all saying the same thing—that you found a body, somebody named Eliza Compton.” More tap-tapping. “The Fox website has footage up.”
“What else are they saying?”
“Shot to death in quiet cul-de-sac. Neighbors shocked. No leads. Anyone with information blah blah blah. They’re calling it a homicide. That true?”
An Asian man got off the elevator and stood within three feet of me. He wore an Atlanta Braves baseball hat and carried a big foam hand on a stick. It was yellow. He was grinning.
“Oh yeah,” I replied. “Definitely a homicide. No gun in the car, though, not that I could see anyway.”
The guy with the baseball hat stared and his grin faded. I smiled his way, did the tomahawk chop. He smiled back and returned the gesture, then headed out, humming a war chant under his breath.
“So yeah,” I finished. “Murdered.”
Down the counter, Security Guy remained vigilant. Another clerk chatted with him now, this one a dazzling brunette. She ran a hand through her hair, tucked it behind her ear. He kept his gaze fastened on me.
Rico’s voice was serious. “This is deep shit you’re talking. You called a lawyer, right? Doesn’t your brother work for some fancy people who would know a fancy lawyer?”
I made a noise. “Don’t worry about Eric, he’s good at covering his ass.”
“We’re not talking about his ass, sweetie. That’s your ass up there on 11 Alive News at Ten.”
“I didn’t even know this girl!”
Rico snorted. “Like the APD cares. They got prostitutes to push, drug cartels to run—”
“This is ridiculous.”
“So say all suspects.”
“Rico!”
“I’m for real! And don’t think for a second they’re not looking at that assload of weapons you inherited and—” He muttered a curse. “Crap, I gotta go. You gonna be okay tonight?”
“It’s the Ritz. Safe as Disneyworld. I’m just gonna get one drink—”
Rico made a noise.
“C’mon, Rico, it’s on my wayward brother’s tab. One drink. And then it’s lights out for me, I promise.”
“In that case, comb the hair,” he said. “And some lipstick wouldn’t hurt, you know what I’m sayin’?”
***
The Ritz-Carlton bar was low-lit and walnut-paneled, plush in a very masculine sort of way. Mostly empty too, which was not unwelcome. I sat down and ordered a top shelf mojito. The bartender slid a napkin in front of me and pulled down the rum. That was when I noticed Security Guy standing at the entrance of the bar, arms folded. Staring at me. Again.
I crooked a finger his way. He cocked his head and frowned, but to my surprise, he came right over. Up close, he was not as tall as I’d first thought, maybe six one tops. Narrow of hip, long of leg, the kind of build made for running.
I smiled up at him. “You’re Mr. Seaver,” I said. “And you’re kind of relentless, anybody ever tell you that?”
He didn’t reply. His eyes were blue, startlingly so, and he directed them like x-rays. The bartender pretended to be engrossed in mashing up mint leaves, but his ears pricked our way. I lowered my voice.
“Look, I know you’re watching me, so just do me the courtesy of admitting it, all right?”
After the slightest hesitation, he nodded once, crisply.
I smiled wider. “See how easy that was? Now we can be friends.” I patted the stool beside me. “Would you like to sit down, maybe have a drink? I’m putting everything on somebody else’s tab tonight.”
He shook his head. “I don’t drink. Except for water. And hot tea.”
“Water like in ice water?”
“Water like in Pellegrino.”
“Ah.” I signaled the bartender. Then I stuck out my hand. “I’m Tai Randolph, by the way. Hi.”
He took my hand. He had a good handshake, firm enough for me to know what was behind it, but not so powerful that I thought my knuckles might pop.
“Yes, you are,” he replied. “Hi.”
The bartender delivered my mojito, which I charged to the room, along with one Pelligrino. My first sip was heaven, like sunshine and honey on the tongue, almost better than a cigarette. I took two more sips before continuing.
“So what was it about me that tipped you off? Oh God, please say it wasn’t Fox News. Apparently I looked terrible.”
“Not the news.”
“Courtesy call from the cops?”
“No.”
The bartender popped a bottle of Pellegrino and a glass on the counter. Mr. Seaver poured the fizzy water into the glass, then positioned the bottle exactly in the center of a napkin, which he then positioned exactly in the middle of the bar. He adjusted it a millimeter to make sure this was