Page 88 of Wicked Little Secret
Except to find out what the fuck’s going on.
I’m closing in when the sleek black car finally pulls away from the curb and starts down the street.
Within seconds, it’s slipping out of view.
Nyssa’sslipping through my fingers.
18
THERON
LOVE CRIME - SIOUXSIE
“Follow that black car!”I yell, wrenching open the door to the first taxicab I see.
The driver’s only response is to tap the sign dangling among the pine air fresheners on his rearview mirror.
CASH ONLY
Cash isn’t something I usually carry around with me. I pry open my well-used leather wallet to dig out the few twenties I’ve got on me. “Here,” I say, shoving the cash up front at the driver. “I know it’s short notice, but you’ve got to follow that damn car!”
The crumpled twenty dollar bills spill onto the seat next to him. He throws me a glance over his shoulder, the baseball cap he wears low on his brow, the profile of his nose large. He’s a middle-aged man not much older than I am, with touches of gray threaded through his ear-length hair.
“Address?” he asks.
“I’ve got no address,” I grit out. “I just need you to follow that car—there! The license plate is CUY7131.”
“Okay, okay,” he says in an accent I can’t place but that sounds vaguely Eastern European. “Calm down, my friend. We’ll follow.”
We enter traffic with six cars between us and them. We’re hitting the downtown district, which means traffic becomes congested on agoodevening. On a Friday night, with drizzle sprinkling down and the roads slick and shiny, the pace slows to glacial.
I sit on the edge of the middle seat, my arms propped up on the back of both front seats, peering out the windshield. The best vantage point for keeping up with the traffic up ahead… and keeping my eye on Nyssa and the mystery man.
“So what’s your name?” the driver asks, seeking eye contact in the rearview mirror.
“None of your concern.”
“Mine is Casimir. Where’re you headed?”
“Casimir, I appreciate your attempt at small talk. However—and there’s no polite way to say this—shut the fuck up and focus on following that car!”
He chuckles as if I’ve told a joke. “Okay, okay. This must be serious business. I’ll pull out all the stops.”
I’d be amused if my heart wasn’t jackhammering in my chest. If I didn’t have a sick, twisted feeling pitted in my stomach that whatever it is that’s happening can’t be good.
Why the hell would Nyssa be meeting older men at sex clubs on Friday nights? Why would she be getting in some man’s car?Whereis he taking her?!
…and to do what?
Traffic thins out once we’re past the popularstreets with the boutiques, restaurants, theaters, and other establishments on them. The six cars in between us dwindles to three and then two.
Casimir seems to sense it’s best to hover this far back. It’s enough of a buffer to remain dubious and unseen while still following them.
“The car is turning left onto Vineland Avenue,” he observes aloud, switching on his turn signal too. “A nice car like that. They are headed for the castle tower. Don’t you think?”
Though my answer comes in a silent, stiff nod to Casimir’s question, I’m working on the same theory.
The Castlebury Tower is the tallest building in town, second only to the clock tower on the university campus. The building’s comprised of private offices and luxury apartments that run anywhere from one million to ten the higher the floor.