me to wait a moment and walked off the sales floor to find it.
While I waited, I looked around at the people in the store. It was
mostly comprised of tourists gawking at the diamonds. There were a
few others trying on rings, necklaces, and assorted diamond-studded
jewelry. Ah, the holidays in New York.

Fernando reappeared with the ring. We both examined
it, Fernando pointing out every little detail, me staring at it
blankly. It was a beautiful ring, as was affirmed by the
salesman.

"Mr. Slade, this ring is
beautiful. The young lady is going to love it," he said while
placing it in its blue box home.

"It sure is," I said.

"If you don't mind me asking,
when's the big day?"

"Can you believe it, I don't know
yet. I'm still working on it."

That was all Fernando needed to know. I ended the
conversation, paid in full for the ring, took my pretty blue box,
put it in my pocket, and then headed back to the elevator.

When the elevator doors opened, I could see the exit
directly in front of me. As I began walking toward the door, I saw
a man off to my left dressed in a black hat and a black puffy
jacket looking at a watch. It was the guy from the Apple Store.
Looked like he made his way over to Tiffany too. Everyone was
last-minute shopping for the holidays. Glad I was not the only
one.

Back on Fifth. I continued my walk, passing Trump
Tower and Gucci. Besides the ring, I had to purchase a holiday
present in order to throw off the scent of an impending proposal.
Hopefully not behind Plexiglas over a phone at a prison.

I stopped at Gucci. Took a quick look around, had no
clue what to buy, and then walked out of the store, not before
bumping into a woman in her mid-sixties, in a fur coat with a Gucci
bag draped over her shoulder containing a Papillon dog in a red
sweater. She had on large black cat-eye sunglasses and red
lipstick.

"Excuse me, ma'am," I said as my
right arm brushed into her left shoulder.

"Mr. Worthers!" she said,
nervously checking her dog. She must have thought that I had
crashed into the pooch.

I stopped, which was a rare
occurrence for me, and any New Yorker for that matter, and asked,
"Everything OK? Sorry I bumped into you, miss."

She looked at me, now calmer that
everything was apparently fine with Mr. Worthers. "Do try to be a
little more careful next time, son."

I nodded and then walked out of
the store, shaking my head. Standing outside Gucci, I thought about
where I should be heading. I surveyed the mass of humanity that was
in constant motion, accentuated by the cars, trucks, and taxis
frantically moving down the avenue. There was an old brownstone
church across the street. Perhaps I should pop in there to pray for
all of these people's materialistic souls.

I turned around to get a quick look at the Gucci
window one more time before I continued my walk. Something caught
my eye in the reflective glass. The man in the black jacket. He was
across the street waiting at the bus stop. He was looking at his
phone, standing there.

My walk commenced, and I headed
toward 56th Street. I figured that I would find something at Saks.
So that was where I had decided to walk. By the Rolex store, I
spied the man in the black coat again across the street. Was I
crazy? Was that him? I tried to take a look without him catching my
glance. I continued to walk, turning my head to the right, staring
at the guy with the beard. That was him. There was no doubt about
it. He was looking straight ahead, walking. Was he following
me?

I kept heading south, trying not to peek across the
street at the man in the black jacket, but it was hard. I was
obsessing about him now. My eyes were continually darting across
the street. He was in stride, parallel, keeping pace with me. I
sped up. He sped up. I started to panic. I started to run.

This was how it usually went down.
Some guy followed you. Then caught you. Then killed you. That
wasn't going to be me.

As I was approaching 50th Street,
I had a choice to make. I had worked myself into a full sprint, and
the man was still there. I had to try to lose him. St. Patrick's
Cathedral was just ahead. Should I go in there? I might lose him in
the church. With no time to think or to devise a plan, I turned
left into the cathedral, pushing past tourists gawking at the house
of worship. I ran passed the pillars and pews toward the front of
the church, trying to lose myself in the crowd. When I was by the
altar, I stopped, turned toward the back, and tried to see if I
could locate the man in the black jacket. It was a long way from
the altar to the entrance of the church. I squinted and then, to my
horror, spotted him. He was slowly strolling through the entrance.
Hat off now, his straight black hair falling in his eyes, which he
pushed back with his hand, he made his way down the right-hand
aisle, head turning, trying to locate something.
Me
.

I moved to the left-hand side of
the church, crouched over like I was performing a military
operation and started to slowly move myself toward the exit. The
man was now in a bit more of a hurry. Walking faster, head darting
everywhere, trying to locate his prey.
Me
.

Still crouched, I inched slowly
through the crowd. People were looking oddly at me. Stranger things
had happened in New York, I thought. If I saw someone crouched,
walking on the street or pretty much anywhere around the city, I
wouldn't even think twice about it.
Tourists!
I had nearly made it to
the exit when the man spotted me. Time froze when his cold brown
eyes focused on me. I stopped dead in my tracks, realizing that
this man was going to try to kill me. After holding my gaze for a
moment, he turned his head, scanning the church in front of him. I
bolted out the door.

Down the steps I flew, across the street, and then
continued at full speed downtown. I was running for my life,
dashing past tourists, brushing against them as I ran. Peeking
behind, in full stride, I could see the man in pursuit. Passing
Saks, I kept going and then quickly turned right into Rockefeller
Center, making a beeline toward the giant tree that was sitting in
front of 30 Rock.

The crowd was dense here, as
Rockefeller Center was decorated, as only New York could, for the
holidays. Intricate gold-wired herald angels lined the walkway
where I was sprinting, playing their trumpets. I didn't bother
turning around to see where the man with the black jacket was
located. I just made my way as fast as I could toward the skating
rink, where I was going to hang a left. I made it to the front of
the rink, the flags of all the nations in front of me, people
ice-skating below, and tourists clamoring to get a picture of the
tree.

I quickly turned left and looked back toward Fifth
Avenue. The man was still in full pursuit. I was now on 49th and
Rockefeller Center, running as fast as I could. I nearly got hit by
a sightseeing bus. They were everywhere, lining the streets. This
must be the pick-up/drop-off area.

By the time I reached 7th Avenue,
I was out of breath. I stopped, bent over, gasping. I checked for
the man behind me but didn't see him. Maybe he was winded as well.
After a moment, I caught my breath and then continued running down
7th Avenue toward Times Square. I'd lose him there for
sure.

I periodically looked over my shoulder, but there
was no sign of the man as I approached Times Square. By the time I
was at 42nd Street, I could hardly breathe. I stood in the middle
of Times Square, looking north, scanning for the man in the black
jacket. Nothing. Somehow I had managed to evade him. I felt a sense
of accomplishment, and then the fear set in. I had just been chased
around New York City. What had my life become?

I hailed a cab and tried to regain my composure on
the ride home. I cracked the window to allow some cold air into the
car. The stench of incense was making me nauseated.

"Can you turn off the heat?" I
asked, hoping this guy would listen.

"It's freezing, my friend. No.
Crack a window."

"I did. The hot air is blowing in
my face."

"Open the other
window."

Thank you for being so accommodating.

Ten minutes later, I arrived home. I ran into the
brownstone and threw myself on the couch.

What had just taken place? Had I
been pursued by an individual intent on killing me? He certainly
wasn't chasing me down to simply say hello. Did I recognize him?
No. Who was he and why was he chasing me? I needed a
drink.

I fixed myself a scotch, sat back down, and then
realized the time. Jabber ran over to me and was jumping up and
down. She had to go out.

"Not now, girl," I
said.

Jabber ignored me and started barking. I took a slug
of my drink.

"OK." I picked up her leash, put
it on, and we both headed out the door and down my stoop. I walked
Jabber down my block. She peed by the tree with the wrought iron
fence around it. On the way back toward the brownstone, I pulled
out my phone and texted Ginny.
I'm not
heading into the office. Knock off early and head back home. We'll
grab a late lunch.
Moments later I
received the reply.
I don't take half
days
,
with a wink
emoji. Before I had finished reading the first, I received a second
text:
I'll be home in twenty
minutes.