Page 23 of Hard Hitter
She was getting all worked up again, her small body tense in his arms. “All right.” He thought about it for a moment. “Let me take a look at your broken window. Can you call the super?”
“I am the super.”
“Ah.” He chuckled. “We need a piece of plywood, then.”
With a sigh, she untangled herself from him. “I have one already, because the kids in the neighborhood have broken windows before. With baseballs, though.”
He followed her upstairs to have a look at the damage. There was broken glass all over the floor. “You’re not wearing shoes,” he pointed out. “Let me do this.”
She opened her mouth and then closed it again. “I’ll get the broom and some damp paper towels.”
Luckily, the room had hardwood floors instead of carpeting. It didn’t take them long to sweep up the mess and fit the board into the window. But O’Doul hated the look of dismay on her face as she stared up at it. “God, if I replace it, will he just break it again?”
“It’s too late to worry about it tonight, anyway. Are you packed for Montreal?” he pointed at a suitcase against the wall.
“Yes.”
He picked it up. “Let’s go. You can’t stay here tonight. And in twelve hours you’ll be on the way to the airport.”
“Where are we going?”
Good question. “Anywhere you want. But unless you have a better idea, my place. I’m just on Water Street.” The freaked-out look on her face was having a strange effect on him. He’d do anything to get rid of it.
“Okay,” she said. “I... God, I’msuchan idiot.” She was staring at the boarded-up window again, as if trying to figure out how it got that way.
“Come on now,” he said softly. “It’s going to be all right.” He carried her bag down the stairs and told her to gather her coat and handbag. She did these things as if in a trance, and then she followed him outside.
SIX
When they got out to the sidewalk, O’Doul stopped to take a look at the building’s exterior. Ari followed his gaze, wondering what he saw. The first-level windows were guarded by decorative iron bars. That’s how it was done in Brooklyn. There was a fire escape on the rear corner of the building. The ladder didn’t reach very close to the ground, and Ari had never worried about it before. But if Vince were angry enough, he might use it to gain access to the second floor.
“Who lives up there?” O’Doul asked, pointing to the third level.
“Maddy, my tenant. That’s her entrance,” she pointed at the door beside her own. “I’ll e-mail her tonight and give her a heads up. She already knows that Vince is a loose cannon, though. She won’t even be surprised.”
So why am I?
Two months ago, she’d lived with the man. She would have even said she loved him. Now he was calling her awful names from the street and throwing a brick through her window.
She followed O’Doul down the sidewalk, trying to wrap her head around it.
“Vince is your ex?” O’Doul asked eventually.
“Yeah. Long story.”
“I’ve got time.”
Sigh. “I threw him out six weeks ago. But we were together for eight years, since I was twenty-one, and a waitress at his club in Manhattan. I was young and stupid.”
“Weren’t we all.”
She gave him a grateful look. “In my defense, he used to treat me really well. He was an older, successful man—he’s thirty-nine now. I was attracted to his confidence. He treated me like a queen for years—until things stopped going well for him.”
“And then?”
This part wasn’t easy to tell. “He became overextended. When I met him he owned a club and had an interest in another. But over the years he tried to expand his empire, and it was harder than he thought it would be. I think he got into business with some people he shouldn’t have trusted. I’m pretty sure they screwed him over. Every year it got a little worse. One of the clubs recently had a bunch of drug busts, and they lost their liquor license. And I think Vince owes a bunch of people money. But to listen to him, it’s always someone else’s fault. This past year I tried to ask more questions, and he didn’t like that at all.”
This story was interrupted by their arrival at the front door of O’Doul’s building. A uniformed doorman opened the door for them. “Evening, Mr. O’Doul. Will you need a car tomorrow morning?”
