The Book of Lies

26

He’s still here?” Naomi asked, running through the shelter’s open courtyard.

“I’m looking at a tracking screen right now,” Scotty replied through her earpiece. “According to his cell signal, Cal’s definitely in the building.”

“And you can’t get me closer than that? I thought they improved all this nonsense after 9/11—y’know, so they could find trapped people within a few feet.”

“And that’s true—especially in the Bourne Identity trilogy. But back in reality, where we all still use our old phones, we pinpoint based on cell towers—and that gets us a few dozen feet at the closest. Listen, I gotta run. I’m a tech guy, not a sidekick.”

Racing up the outdoor stairs two at a time, Naomi reached for her gun.

On the second floor, she darted across the outdoor breezeway as she traced the room numbers—210 . . . 208 . . . 206. Cal’s apartment was 202. As she passed each metal door, she saw a blue sign on each one:

SINGLE RESIDENTS BEDTIME Is 9:45 P.M.

She finally stopped at the last door on her right:

202

RESIDENT ADVISER

From what she could tell, the door was slightly open. As if someone were still there. Or about to leave. She lowered her shoulder and plowed forward. As the door swung open and crashed into the wall, Naomi burst into the room.

A gang of six clearly pissed-off black kids looked up from the video game they were crowded around. The second-biggest kid, in his twenties, with braids, an oversize Knicks jersey, and a panther tattoo across his neck, dropped his game controller and strode directly at her.

“Whatsamatta, lady?” he asked, flashing a bottom row of bright gold teeth as Naomi hid her gun behind her back. “Dontcha like black people?”