Page 25 of The Kingpin's Call Girl

I stare out the window, reviewing my mnemonic devices and reciting the names, dates, and places that I heard.

With every repetition, I’m clawing myself back to stable, secure ground where doing the right thing is the right thing. That’s where I prefer to live.

But I can’t stop thinking about the money. I could open a savings account and put it toward the life I want to build for Mary and me—a little house in a seaside town with a garden like we dreamed of when we were kids.

I’d get a job teaching high school and support Mary while she cleans up her act. I owe her at least that much for all she’s done for me.

I shake the thoughts out of my head. Taking the money is not who I am.

It’s after three a.m. when I arrive. The place is like a 1950s diner with chrome and sparkly red vinyl on the chairs and fifties-style neon stuff all over. These Bronx places are less crowded than the ones in Manhattan. No lines. No hovering. Open tables.

Bender is at a side table, hunched over a cup of coffee. He’s a big man, a bruiser type with pale cheeks and hair in a crew cut.

He smiles when he sees me. “You made it!”

“I did, and I did what you asked.”

“Good going. Coffee?”

“Ginger ale,” I say.

He signals the waitress and orders. I can feel him looking at me strangely. “You didn’t answer your phone.”

“Yeah. I need a piece of paper or something.”

He takes out a little spiralbound notepad as the waitress delivers my drink. I begin to write. Name, place, name, place.

I can feel him studying me. “You remembered all this?”

“I’m on a history scholarship at Columbia. I can memorize a few names.”

“Fair enough.”

I add all the details about Zedd, and then I stop writing. If he knew the rest of it, would I be in more trouble?

“Is that it?” he asks.

“No, there’s more. But let me clarify—does the completion of this task absolve me of the charge of prostitution? Because you know that’s not what I am. I want you to admit that you knew I wasn’t a prostitute all along, that I was just looking for my sister.”

“Yeah, that’s our deal.”

“And you’ll help me find my sister now.”

“Again. That’s our deal.”

“Is that ayes?”

“Yes,” he says, annoyed. Like I’m playing schoolgirl games.

“Okay.” I make a line and write “Luka Zogaj, Orton, silent man arrive.” I start jotting down the stuff Luka said.

“Wait—Luka Zogaj was there?”

“He came and sat down after a while, yes.”

Bender’s sitting up at full attention now, just like the people at the table did when they saw Luka.

“Luka himself?” The way he says it, you’d think Bigfoot visited.

---