Page 48

RHAIM

I spent the rest of the afternoon scouting locations.

It’d been awhile since I’d scoured the city for a murder spot, and that, plus New York’s general obsession with construction, meant that a lot of the places I would’ve chosen to commit a crime a few years ago were gentrified or otherwise occupied by forklifts.

I needed to find a place that was either in the kind of neighborhood a bullet wouldn’t matter, or would be so out of the norm as to make everyone who heard it assume it was a car backfiring.

Not that I intended to need a gun, but….

“Fifth parking garage tonight?” Sable said, when she called, and I picked up.

“I know I shouldn’t be surprised that you’re tracing me, and yet,” I said, after putting her on speakerphone.

“How’s it going?”

“Baxter Street has too much potential for foot traffic, Delmar West is too sketchy, and Bleeker and Mercer,” the garage I was currently drifting down inside of, to its lower floors, “probably isn’t sketchy enough.

But—” I was aiming for finding a place equidistant between both Bix and Zane preferred level of grunge.

I paused my truck, checking the corners for mirrors and cameras.

“I think I can make it work. Assuming you can?”

“Yeah. Tomorrow’s a Friday—I’ll make up a sign saying any car that’s there past eight will be towed, to keep the floor clear for line repainting on Saturday. None of those assholes will risk getting paint on their cars.”

As I drove past a row of G-Wagens, Range Rovers, and a white Bentley with a Baby On Board suction cup in the window, that they probably meant ironically, and had probably had via surrogate, I was forced to agree.

“And any one that does stay, I’ll have towed for real.”

“Sounds good. You line up my rental?”

“I found the perfect match—one matte gray BMW x5 awaits you at Velare. But their counter closes at seven, so you’d better hurry.”

“Don’t worry,” I said, swinging my truck out of the lower level of the garage. “I’m timing things.”