Page 88 of The Kingpin's Call Girl

“And I’m not going anywhere—for now,” I say.

“Why just for now? That’s what I’m talking about. What about long term? What if you said, ‘I choose this life?’ It’s a good life, don’t you think?”

“Not that you’re biased.”

“Yes, I’m fucking biased,” Orton says, “but that doesn’t change the fact that this right here is good. What are you gonna do, move to a beach and take up watercolors?”

“Maybe.”

“Fuck you. You’d kill yourself after two weeks of that.” Orton stands. “I gotta go.”

“Wait.”

“What?”

“You still have that water glass from the other night? Edie’s glass?”

Orton furrows his brow. “Are you changing your mind about the prints?” I can tell from this that he kept it. Of course, he kept it.

“Go ahead and run them. Let me know what you find.”

“Is there a problem?”

“Just get me a report on her.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

EDIE

I get a Snapchat message from Janey that Darren has a “book for me,” which is his superspy dark-web way of letting me know he did the research I ordered.

Is it possible he could have located Mary? It’s probably too much to hope, but I can’t help it. Good things do happen sometimes.

I head out to his residence hall and wait at the bus stop across the street, per the instructions. A few minutes later he comes strolling up, acting all surprised to meet me, a real Oscar-winning performance.

“Hey, I have something for you!” He digs in his backpack and produces a copy ofThe Elements of Style, the familiar tan-cover edition with big black letters on the front.

“Thank you!”

He lowers his voice. “You’ll find my notes tucked inside of there, but I’m going to fill you in on some of the narrative right now.”

I nod.

“The last known address of your sister, Mary, is in Newark, in the South Ward.”

I straighten up. “Is that a current address?”

“No, sorry. When I followed up, the place had turned over two times, and nothing was forwarding. I’m guessing you know about the arrests, the last one for solicitation in November?”

“Yeah.”

“I poked around for known associates, but they’ve dispersed. If someone’s on the streets or couch surfing or whatever, it doesn’t always end up online, even on the dark web. People still need a reason to write about it.”

I nod. Ifonlyshe were couch surfing. I suppose it’s possible.

“You also asked for the down-low on Luka and his brother. The details are there, but long story short, he got good grades in school, no juvie rap sheet. The teachers seemed to like him well enough. He had one brother—Alteo—who was seven years older than him. At the age of twelve, Luka gets shipped off somewhere. Nobody knows where, but the consensus is an Albanian military academy. You’ll see three citations.”

I nod.

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