Zero Game - Brad Meltzer [43]
“Hello, who’s this?” a warm voice countered.
“Who’s this?” Viv countered.
“Andy,” the man answered. “Andy Defresne. Now, who’s this?”
“Viv.”
“Viv who?”
“Viv Parker,” she replied. “Is this . . . Is this some kinda joke? Thomas, is that you?”
There was a click. The phone went dead.
Viv hung up the receiver and looked up to check the corners of the ceiling. She saw something like this on Bloopers and Practical Jokes once. But there wasn’t a camera anywhere. And the longer Viv stood there, the more she knew she’d already been there too long.
Spinning around, she rushed to the door and clutched the doorknob in her sweat-covered hand. She fought to turn it, but it wouldn’t budge—like someone was holding it from the outside. She gave it one last twist, and it finally gave. But as the door swung open, she stopped in her tracks. A tall man with messy black hair was blocking her way.
“Viv, huh?” the man asked.
“I swear, you touch me, and I’ll scream so loud, it’ll make your nuts shatter like crystal . . . uh . . . like crystal balls.”
“Relax,” Harris said as he stepped inside. “All I want to do is talk to you.”
17
I SEARCH FOR A NAMETAG on the girl’s lapel. It’s not there. Reading my reaction, she’s obviously scared. I don’t blame her. After what happened with Matthew, she should be.
“Stay back,” she threatens. Stepping backward into the room, she takes a deep breath, winding up to scream. I raise my hand to cut her off; then, out of nowhere, she tilts her head to the side.
“What a minute . . .” she says, raising an eyebrow. “I know you.”
I match her raised eyebrow with one of my own. “Excuse me?”
“From that . . . from the speech you gave. With the pages . . .” She bumps back into the edge of the conference table and looks up at me. “You were . . . you were really good. That bit about making the right enemies . . . I thought about that for a week.”
She’s trying to sweet-talk. My guard’s already up.
“And then when you . . .” She cuts herself off, staring at her feet.
“What?” I ask.
“That thing you did with the Lorax . . .”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Nu-uh . . . c’mon—you put that pin on Congressman Enemark. That was . . . that was the coolest thing ever.”
Like I said, my guard’s up. But as I spot the wide-eyed smile on her face, I’m already starting to second-guess. At first glance, she’s slightly imposing, and it’s not just from the dark navy suit that adds another year or two to her age. Her height alone . . . almost five feet eleven . . . she’s taller than me. But the longer she stands there, the more I see the rest of the picture. Back against the table, she slumps her shoulders and lowers her neck. It’s the same trick Matthew used to use to make himself look shorter.
“He never found out, did he?” she asks, suddenly hesitant. “About the Lorax, I mean?”
She’s trying not to push, but excitement’s getting the best of her. At first, I assumed it was all an act. Now I’m not so sure. I narrow my eyes, studying even closer. The frayed stitching on her suit . . . the worn creases in her white shirt . . . She’s definitely not from money, and the way she’s fidgeting and trying to hide a loose button, it’s still an issue for her. It’s hard enough to fit in when you’re seventeen; it’s even worse when everyone around you is at least a decade or two older. Still, her mocha brown eyes have a real age to them. I’m guessing early independence from the lack of cash—either that or she’s getting the Oscar for best actress. Only way to find out which is to get her talking. “Who told you about the Lorax?” I ask.
She shyly turns away at the question. “You can’t tell him I told you, okay? Please promise . . .” She’s truly embarrassed.
“You have my word,” I add, pretending to play along.
“It was LaRue . . . from the bathroom.”
“The shoeshine guy?”
“You promised you wouldn’t say anything. It’s just . . . we saw him in the elevator . . . He was laughing, and Nikki and I asked what’s so funny and he said it, but no one’s supposed to know. He swore us to secrecy . . .” The words tumble