Nickel City Crossfire, Gary Ross [ebook reader for pc and android txt] 📗

Of course, there were things I didn’t know either.

Much would emerge over the next several days as the investigation continued. Fingerprints led to the unsealing of a juvie record that showed QC Griffin was actually Alton Kimbrough, whose resemblance to Dante Cuthbert made people assume they were related. Kimbrough and Dante had shared a cell in juvie when Dante spent time there for pushing the real Quentin Cuthbert Griffin in front of a car. Marco Madden would be found in Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania, and would eventually explain the intricacies of the relationship among Flame Bright Fame, the Sermon on the Mount Community Development Foundation, Sanctuary Nimbus, and the Immortals. Within weeks the investigation would expand to include the New York State Police, the Chautauqua County Police, the Detroit Police, the FBI, the DEA, the ATF, and the Department of the Treasury.

As Jen had said, a real shit show.

Also, I had no idea that despite a nationwide BOLO that included his description and his Navigator, Dante Cuthbert would not be caught that week. Nor did I imagine that facing down a killer with a paintball gun would be the stuff of national news or that appearing on camera for all four of Buffalo’s network affiliates for the next couple days would make Jen Spina emerge as the hero of the evening. Having gone to the church with her wife, who felt the need to pray for her missing childhood friend, Jen had been there when Keisha came in with a family friend to confront the woman who had tried to kill her. No one mentioned my name in the media that night or any time during the next week. I was happy about that.

What I did know when I sat down with Rafael Piñero and Pete Kim that night was that I was tired, overfed turtle tired, so I answered their questions as accurately as I could in the fewest possible words, omitting my interactions with Jen. Then I left.

It was almost two when I parked in Phoenix’s slot in the underground garage and rode the elevator to the eleventh floor. Letting myself in with my key, I slid the Toyota key over one of the hooks near the door. Then I noticed the flickering glow from the interior of the loft. I went inside and passed the kitchenette island.

Her robe wrapped around her, Phoenix sat on her steel-framed sofa in the living-dining area, in the light of an alcohol gel fire crackling in her ventless fireplace. Electric light from other buildings came in through her tall, uncovered windows.

“My second fire tonight,” she said. “These canisters only last about three hours.”

“I said it would be late, not to wait up.”

“I figured you might want to talk.” She was quiet a moment, staring into the fire, not looking at me. “If you didn’t, I knew I’d want to. I need to.”

“All right.”

I went over to the sofa and sat beside her. There was a pillow against the armrest, not a sofa pillow but a bed pillow. I pulled it onto my lap.

Phoenix turned to me, light dancing on the left side of her face. “Is there anything you want to ask before I start?”

I held up the pillow. “Is this where Keisha slept last night?”

“Yes.” She bit her lip.

“You don’t need to worry about her tonight. She’s sleeping in her own bed now.”

“Good.” A few seconds passed. “How did you know?”

“Jen and Bianca showed me Keisha’s text this morning. The number was yours. Want to tell me about it?”

Phoenix tightened her arms around herself and sank down a bit, crossing her bare feet on a throw pillow on the coffee table. “After the crash, after you got out, she started to cry. She said they would never leave her in peace unless she did something about it herself. She swore she would and asked me to be her lawyer.” Phoenix smiled in the firelight. “She even did the old TV thing of giving me a dollar as a retainer. I gave her my spare key and one of the special business cards I keep for client emergencies. It’s coded to tell building security the woman holding the card is at risk and has my key with my permission.”

“You’ve done this with women you’ve represented from Hope’s Haven,” I said.

“Yes, five or six times. But this is the first time I gave anybody my cell to get an Uber.” She shifted a bit, continuing to stare into the fire. “I didn’t tell you because—well, these people were pretty good at following you. I thought I could give her a chance you couldn’t then. Sorry if I seemed odd or off. I’m not used to keeping things from you.”

I swallowed and took a breath. “Is that all?”

“No.”

“I thought not.” I put the pillow behind my head and leaned back. “I thought being shot at—I mean, it’s bad enough I got shot a few weeks back. Now you almost got shot.”

“That’s part of it, but it isn’t just that. It isn’t just that I could lose you.” She pulled my left hand into her lap and held it with both of hers. “It’s that I could lose me.”

“No, I could lose you,” I said. “If something happened—Look, I understand why you could be having second thoughts, why you’d want out of the danger zone. Getting shot at—”

“You’re not hearing me, Gideon,” she said, turning to me. “Just listen. Please.” She turned back to the fire. “Until you, I was a loner, a hyperactive attorney working myself into the grave. No family but Tia Rosita. Few friends. Figured I was living on borrowed time. Preventive mastectomies or not, I figured it was only a matter of calendar and clock before the cancer that took out the women on my mother’s side would take me too. So there I was, driven, with a good income, clients who loved the energy I gave them, and devil may care certainty