Invisible City Read Online Free PDF Page B

her forehead with nicotine yellow fingers and looks to Tony.
    “Can I get a towel, Maureen?” says Tony. Maureen tosses him a towel.
    “Here you go, man,” he says. “This round’s on me.”
    The wet patron nods and wipes off his coat.
    “I’m sorry,” I say again, putting my hand on his back. Tony smiles at me and winks.
    “Why are you saying sorry ?” says Hannah.
    “Can I get you ladies another couple drinks?” asks Tony. It shouldn’t surprise me that he’s good at managing drunk people, but the ease with which he’s taken control of the situation, careful not to imply fault or favor, is suddenly incredibly attractive. We fucked on our first real date, and it was pretty awesome. He made me come with his hand and afterward, when I turned my head to see his face, he had this enormous smile spread across it, like he’d just won the lottery. Then he slid inside me and made me come again. Could I just drag him into the bathroom right now and spread my legs and get fucked against the tiny sink? I slide my hand down his back and touch his ass through his jeans. He looks down at me, surprised, and pleased. Standing beside him now, the fact that I’d been irritated by his interest in me seems very silly. I hope he forgives me.
    “Another round would be great,” I say, leaning in like he’s mine.
    But Hannah is over Frau Flannery’s.
    “This place sucks,” says Hannah, taking her purse from the hook beneath the bar. “Come on, Jenny.”
    Jenny looks at me and Iris. Her eyes are glassy and unfocused. I hug her close and then. Hannah whisks her away. Iris winks and turns toward Brice, leaving me and Tony alone in the crowd.
    “That was exciting,” says Tony.
    I slide my hand around to his back again and he pulls me to him. I look up—he’s a head taller than me—and to my great pleasure, he kisses me. Right there in front of everybody. I can’t see Iris, but I bet she’s smiling.
    “I’m sorry I’ve been an asshole,” I say, loving the way his soft chest feels against mine. He is about to say something when my phone rings. It’s the desk.
    “I’ll be back,” I say.
    “Promise?”
    “Promise.”
    I angle through the crowd to a space by the door and answer.
    “Hold for Cathy,” says the receptionist. I hold.
    “Rebekah, you were on the Gowanus body, right?”
    “Right.”
    “Who was out there? What was the scene like?”
    “Um, how so?”
    “They might need a couple extra inches for the second edition. Vic Hubbert told me to check it out.”
    Cathy Richards is on the Sunday desk, but she sometimes picks up overnight shifts. Vic Hubbert runs the night shift and compiles the police blotter. He is way past retirement age.
    “The workers seemed shook up. The owners were a little weird, but they’re always kinda weird.”
    “The owners? What do you mean weird?”
    “Sorry. I mean … They were Hasidic.”
    “Hasidic?”
    “The Jews, in black hats…”
    “I know what Hasidic means.”
    I hear typing.
    “What was the name of the yard?” she asks.
    “Um, I forget. Hold on.” Shit. I should know this. I pull out my notebook and flip the pages. “Smith. Like the street.”
    “You think it’s owned by Hasidics?”
    “I don’t know for sure. I talked to a kid at the gas station across the street and the guy at the counter said the boy’s dad owned the yard.”
    “Get his name?”
    “The kid? Yakov.”
    “Last name?”
    “Last name … he said it, I think.”
    “Where did you talk to him? Wait, how old?”
    “I don’t know, like eight or nine maybe?”
    “We can’t quote him. Did he say anything interesting?”
    “Not really. He came in with his dad and another man but they left him there.”
    “They left him?”
    “He seemed comfortable. I mean, if it’s the family yard, I figured he’d been there before.”
    “Okay. But you didn’t get a last name.”
    “I did.… Um, fuck.”
    “Find it. I’ll call you back.”
    I flip through my notes three times, but the