Page 34

CHAPTER 34

NOTHING ABOUT GEORGE CRAWLEY’S apartment surprised me. Just inside his front door was a huge glass-fronted cabinet stuffed with Star Wars memorabilia and Sasquatch collectibles; manuals on how to locate the mythical beast were shoulder to shoulder with hand-painted 2-M Hover Tanks. We walked down the hall and passed a tidy room with a neatly made bed and a dressmaker’s mannequin by the window with some kind of velvet cloak hanging from its shoulders. There was an elaborate map spread out over a card table, with tiny painted figurines and symbol cards strategically placed on the fictional landscape.

“Maybe you guys should wait here.” George hovered uncertainly in his kitchen, which was full of fancy cocktail-making equipment. “The hiding spot’s not far away, but we might need to use it again if — ”

“Forget it,” Baby snapped. “We’re slapping an ankle monitor on Troy after this. Two ankle monitors. Now hand him over, nerd burger, before I start playing rough with your toys.”

George glanced worriedly at his cabinet, then led us back out into the apartment building’s hallway. We followed him three apartments down, then turned a corner.

“You have a second apartment?” I asked.

“No.” George sighed. “But I know this one is empty. The real estate agents have been showing it for weeks, and I noticed that they never lock the sliding door to the balcony. I told Troy that if he went out on my balcony and climbed from balcony to balcony, he could get into that apartment. Even if the cops came looking for him at my place, they’d never check an apartment down the hall.”

“Jesus.” Baby glanced out a window to the street. “We’re fifteen floors up!”

George shrugged. He stopped outside apartment 72 and knocked. “It’s me,” he said.

Troy opened the door. His eyes widened when he saw me and Baby, and he looked over at George, who seemed to be on the verge of tears again.

“I’m sorry, man.”

Troy swallowed an angry grunt and let us in. We stood in the bare living room surrounded by the stink of carpet cleaner. I gestured at George, who pulled his phone from his pocket. He tapped and swiped a few times, then handed the phone to Troy.

“There’s more bad news,” George said.