Indefinite Renewal Page 18

  And he still didn’t. But Nick did. Or at least, he could get it, easily enough. And then, with the new abilities to work from, and Alexander’s own understanding and belief to guide him . . . .

  He stood abruptly and turned to go, pausing to retrieve the folder of stock information as an afterthought. Daniel watched him with concern on his face.

  “I’ve got to go,” Nick announced, already halfway to the door. “There are some things I need to do.”

  “All right.” Daniel didn’t try to stop him, fortunately. Nick braced himself for unwanted questions as his hand closed on the knob, but they didn’t come, and he turned slightly to see Daniel still watching him, a frown on his face.

  “I know that was a shock,” his father repeated slowly, “and I understand if you need some time to yourself to think about it. But don’t take it personally, okay?” He smiled again, and it seemed genuine. “You are one of us, Nick, and your place is here, with the rest of us. With me.”

  He thinks I’m leaving because I’m scared, Nick realized gleefully. In truth, Daniel’s outburst had frightened him at first, but he had recovered quickly, and then forgotten all about it when the last piece had been dropped into his lap. But he nodded his head now and let the older man think what he wanted.

  “I know,” he admitted, trying to put sincerity into his voice. “I just need some time to work things out, is all.” He held up the folder then, waved it half-heartedly. “But I will take care of this, don’t worry.” He grinned. “In a few days, maybe.”

  Daniel smiled back. “Good, good. There’s no rush, really.” He waved a hand casually. “Come back when you can, or when you’ve taken care of it.”

  “Right.” Nick pushed the door open and restrained himself from leaping out. “Bye.”

  “Indeed.”

  And the door slid shut behind him again, followed by the rapid patter of feet down the marble stairs. He barely paused to wave at Michael and exchange a hasty greeting with Marion before he was out the door and onto the street. Right now he needed to think this through carefully, make sure he knew what he was going to do. Then, tomorrow or the next day, he would head to the one place he was sure to find the type of person he needed. The chief source of true mysticism in the city—Chinatown.

  “Damn and blast!”

  “Great, just great! ‘He’ll come to us,’ you said! ‘For advice,’ you said!”

  “Shut up!”

  “He barely even spoke! And what he did say was either inconsequential or angry!”

  “Shut up!”

  “What’s wrong? I thought you said you had it all under control?”

  “It is under control, damn you! He just needs more time!”

  “I think it’s all unraveling before your eyes, and you don’t want to admit it. Face it, he’s more than you bargained for.”

  “Enough! Damn your soul, enough!”

  “I think you’ve taken ample care of that, don’t you?”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  ‘Stock-Market Procedures,’ the first page of the folder read—Nick yawned and almost shut it again, then steeled himself and read on. He had planned to go straight to Chinatown this morning, but had found himself putting it off, still a little unsure if what he was doing would work, and even less sure of whether he could actually go through with it.

  Class had been quiet—it was the last day before exams, and Nick had set it up as a catch-up and review day, for everyone to ask any last questions they might have. There had only been a few—most of them were tired of sitting there all semester, and just wanted to head home, and Nick had lacked the energy to motivate them. He missed Amy’s input, her raised hand and quizzical voice, the way her eyes lit up when she finally understood . . . he shook himself awake and back to the present.

  It was almost four now, and most of the stores he was interested in would already be shut for the day, so he had been sitting here in the office waiting for Gordo and Hillary to finish their classes, whiling away the time by straightening his desk and making notes on some late papers. Then the folder had caught his eye—he had stuck it into his bag this morning without thinking about it, and now it stared at him from the rare neatness of his desk.

  “All right,” he had muttered to himself, and it, and had scooped it up and arranged himself in his seat. Might as well read it now, he told himself, while you have the free time. Later in the week, after his other business was taken care of, he would deal with it more thoroughly. For now, it would be enough to read it over once and get some idea of what it was he was supposed to do, and maybe why, as well.

  ‘Stock-market procedures,’ he began again. Daniel’s handwriting was very neat, with a lot of flourishes and loops to it—from a distance the page looked more like some elaborate jigsaw puzzle than a sheet of notes. Perhaps it was deliberate—the man was paranoid enough to use secret messages, and Nick found himself looking for words and patterns within the space between each word. Maybe the loops added up to something? But he pushed that thought aside as well, and read further.

  ‘All purchases, sales, and arrangements are made through the brokerage firm of Hanson and Harrop,’ the notes explained. That seemed straightforward enough, and he stopped trying to see shapes between the lines. ‘The other contestants also conduct their business through this firm—it was thought that that might help prevent anyone from trying anything underhanded, duplicitous, or illegal. We each use different brokers, of course, but this way they all have access to the same amount of information, so that our outside help is more even.’

  Nick shook his head—these guys were insane! ‘Duplicitous and illegal’? That sounded like it meant insider trading, which was a federal offense—and these guys were talking about using it in a game! Crazy! Muttering to himself about the possibilities of endless senility, he continued on.

  ‘This number,’ and there was a ten-digit code, ‘will allow you to access and control any and all of my stocks. My broker is,’ yeah, yeah, that Hutton guy, Nick thought to himself, but the page showed no traces of humor to it, and he laughed at this sign of his own impending insanity, ‘ Thomas Lansford. His office is on the tenth floor of the H&H building, and his phone number is 348-4707. If you decide to conduct this business over the phone, be careful not to use your own home or office phone—the others may have bugged it, just to be safe.’ Man, this is better than a spy movie, he chortled, then turned to the next sentence. ‘If you decide to go in person, be careful to, . . .’

  A knock rattled the door.

  “Mr. Gordon?”

  Nick’s head swiveled toward the door—there was a woman standing in it, dressed in a Minnesota T-shirt and jeans, and it took him a minute to place her. It was the eyes that finally did it—a pale-blue stare that was all business. He straightened up and shut the folder, placing it on top of the stack on his desk.

  “Yes?” He frowned for a second, memory working. “Detective Kanson, isn’t it?”

  She nodded. “That’s right. May I come in?” He waved a hand toward Gordo’s chair, and she settled into it, glancing around her quickly before turning back to him.

  “You seem to have rather elusive officemates,” she noted, and he remembered that only Hillary had been in the first time she had come by, and had quickly excused herself.

  “They both have afternoon classes,” he explained, trying to guess what had brought her here. Had she found something? “They should be back in about ten, fifteen minutes, if you’d like to talk to them.”

  She shook her head quietly. “No, that’s all right—I was just wondering.” Her gaze fixed on him again, as cool as it had been weeks before. “I actually came to speak to you.”

  “Oh?” He leaned forward in his seat, his heartbeat racing. “What’s up?”

  “Do you remember the last time we talked?”

  He frowned. “You came here to ask about Amy and”—the almost invisible shake of her head made him concentrate a little harder—“no, that’s right, you called me at home, didn’
t you?” She nodded silently, and he pretended that the memory was vague. “Something about a man being seen with her, that night, outside the library.” He placed his hands on his knees to hide their tremors. “Have you found him? Or Amy?”

  “No,” the detective sighed, “not exactly. But we have gotten a little more information.” She frowned, eyes darkening a shade. “The only problem is, it’s even more confusing.” Her gaze swept over him again, and threatened to freeze his blood solid. “The student who had seen her with that man called me last week, Mr. Gordon, and told me that he had seen the man on campus again, in the daylight this time. He had been heading to a class here, in this building, and had spotted the man coming out—he was certain it was the same man.” A bitter smile touched her lips. “Apparently he was even wearing the gray overcoat again, even though it was short-sleeve weather out.”

  Damn, Nick cursed to himself. That day that Daniel had been here in the office, waiting for him! Who would have thought the same kid would see him, and recognize him? He forced himself to pay attention to what the detective was saying, and kept his face calm, a sinking feeling warning him where this was probably going.

  “. . . waited a day or two before calling me,” she was explaining, “because he wasn’t sure it was important.” She smiled again, a little less sad this time. “Naturally, when he did finally tell me, I thanked him and told him how helpful it was, and how grateful I’d be if he let me know about anything else he saw or remembered.” She brushed a loose strand of hair off of her forehead. “Then I came up here to try and track it down. It took me a few days, and no one was sure, but I finally got something I could work with.” She pulled a small notebook out of her purse, flipped it open to a page, and scanned it quickly, nodding to herself. Her eyes when she looked up again were almost white, and as cold as an Arctic wind.

  “One student told us that they saw the man in question on this floor, in this hallway. Another admitted that they had seen him step into an office here, and several others saw him leaving about half-an-hour later.” Her eyes burned a trail of icicles into his head. “It was this very office, Mr. Gordon.”

  He tried his best to act surprised—it wasn’t all that hard. He was startled, in fact, at how well she had put the pieces together, and he damned his father again for his so-called conviviality. Thanks for dropping by, Dad, he snarled to himself, but outwardly he just ran a hand through his hair and returned Detective Kanson’s stare.

  “Here? Are you sure?”

  She nodded gravely. “Yes—one of the students had a class with your officemate, Hillary O’Dounal, last semester, and she knew the room.” Her eyes threatened to crack the air between them. “Mr. Gordon, do you know this man? Is there anyone who might have reason to threaten you, or to harm someone to get at you?”

  That froze him for a moment, and it was a serious struggle to keep from smiling. She thought Daniel had been after him! It took him a second to shake his head, and he hoped she would see it as startled consideration.

  “No,” he managed to admit, “I can’t think of anybody who would have it in for me.” That much was true, at least. “Why? You think this guy was after me, and not Amy?”

  She shrugged slightly and returned her notebook to her purse before answering. “I’m not sure yet. Still, it is a possibility. The man was seen heading toward this building that night, and you were here at almost the same time—he might have been aiming for you all along, and then gone after Ms. Feldmar when he found out he had missed you.” She sighed again. “Or he might have gone after her as a way to get to you—perhaps he knew that she was one of your favorite students, and was trying to upset you.” The Detective shook her head. “I’m not sure. But the fact that he was seen here, in your office, suggests that it’s all connected to you somehow.” Her eyes studied him again. “I assume that means that you didn’t see him yourself?”

  “No,” he replied, shaking his head to hide his nervousness. “Do you know what time it was?”

  She retrieved her notebook and checked a page quickly. “Yes, the first student was afraid of being late for his class, which was at two-thirty, and the one who saw him enter here had gotten out of class half-an-hour early from a quiz, so it would have been about two o’clock.”

  Nick nodded. “I must have still been in class then,” he mused. That was true enough. “Which day was it?”

  She consulted again. “Thursday.”

  He paused as if trying to remember. “Yeah, I think we ran a little late that day,” he lied, trying to sound as if he weren’t sure. “We were talking about mitosis that week, and it took a while for everybody to get the hang of it.” Amy would have been badgering me for days, he thought wryly, and his eyes turned a little sad at the thought.

  Detective Kanson nodded. “Well, you were probably very lucky, Mr. Gordon,” she pointed out, standing up and stashing her notebook once again. “If it was you this man was after, that late class may have saved your life.” Nick stood as well, and follow her to the door.

  “You have my number,” she reminded him as she passed into the hall, and he nodded silently. “Call me if there’s anything, and keep an eye out for this guy. If it is you he wants, he’ll probably try again.”

  “Thanks,” Nick replied as he watched her leave. “I appreciate the warning.” She nodded without turning and continued down the hall, and a minute later was gone from sight. He waited another minute, to make sure she wasn’t coming back, then returned to his desk and dropped heavily into his seat, head cradled in his hands.

  Shit! This was all he needed! It had been several weeks, and they probably would have written Amy off as an unsolved mystery after another few had gone by—much as he hated to think of her life ending up as a manila folder in some police Unsolved file, it would have been best for everyone if it had been dropped like that. But Daniel had to come and visit him, and some kid had to recognize him, and now Kanson had something else to keep her interested in this, and in him, for a while.

  Damn it! He slammed his fist down on the desk. Dealing with all of Daniel’s shit was hard enough, not to mention the crap he had gone through trying to bring off his own plans, without having the police watching his every move!

  Calm down, he warned himself, and clenched both hands on his chair as he struggled to force himself out of his rage. They don’t know anything yet—I’ll just tell Daniel not to come here again, and in a few months they’ll decide that it’s just a slightly weirder unsolved case than usual, and that’ll be that. He stood up. Kanson was sharp—he couldn’t afford to give her anything that might help, and he couldn’t afford to sit around and wait to see whether she could figure it all out. He had to get on with his own activities now, get them wrapped up as soon as possible.

  Nick glanced at the clock and forced himself to untense coiled muscles. It was almost four-fifteen now. The others would be back soon, and they would all go to that new barbecue place on Tenth Street—for tonight he would try and forget about all of it, and just have a good time. But tomorrow—his hand tightened on the back of the chair, and the worn metal groaned dangerously. Tomorrow was Chinatown. He would find what he needed there, fit the pieces together—and then it wouldn’t matter what Detective Kanson managed to deduce about Daniel, or even about himself.

  None of it would matter.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Nick stepped down from the L terminal and glanced around him, and despite himself his breath caught in his throat. Chinatown. He had only been here a few times, even though he had grown up in the city, and every time he came he felt like he had stepped into a different world. Bright colors decorated the buildings, and gilded statues hung outside every door—there were paintings and large signs in bold Chinese letters over most entranceways, and several even had beaded curtains, swaying slightly in the breeze. People thronged the street, some wheeling small carts, some carrying rucksacks full of unidentified paraphernalia, some just walking with hands in their pockets—here was a man in a gray business
suit, there a woman in a traditional embroidered Chinese jacket, over on the other side of the street two young women in long flowing gowns of some shimmering fabric.

  Most of the people milling around him and pushing past him had sallow skin and glossy black hair, and for a moment Nick felt self-conscious about his own tan complexion and round eyes, then laughed at his own nervousness. Odd to feel like a stranger in your own native city!

  Chiding himself for his foolishness, and reminding himself that he was probably exactly the sort of customer they were looking for, he turned and surveyed the buildings around him.

  Across the street an attractive middle-aged woman was sitting on a narrow exterior stair, and she smiled and beckoned to him when he turned her way, but Nick fought down a blush and shook his head. That wasn’t what he was here for. Trying to avoid her glance again, he looked around him, struggling to make sense of the signs and displays that he could see. There was a supermarket, with fruits set out in front, and there books and pamphlets were set in the window to announce a bookstore. Over there, past them, was a yin-yang symbol, and Nick hurried over to that one, but a quick glance in revealed, not some old wise man with incense, but a group of young men and women in white robes, moving from stance to stance as they threw punches and kicks—his experiences from Williams recognized it as Tae Kwon Do.

  There’s got to be one around here somewhere, he thought angrily, and then decided to admit he was lost and ask for directions.

  “Excuse me, sir . . .” he began to an older man walking toward him, but the man ignored him and walked on by, to be quickly swallowed up by the crowd.

  “Pardon me, ma’am . . .” he inquired of a woman with a shopping bag, but she only glanced at him suspiciously and, hugging her bag to her chest, brushed past him and down the street. He tried several times, but each time it was the same—no one would talk to him, or even slow down in what they were doing. A pair of young boys jabbered at him in something he couldn’t make out, and laughed as they walked away, and a young woman giggled as he approached her, but no one seemed willing to help him, or even to take the time to speak with him.