Unsympathetic Magic - Laura Resnick [60]
“Esther and I can’t stay, Puma.” Jeff looked at the clock on the wall. “We have to go visit someone in the hospital.”
“That’ll have to wait,” I said.
“But we’re already late,” he pointed out.
“For God’s sake, Jeff,” I snapped. “Sucking up to Mike Nolan for ten minutes is not as important as figuring out what to do about the strange things that Biko and I have seen!” I added to the others, “But before we do anything else, we need to order some food.”
Biko gave me an incredulous look. “I’ve just found out—from a cop, no less—that no one knows where Mr. Phelps’ three-week-old corpse is. And you saw him walking around Harlem last night. Do you really want to eat now?”
“I also saw him get maimed by the baka,” I pointed out crankily. “And, yes, I want to eat now.”
“Do I have to stay for this conversation?” Jeff asked me. “I can already tell I’m going to hate every part of it.”
“You can leave whenever you like,” I said, knowing he wasn’t going anywhere. As long as the prospect of meeting D30’s lead actor loomed on the horizon, nothing short of an attack by crazed gargoyles would get rid of Jeff—the thought of which reminded me of the attack that Biko had witnessed. I said to the young fencer, “Can you describe the victim you rescued Monday night?”
“The man that I found the baka attacking? Sure. He was, uh . . . Well, for one thing, I’d swear he was alive, Esther.”
“Yes, I thought about that,” I said. “Tears, sweat, urine.”
“Very good,” Max said to me, nodding with approval.
“Actually,” said Biko, “I was going to say that he was breathing and his skin was warm.”
“Oh,” I said. “I guess that works, too.”
Jeff said wearily, “What did he look like, Biko? Max and Esther have got this theory that . . . Never mind. Just tell us.”
“He was about thirty years old, I guess. No more than five foot eight, I’d say. Skinny.”
Jeff sat up straighter and stared at Biko.
The young athlete continued, “He had a voice sort of like a public radio announcer, and he wore his hair in twists.”
Jeff’s shoulders slumped suddenly and he lowered his head.
“Jeff?” I said.
He didn’t answer, just reached into his pocket, pulled out his cell phone, and called someone. A moment later, holding the phone to his ear, he said, “Frank, call me. I mean it. We have to talk about Monday night.” He closed his phone and put it back in his pocket.
“One mystery solved.” I explained to Biko whom he had seen being attacked. “You didn’t recognize him from the foundation?”
“No. I mostly stick to the training room. And it sounds like this guy Frank Johnson was brand new and just teaching one class a day on the other side of the building from me. So it’s not really surprising that I hadn’t seen him before.” Biko asked Jeff, “Does your friend live near the foundation?”
“I’m not sure where he lives,” Jeff said morosely. “He’s more of an acquaintance than a friend. Especially after this week.”
“He may live in Hamilton Heights,” I said to Biko.
“In that case, since the classes he teaches are all in the daytime,” said Biko, “what was he doing right outside the foundation late at night?”
“Good question,” I said. “One that we can discuss while I’m eating.”
“How can you think of food at a time like this?” Jeff demanded. “I’m missing my meeting with Michael Nolan!”
Puma looked puzzled by this non sequitur. But I knew that if Jeff asked her out, she would learn. Indeed, she would learn that and, oh, so much more.
Feeling my stomach rumble, I said tersely, “Except for one mini-bagel this morning, I haven’t had anything to eat in almost twenty-four hours, and it’s been a hell of a marathon. If I get any hungrier, I’ll start eating these dolls!” I picked up the one that looked like Max and tossed it at Jeff. It bounced off his shoulder, and Biko caught it. The kid had good reflexes. “I want carry-out. I don’t care what. I just want food.”
Jeff sighed. “Okay. Fine.” He added to Biko, “Don’t even try to argue with her when she’s like this. Take my word