The
Streets Of New YorkThe
Streets Of New York© Sidney McCabe
Chapter Five
And
it’s the damage that we do
and never
know
It’s the
words that we don’t say
that scare
me so
* * *
It was early. The sun was only just beginning to rise over the Manhattan skyline, and in the apartment all was still and quiet, the scent of coffee lively and fresh in the kitchen. Kid set his mug of tea down on the table and stared intently at Louise. "I really wish you'd call a doctor."
A flash of annoyance passed over Lou's face as she glared back at him. "I'll call a doctor when I'm ready to, Kid."
"But it's been weeks now and you're still knackered all the time."
She ignored him, turning her back to him as she fixed her breakfast: orange juice and toast. Her stomach rebelled at the very thought, but she had to make some pretence of eating. "It doesn't happen every day," she reminded him.
"Often enough."
Lou snorted to herself. Was he really so obtuse? Did he really not have the slightest inkling she could be pregnant? The nausea in the mornings, the frazzled nerves, the fatigue; did he really not have a clue?
"I just worry about you, love, that's all."
Just as quickly as her temper had flared, Lou found it diminishing again, and she turned back to him with a smile on her lips. Poor Kid. It wasn't his fault he suspected nothing. Wasn't she keeping it all from him? Wasn't she the one who ran into the bathroom and pretended to take a shower so that he couldn't hear her retching into the toilet over the running water? Wasn't she the one who pretended to eat enormous lunches when in fact she had eaten nothing but a handful of saltine crackers? All Kid knew was that she was tired all the time, and cranky. He didn't know the truth, because she was keeping it from him.
"If I don't feel better soon, I'll see a doctor," she assured him.
Kid's brow furrowed, but he knew better than to press the subject, particularly as Lou's moods were less than predictable these days. Instead he contented himself with watching her, drinking in her fresh-faced beauty, the gentle curve of her lips and mouth. Her skin was pale and the grey circles smudged under her eyes seemed even darker first thing in the morning, but she still managed to take his breath away.
"What?" Lou asked finally, flushing under his scrutinising gaze.
"Nothing," he said, smiling. He closed his eyes and sighed sleepily, resting his head against the wall next to him. He was useless first thing in the mornings.
Lou sighed in turn, setting her glass of juice down on the tabletop and staring down at her hands. Probably it was just her imagination, but she thought she could already detect signs of swelling. Her insides were currently in turmoil, fighting to rise into her throat, but she did her best to wrestle them back down to where they belonged. She couldn’t afford to go running out of any more morning meetings in order to empty the meagre contents of her stomach into the women’s restroom toilets. Not that she ever ran. No, she was very careful about that. It just wouldn’t do to draw attention to herself yet.
But things couldn’t be hidden forever. More than one member of the STF had commented on Lou’s green pallor, her failing appetite, and the exhaustion that seemed to weigh her delicate limbs down. Abbie Narducci, a sharp-eyed mother of two, already seemed to be sizing Lou up at the most inopportune moments, and Lou knew that it was only a matter of time before she was finally asked the question. The question she was dreading.
There was a sharp snore from Kid’s direction, and when she looked over, Lou was amused to see that he had fallen back asleep. A loving smile passed over her lips and she reached out to smooth his curly hair back from his forehead.
The thought came unbidden to her mind—A baby. We’re going to have a baby.
At least, that’s what four different pregnancy tests had said. Dr Ryan hadn’t called back yet with the confirmation, but Lou knew this was only a formality. All the signs were there, and well, how could you argue with four different tests?
A baby. We’re going to have a baby.
Suddenly panic and adrenaline rushed through Lou in equal measures and she was certain she was going to be sick again. She stood up from the table in a rush and darted toward the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. For several long, agonising minutes she stood over the sink, staring at her face in the mirror, waiting for the nausea to subside. When it had passed she let go her hold on the counter and backed against the wall, sliding down till she sat on the cool floor.
I can’t do this, she thought. How can I do this? I have never done anything in my entire life to prepare myself for this moment. I’ll fail; I know I’ll fail.
Lou shivered at the realisation and buried her face in her arms. She had never, in all her life, been as frightened as she was now. She had faced down criminals with guns bigger than her own; she had once been trapped in a car whose engine was on fire; she had lived through those terrible hours when they had thought Nan was dead, and she didn’t know why, but the knowledge that she was pregnant seemed to frighten her more than anything she had ever experienced.
She’d never really thought about having children, at least, not in the concrete. In the abstract, certainly. Somewhere down the line she was certain that a child or two would factor into her future. But that was her future. That was for later, maybe years down the line, after she and Kid were married, after she had accomplished everything she had set out to accomplish with the NYPD.
It wasn’t meant to happen now.
Glancing at her watch, Lou realised it was after six and she and Kid had better hurry if they were to make it to the precinct by seven. She rose to her feet once more—too quickly it seemed, for her head suddenly began to spin and she had to grasp the sink again to steady herself.
Lou gasped and drew in short, quick little breaths, mentally cursing herself for such weakness. This wasn’t what it was supposed to be like. She had taken such good care of herself, she was a strong woman; how could a few weeks of pregnancy throw her for such a loop?
She woke Kid a few minutes later and he smiled at her with that bashful, embarrassed smile that always tore so at her heart. He apologised for falling asleep, and he kissed her enthusiastically when she teased him. They both finished readying themselves and within twenty minutes they were out the door and making their way toward the subway.
They strolled along in the still-cool morning, hand in hand, and Lou told herself to enjoy mornings like this while they lasted. It would take a hell of a lot longer than twenty minutes to get out the door once a baby was in their lives. No more lazy Sunday mornings in bed, reading the Times and eating lox and bagels. No more dashing off spontaneously to Connecticut for romantic weekend getaways. No more ‘dashing’ off anywhere, actually, come to think of it. There was no way Lou would be hurrying anywhere in another few months, not when her body would be expanding to gravity-defying dimensions.
A baby. We’re going to have a baby.
Another thought occurred to Lou, so suddenly it nearly robbed her of her breath. How in the world am I supposed to do my job? Clutching Kid’s hand tighter, her mind raced at the implications. There was no way—there was just no way. She couldn’t do her job and be pregnant at the same time. Her job involved stakeouts and undercover operations and running—literally running—when the need arose. She wouldn’t be able to stay with the STF; she would be relegated to some dusty desk job. ‘The place where careers go to die,’ as Cody had once put it. Lou’s spirit descended miserably to her shoes.
Luckily Kid still hadn’t quite woken up. He didn’t seem to notice her distressed silence as he fought to stay upright and awake on the ride to work. Lou’s thoughts churned tempestuously all the way and she wanted to cry. It was at times like this that she desperately missed the presence of a mother figure. The women on the STF were far too close to her own age to fit this particular bill, and the closest she had was Evelyn Majors, but at the thought of confiding in the tall, imposing head of the NYPD, Lou almost had to smile. It was incomprehensible.
Emma Shannon had come close during Lou’s tenure with the Area Major Incident Team. She still kept in touch with the wonderful, kindly faced woman, but the thousands of miles between them didn’t exactly lend themselves to close friendship. There was always Rachel Dunne, she supposed, but since Rachel’s estrangement from Teaspoon, that didn’t seem likely either.
Maybe I can talk to Nan. But after a moment this seemed unlikely too. Lou was very fond of Nan, but there was a sharpness to the other young woman that she had never quite warmed to. Nan was so ambitious, so single-minded in a way, that Lou was sure that if she confided in her, Nan would be at a loss, and no help whatsoever.
So I’m on my own, she told herself with a sigh, at least till I tell Kid.
The subway ride was over far too quickly and before she knew it, Lou was following Kid up the steps of the precinct and into the team room. It was already full—she spotted Nan and Jimmy in the midst of the small crowd—and the noise level was beginning to rise. Buck was passing out bagels while Ike set out plastic knives and tubs of cream cheese.
It was a familiar sight, as were the animated greetings from the other officers, and Lou’s heart twisted inside her. Then it quickly gave way to determination. She was nothing if not practical. There was no point getting worked up over possibilities. It was best to deal only with facts.
There was a small murmur amongst the group as Rosemary Burke sailed into the team room. Lou flinched, trying as always to fight against her inherent dislike of this woman. She had known her since the later years of her marriage to Jimmy, and Rosemary had never endeared herself to Lou in any way. It was almost painful, really, to see her attempting to front this team that Lou had loved and worked with for eight years. It was bad enough that Teaspoon was leaving, but the possibility of Rosemary Burke taking his place was unbearable.
Immediately she clapped her hands and called for attention. It took a few seconds, but the room finally stilled and there was silence as the officers looked expectantly at Rosemary. Lou caught the narrowed gaze on Nan’s face and bit back a smile of amusement. Nan was a wonderful police officer, but she wasn’t always able to keep her poker face.
“I’ll be handing out assignments today,” Rosemary said without preamble. “Each and every one of you should be prepared to search high and low for the subjects in question. You will find them, you will interview them.” Her voice was strident and forceful. “I don’t want any convenient excuses. If you have to search each and every borough in this fine city of ours, then that’s what you’ll do.” She shrugged. “That’s what you’re paid to do.”
Lou’s hackles rose and she could see that everyone around her had stiffened as if in preparation for combat with Rosemary. They were police officers, they didn’t exactly expect milk and cookies, but they were used to a measure of respect, and respect was one thing definitely lacking in Rosemary’s Burke’s directions.
“Another thing,” she continued, “is that I think you’ve all been left to your own devices for far too long. It’s time to mix and match these cosy little groups we all seemed to have carved out for ourselves.” Glancing down at the paper in her hands, she began to read off the newly assigned partnerships. “You’ll be separated into teams of two for the day, and they are as follows: Kidwell and Reilly; Dixon and MacLean; O’Malley and Narducci; Kenworthy and Rowling; McCloud and Anello…” She quickly rattled off each pairing before concluding, “Hickok and Burke.”
“She bloody well did not,” Kid muttered under his breath. “Of all the effing cheek.”
Cody was fuming in agreement, his arms folded over his chest indignantly. He had been around for the demise of Jimmy and Rosemary’s marriage, and the memories were still fresh in his mind. “She’s got a lot of damn nerve. I have half a mind to go over there and—”
“And what, Cody?” Lou asked tiredly. “Teaspoon’s not going to let you interfere with Rosemary’s decisions. And even if he did, she’d be crying ‘favouritism’ all over the NYPD.” She shook her head angrily. “Just let her dig her own grave, that’s all we can do.”
“But what the hell is she playing at?” Kid demanded in frustration. “Pairing herself up with her ex-husband? I mean, what is she playing at?”
The three friends glanced across the room to where Jimmy and Nan were engaged in what looked to be an intense conversation. Jimmy was pale and stricken, while Nan looked ready to skin someone with her bare hands. The moment would have been comical if it had not been for the look Rosemary was shooting them across the room. It seemed to fairly glitter with triumph, and Lou had to fight her own urge to charge across the room toward her.
She turned back to Cody and Kid. “This is ridiculous. She’s been here how many weeks?—and she’s turned this team upside down. I don’t care about the stupid pairings; I care about what she’s doing to us.”
“Come on, Lou, it’s not so bad as all that,” offered Kid, hoping to comfort her. “I mean, I’ll be the first to agree she’s a complete and utter cow, but…she’s not been terrible so far.”
“No, Lou’s right. It’s only the beginning. I’ve worked with this woman before, Kid. She’s ruthless,” said Cody.
Kid chewed his lip thoughtfully and then flashed a hopeful smile at Lou. “Well, if she’s aiming to get back on Jimmy’s good side, I reckon she’s got a battle ahead of her. He’s mad for Nan.”
Lou snorted disbelievingly in response. “Believe me, Kid, that’s not all she’s aiming for.”
Moments later the STF officers had scattered into their various pairings. Lou caught sight of Shane Rowling and Nan heading for the door, Nan tossing a worried, backward glance at Jimmy as she did so. Lou’s heart went out to the other young woman; she knew the insecurities that had once plagued Nan were probably making a reappearance thanks to Rosemary Burke.
“Ready?” asked a low voice at her side.
When Lou looked up it was into dark brown eyes and the towering figure of Joe Anello. His perpetual scowl was in full evidence as he gazed down at her, and there was no warmth in the smile he offered in return for hers.
“Ready,” she agreed.
She and Anello had been assigned to locate Arnold Brachmeier, an evasive pickpocket who had given statements to the police off and on over the past six or seven years. His last known residence was Queens, so she and Anello would begin there.
They took an unmarked squad car at Anello’s insistence, and Lou was grateful to be spared the long walk to the subway station. She studied Brachmeier’s file in the car on the way over, spouting facts to Anello now and then as he drove. He only nodded or murmured in reply and after a while Lou grew annoyed. Anello was fairly new to the STF, having joined less than ten months ago, and his constant surly expression had long ago worn at Lou’s nerves. Combined with the inexplicable respect he seemed to have for Rosemary, it was all she could do to be civil to him. After a while she gave up trying to engage him in any sort of conversation and she fell silent as well.
Forcing her mind away from the doctor’s call that still hadn’t come, Lou’s thoughts turned instead to Frankie James. She had known of the man and his reputation since before joining the STF. He had been the subject of her thesis at the academy and so her research had begun on him years ago. But she had never had the opportunity to put her knowledge to any use, as both Frankie and Elizabeth were largely under the FBI’s jurisdiction. The possibility of working on any case involving him was exciting, and it irritated her to know that if the connection to Frankie was proven to be a direct link, then this arson case would be turned over to the feds as well.
The sudden ringing of a cell phone interrupted her reverie, and it took a moment for her to determine that it was her phone and not Anello’s. She reached for it and checked the display: DR L. RYAN.
Lou’s heart once more plummeted to the floor. She pressed the ‘talk’ button and swallowed nervously. “Hello?” she said, ignoring Anello’s curious expression.
“Louise?”
“Yes?”
“This is Dr Ryan.”
“Yes?” It seemed to be all she could manage.
“How are you?” asked the lilting Southern voice.
“F-fine,” stammered Lou. “How are you?”
Lou could sense the doctor’s sweet, amused smile as she replied, “I’m just fine. Of course, I’m sure you know that there’s a reason for my phone call.”
“Of course.” Oh God, I’m going to be sick again. Right here in front of Anello. How embarrassing!
“Are you alone?” asked Dr Ryan.
“I’m afraid not.”
“Maybe I should call back?”
“No!” exclaimed Lou with much more force than she had intended.
“Okay,” Dr Ryan chuckled. Then, “All right, Louise, are you ready for your test results?”
Lou turned her head toward the window, wishing she could disappear from Anello’s gaze altogether. She clutched the phone tighter to her ear as if afraid Dr Ryan’s soft voice would carry to his ears. She exhaled deeply. “I’m ready.”
“Louise, as my sweet Southern mama used to say, you have got a biscuit in the oven.”
The blood rushed immediately south from Lou’s head and the world seemed to spin violently. She couldn’t possibly have formed a response at that moment to save her life.
“Louise?” Dr Ryan sounded worried. “I’m sorry, that was terrible of me to be flippant like that. I only—“
“Oh no, no!” Lou hastened to reassure her. “It’s fine. You’re fine. Please—It’s fine.” She and Dr Ryan had had a laughing discussion about Dr Ryan’s crazy Southern expressions at times, and Lou knew it was only her way of easing the news. “I’m sorry, I just—Well, you know.”
Dr Ryan was soothing. “Of course I do. I’m so sorry to throw you for a loop at the start of your day.”
“It’s fine. I did ask, after all,” Lou tried to laugh but it came out sounding as if she was choking. ‘Thank you for calling.”
“Of course. I love to call my patients to give them the good news.” Dr Ryan laughed self-consciously. “Well, I’ll have my secretary call you back to arrange your first appointment.”
“Thank you.”
“Bye, Louise.”
“Goodbye.” Louise shut her cell phone and warred against her desperate urge to rest her head on her knees and sob in frustration and confusion.
A baby. We’re going to have a baby.
Senator Mitchell Grandison's home had been passed down through his family, from generation to generation, for the past 100 years. It was a stately mansion built by the famed French architect, Francois Lambert, and the Grandisons had always been enormously proud of it. It was four stories high and each story was more gorgeous than the last.
The first floor was used primarily for entertaining. The dining room could easily seat twenty, the living room was open, cheery, and ornately furnished, and the parlour had been converted into a small, but beautiful ballroom. The second floor held the family living quarters--six spacious bedrooms, three bathrooms, and a library that would have made any book-lover go weak at the knees. The servants' quarters had once been housed on the third floor, but as there were now only two housekeepers, a gardener, and a chef--none of whom lived at the mansion--this floor had been converted into Mitchell Grandison's administration headquarters. There were three offices--one for Mitchell, one for his secretary, and one for his assistant--and yet another library, this one filled to the brim with every imaginable book on history, politics, and law. There was also a receiving room, where the Senator met with other politicians and heads of state.
The first floor was elegant yet welcoming; the second warm and cosy, very home-like; the third floor was all business, imposing yet not overwhelmingly so. Yet it was the fourth floor that was the crowning glory of the Grandison Mansion. It held an atrium the likes of which had never been seen outside of the gardens at Giverny. It encompassed the entire floor, a vast, sprawling, breathtaking piece of landscaping. Flowers seemed to be sprinkled haphazardly throughout, but were in fact placed strategically by the gardener, Chauncey, who regarded the atrium as his own personal property and responsibility. There were trees and shrubbery, a water fountain and pond with coy fish, and always there was a smell of fresh, clean air. This was where Mitchell Grandison went to relax when a bill he supported was killed in Congress; where Nina Grandison went after her husband called to say that he would be missing dinner yet again; it was where the Grandison children went with homework, with friends, with tears, or when they just needed to be alone. Even the wealthiest visitors--some who had homes in Italy and Hawaii, sprawling homes that put the Grandison Mansion to shame--remembered the atrium with pangs of envy after a visit.
It was a home, despite its lofty mansion status. It was elegant, yet worn with passing years, a family home. A home to be proud of. And Elizabeth France watched as it began to burn.
She stood across the street, leaning against the fence that surrounded the park opposite the mansion. The night was sweltering already, and the flames that were beginning to leap into the air only added to the heat and humidity. Elizabeth crossed one long, bare leg over the other, tugging at the edge of her skirt. People were crowding around the house, murmuring to one another. The scream of sirens was growing nearer.
Elizabeth's face twisted in irritation as she watched, and she tapped one foot impatiently. The flames were growing higher now, spilling out of the first floor, rising to the second. A burst of anxious fear spread in the crowd as the first floor windows suddenly exploded with the pressure of the fire, sending huge shards of glass shattering across the street.
Such a shame about the house, Elizabeth thought to herself. It was as gorgeous inside as it was out; there really hadn't been any need to destroy it. Typical. Typical of him to act so foolishly.
As she watched, a man, rail thin and dressed in a leather jacket, neared her, his pale hair glowing under the lamplight. He drew closer. "Well, hello there," he said, his eyes roving appreciatively over her slender form. He had a low voice and a strange, unrecognisable accent.
Elizabeth ignored him. The smell of the fire was beginning to curl in her nostrils.
The man gazed at Elizabeth's strawberry-blonde hair, cascading over her back in soft waves. He could see her pale legs stretched out from under her shorts. She was beautiful. "I said 'hello'."
An amused smile quirked at Elizabeth's lips. "I heard you."
"Well, it's common courtesy to say 'hello' back."
"Get lost." She continued to survey the fire.
"What's a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?"
She snorted, unimpressed. "A new spin on an old line; very classy."
The man smiled, not perturbed in the least. "Can't blame a guy for trying."
Elizabeth shifted on her feet, eyes remaining fixed on the fire as it now encompassed the second floor. She remembered the little girl's room, all dainty pink and white, and felt a tiny pang of regret. But she fought it away. "What don't you understand about 'get lost'?"
Now the man was smiling. He leaned sideways against the fence, staring at her delicate profile. He liked that she was as tall as he was, he liked that he didn't have to look down at her, but could see straight into her eyes. "Why don't you explain the exact connotation?" he persisted.
"It's not possible to use smaller words. Shall I use some profanity? Would that show you how much I mean it?"
"Well, you're a saucy wench."
"Forgive me for not being swept off my feet by some mangy, halfway house-reject who saunters by on the city streets at ten-thirty."
The man watched her admiringly; she was even more beautiful when she was angry. He shifted his weight against the fence and crossed his feet at the ankles, continuing to gaze at her as she stared unblinking across the street at the growing inferno.
"Can I interest you in joining me for a coffee?" he asked finally. The tone of his voice betrayed no awkwardness, no hint that the situation was absurd in the least.
For the first time Elizabeth turned to look at him. Orange-red light danced across his face, obscuring it in a complex combination of fiery shadows. There was a burst of exploding glass and another roar rose from the crowd. "Are you for real?" she demanded. She had to shout to be heard, for the sirens had at last rounded the corner and the sound was deafening.
The man only nodded impishly and even in the shadows Elizabeth could see a wicked gleam in his eyes. He leaned closer and before she could think to flinch, his lips were at her ear. "Hadn't you better be going? The police will be here at any moment and you're a wanted woman."
No sooner had he spoken the words than half a dozen squad cars arrived on the heels of the fire engines, in a haze of ear-splitting sirens and flashing red and blue. The firemen were already leaping to the ground and unwinding the fire hose. The squad cars squealed to a halt and police officers spilled out, immediately rushing to push back the crowd of gawking onlookers. Elizabeth watched impassively from her vantage point across the street, forgetting the man at her side for a moment.
She felt fingers brush her neck in an intimate, achingly familiar gesture; a gesture that sent her pulse racing with memory and want. Sudden realisation swept over Elizabeth in a blinding flash of cold and heat, and she knew--she knew...
She whirled around, her heart quickening in fear and apprehension, but the man was gone. There was only warmth on her skin and a lingering scent of leather and cologne to indicate he'd ever been there in the first place.
But it didn't matter.
She knew who he was.
*lyrics quoted are from ‘Accidents Will Happen’ by Elvis Costello
