Zero Game - Brad Meltzer [45]
“You don’t; you just—”
“Waitaminute,” she interrupts. “Isn’t that the guy who got hit by the car?”
I reach out and snatch the newspaper photo from her hands.
Now she’s the one studying me. “Is he the one who had my nametag?”
I don’t answer.
“Why would he . . . ?” She stops herself, noticing my stare. “If it makes you feel better, I don’t know how he got it. I mean, I understand you’re upset about your friend’s accident . . .”
I look up as she says the word accident. She locks right on me. Her mouth hangs open, revealing her age—but her eyes show something different. She’s got depth in her gaze.
“What?” she asks.
I turn away, pretending to follow an imaginary sound.
“It was an accident, wasn’t it?”
“Okay, everybody calm down,” I say, forcing a laugh. “Listen, you should really get going, Viv. That’s your name, right? Viv? Viv, I’m Harris.” I extend a soft handshake and put my other hand on her shoulder. That one I got from the Senator. People don’t talk when they’re being touched. She doesn’t budge. But she still stares at me with those mocha eyes.
“Was it an accident or not?” she asks.
“Of course it was an accident. I’m sure it was an accident. Positive. I just . . . when Matthew was hit by the car, your nametag happened to be in one of the Dumpsters near the scene. That’s it. No big deal—nothing to panic about. I just figured if you saw anything . . . I promised his family I’d ask around. Now we at least know it was just something in the nearby trash.”
It’s a pretty good speech and would work on ninety-nine percent of the populace. The problem is, I still can’t tell if this girl is in the top one percent. Eventually, though, I get lucky. She nods, looking relieved. “So you’re okay? You got everything you need?”
In the ten minutes since I’ve met her, it’s the hardest question she’s asked. When I woke up this morning, I thought Viv would have all the answers. Instead, I’m back to another blank slate—and right now, the only way to fill the chalkboard is to figure out who else is playing the game. Matthew’s got files in his office . . . I’ve got notes in my desk . . . time to dig through the rest of the mess. The thing is, Janos isn’t stupid. The moment I try to step back into my life, he’ll stab his little shock box straight into my chest. I already tried calling in friends . . . Only a fool would risk that again. I glance around the tiny room, but there’s no way to avoid it—I don’t have a chance. Not unless I figure out how to make myself invisible . . . or get some help in that department.
“Thanks again for finding the nametag,” Viv interrupts. “Let me know if I can ever return the favor.”
I jerk my head toward her and replay the words in my head.
It’s not the safest bet I’ve ever made, but right now, with my life on the line, I don’t think I’ve got much of a choice. “Listen, Viv, I hate to be a pain, but . . . were you really serious about that favor?”
“S-Sure . . . but does it have to do with Matthew, because . . .”
“No, no—not at all,” I insist. “It’s just a quick errand—for an upcoming hearing we’re working on. You’ll be in and out in two minutes. Sound okay?”
Without a word, Viv scans the room around us, from the multiple keyboards to the stack of discarded office chairs. It’s the one flaw in my story. If everything were truly kosher, why’re we talking in a storage room?
“Harris, I don’t know . . .”
“It’s just a pickup—no one’ll even know you’re there. All you have to do is grab one file and—”
“We’re not supposed to do pickups unless they come through the cloakroom . . .”
“Please, Viv—it’s just one file.”
“I’m sorry about your friend.”
“I told you, it has nothing to do with Matthew.”
She looks down, noticing the stitching in the knee of my suit. I had a local dry cleaner sew up the hole from yesterday’s leap off the building. But the scar’s still there. Her hand goes back to fidgeting with her ID. “I’m sorry,” she says, her voice breaking slightly. “I can’t.”
Knowing better than to beg, I wave it off and force a smile. “No, I understand.