Homicide in Hardcover

Chapter 15

No matter how self-sufficient and worldly a girl is, sometimes she just needs to talk to her dad.

I paid the parking ransom and drove out of the Bryant and Sixth Street garage, then punched the speed dial number for my parents’ home. Dad picked up on the first ring, which told me he’d been expecting a phone call since he usually let the answering machine pick up.

I told him everything I knew. As usual, he refused to give in to fear or negativity.

“Mom’s going to be fine, Brooks,” he assured me. “She took a refresher course in Vedanta last week.”

“Ah, Vedanta,” I said, vaguely familiar with the ancient Indian philosophy that taught one to live life according to higher ideals in order to achieve inner bliss. “Why was I worried?”

“Exactly,” he said, pleased that I appreciated the significance of Vedanta. “Still, I’d better get my butt down there.”

That was the first note of stress I’d heard in his voice.

“I’ll meet you there,” I offered as I pulled into my building’s parking garage, shifted to Park and turned off the engine. Homicide headquarters was nothing if not convenient to my place. I’d made it home in less than five minutes.

“No, no, you’ve been through enough. I’ll call Carl and his pack of lawyers. They’ll take care of everything.”

“Dad, you know Mom’s innocent, right?”

He actually chuckled. “Of course she’s innocent. Your mother wouldn’t knowingly hurt a flea. It would skew her karma and jeopardize her samsara for lifetimes to come.”

“Why didn’t I think of that?” I glanced around the cold, dark, deserted underground parking lot and made a mental note to insist on better lighting at the next homeowners’ meeting.

“So, I’d better get cracking here,” Dad said.

“Okay, but, Dad, I’m afraid Mom confessed because she’s trying to protect me.”

“Really? What did you do?”

“Nothing, I swear! But could you please tell Mom it’s not necessary?”

“What’s not necessary?” There was a pause; then he said, “I’m going to need to write this down, aren’t I?”

I could picture him scratching the side of his head as he searched for a pad and pencil. I sighed. “Never mind, Dad. Just please call me as soon as you know anything, okay?”

“You bet your boots, honey. Peace, out.”

“Uh, yeah, bye.” My parents were nothing if not semicurrent with their lingo.

I limped to the elevator, unsure what Dad could do to get Mom out of jail after she’d come forward and confessed to killing Abraham. Short of confessing to the murder himself.

“Oh no, he wouldn’t.” It felt as if a tendril of ice were sliding down my spine, and I pushed that thought firmly out of my mind.

As I slammed the elevator gate shut and pushed the button for the sixth floor, different scenarios ran through my head of my mother being grilled by two determined homicide inspectors.

I could just imagine her giving them some half-baked reason for killing two men in cold blood. Then she’d flash them her Sunny Bunny Face and invite them to next Saturday’s barbecue.

Now that I thought about it, the inspectors probably needed more of my sympathy than Mom did.

Dad was right. Mom would be fine, while I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. The police really wouldn’t keep her in a jail cell, would they?

As soon as I got inside and took off my shoes, I was going to call Inspector Lee.

The elevator trembled to a halt. I shoved the gate back and walked down the hall to my place, grateful for the skylights and wall sconces that kept the long hallway light and welcoming instead of dark and gloomy.

I was anxious to shut myself away and do what I always did when my world was going crazy-bury myself in work.

I turned the corner and staggered to a halt. My front door was ajar.

A thousand nerve endings pulsated, stabbing my skin like so many needles. I tried to replay the day in my head. Had I really been so distracted when I left this morning that I’d-no. I never would’ve left my door open.

Someone had been inside my home. They might still be there.

Every rule in the book told me not to go inside. And after a few seconds of debate, I complied. I ran to Suzie and Vinnie’s place down the hall and around the corner. I hammered on their door, praying they were home.

“What the fagoo?” Suzie said as she opened the door. “Brooklyn! Whassup? Whoa, you look freaked. Come on in.”

“No. I need to know if you saw someone go into my place today. Did someone-oh God. I think someone broke into my place.”

“No fucking way,” she said. Looking over her shoulder, she shouted, “Vinnie, stay in the house. Lock the door behind me.”

Suzie grabbed my arm, said, “Come on,” and pulled me all the way to my front door. “Shit, somebody punched the lock straight through.”

“How?”

“You don’t wanna know,” she said grimly. “You ready?”

Damn, this girl was tough. I guess that was a prerequisite if you worked with chain saws all day.

“I’m ready,” I said.

“ ’Kay, we’re going in.”

I nodded firmly. “Let’s roll.”

She used her foot to push the door open and we walked inside. Or tried to, anyway.

I groaned. “No, no, no.”

“Shit, man. This place is a mess.”

That was putting it mildly. My studio was a shambles. Tools and brushes were scattered every which way on the worktables and the floor. Paper was torn and thrown everywhere. Piles of marbled endpapers and rolls of cloth and leather used for making new book covers were tossed across the room. Hundreds of spools of thread that had been neatly sorted by color and size into narrow shelves on the walls above the wide sideboard that ran the length of the room were now skewed every which way all over the floor.

“Oh no!” My carefully mapped diagrams and pieces of the medical treatises I’d been working on were shredded and tossed on the floor. I took one step into the room to rescue my work, but Suzie pulled me back by the collar of my jacket.

I fell against her and she wrapped me in a hug. “Easy, girl. Let the police take care of that.”

“But it’s all ruined.” Tears stung my eyes. I was so angry. Who would do this? But I knew, and I literally felt my blood run cold.

“Let’s make sure they aren’t hiding somewhere,” Suzie whispered. “Then we’ll call the police.”

“No, let’s call the police first.”

“Yeah, okay.”

I was shaking badly and probably sinking into a state of shock so I handed my cell phone to Suzie.

“They’ll be a while,” she said after ending the call.

“Okay. I’m going inside.”

“I’m right with you.”

But I allowed Suzie to take the lead as we moved furtively inside, then down the hall to my living area. I knew it was bad when Suzie tried to block my view.

“I need to see.” I broke from her grip and took a step into the living room. The first impression was of complete disaster. The heavy glass coffee table was upended but not shattered, thank God. Sofa pillows were tossed on the floor and magazines were scattered about.

Then I saw the delicate ceramic vase smashed on the floor. Robin had made it for me as a housewarming gift.

“Bastards,” I mumbled. We looked in both bedrooms, but there was no obvious damage back there. On more careful inspection, there was not much damage anywhere but the studio. Nothing appeared to be out of place or missing.

Whatever the burglar had been looking for, he’d apparently confined his destructive spree to my studio. Had he been scared off too soon? Maybe he’d seen my car pull up and escaped as I was talking to my dad. I scowled at the thought that I might’ve caught him in the act if I’d only come upstairs a few minutes sooner.

Of course, I might’ve been dead by now if I’d come home sooner.

As Suzie looked around, I felt my eyes water. This had to be the last straw in a truly sucky day.

First, the confrontation at lunch with Ian, then finding Enrico’s body-after spending time in a dark closet with another intruder who turned out to be Derek, then being stalked by yet another intruder who turned out to be Ian.

I couldn’t forget almost getting caught by Minka at Enrico’s, then her surprise smack-down, followed by the summons to show up at Homicide headquarters to be interrogated. Oh, and being left to wait alone for two hours while my mother was being arrested for a murder she didn’t commit.

I had to wonder if my father was currently confessing to the same crime that got Mom arrested. Oh God.

And now this.

I stared at my ravaged studio. I knew I could clean it all up and put things away, but someone had been here, touching my things, creating havoc. Someone evil, who had killed two people. I could only assume he was now focused on me.

“I wonder if anyone else in the building was hit,” Suzie mused.

“I’m pretty sure this was personal, but we should-”

Heavy footsteps echoed down the hall. Suzie shrieked and clutched my arm, then cursed out loud when Vinnie stepped into the room.

“Mercy, Brooklyn!” Vinnie cried as she grabbed my other arm. “You are all right?”

“I thought I told you to stay put,” Suzie shouted, as she jerked my arm possessively.

Vinnie’s eyes narrowed on her. “You are not the boss of me.”

Suzie shot back, “Well shit, somebody ought to be.”

Vinnie pulled me closer. “You are disturbing Brooklyn with your foulness of speech.”

“No, it’s okay,” I said, easing away from both of them. I’d never seen them bicker before and didn’t want to be the cause of it now. And gads, my arms were starting to hurt. “We’re all a little shaken.”

“Did you lock our door?” Suzie asked in a slightly more subdued tone.

“Of course, you silly squirrel,” Vinnie said crossly.

I traded looks with Suzie. We burst out laughing and I grabbed both of them in a fierce hug.

“Thank you for being here,” I said. “I’m so lucky to have you as my neighbors.”

“We are the lucky ones,” Vinnie said.

“Cops should be here any minute,” Suzie said.

Despite her warning, at the sound of another set of footsteps tapping against the wood floor, Vinnie yelped and threw herself into Suzie’s arms.

Robin entered cautiously, clutching a brown grocery bag. She wore high-heeled boots that made her appear a foot taller, a red cashmere sweater and black pants.

“What the hell is going on here?” she asked, looking around at the damage. Then she focused in on the worst of it. “Oh, shit. My vase.”

“I know, I’m so sorry,” I said miserably.

“It is not her fault,” Vinnie said staunchly. “There has been a burglary. We have barely escaped with our lives.”

Robin looked at me, puzzled. I shook my head. “It’s not that bad.”

“But it could have been,” Vinnie insisted. “We are all in mortal danger.”

“No,” I insisted. “Your place is safe. I’m certain this was a deliberate attack on me.”

“That sucks,” Suzie said.

“I’m so sorry, Brooklyn,” Vinnie said.

“It’s okay,” I assured them. “The police will sort it all out.”

“You’re staying at my house tonight,” Robin said, then held up the brown bag. “I brought wine. I’ll pour you a drink while we wait for the police.”

I was surprised to see Inspector Lee show up at the door with two uniformed officers. They walked into the studio, carefully skirting the mess. One cop pulled out a small digital camera and started taking pictures. The other had a clipboard and began to write up a report.

Inspector Lee took out her cell phone and made a call, then joined me and the girls at the bar that separated my kitchen from the living room.

Lee raised an eyebrow as Robin offered her a glass of wine.

“Thanks but no thanks.” She turned to me. “Fingerprint guys are on their way. You want to tell me what happened?”

She wrote in her small leather notebook as I talked. Since I’d just finished relating the whole story to Robin and my neighbors, they all took turns jumping in to fill in any details I’d forgotten.

Lee finally held up her hand to stop the chatter. “Is anything missing?”

“I have no idea,” I said. “Nothing seems to be missing back here, but I haven’t checked the studio yet. I didn’t want to disturb anything before the police had a chance to do, you know, whatever they need to do.”

“I know,” Vinnie piped up. “They will diligently search for fibers and hairs that may reveal the DNA of the perp, then dust for fingerprints, which will later be processed through IAFIS to find a match. After this, they will go door-to-door in the building and around the neighborhood, conducting interviews in order to find any eyewitnesses, but no one will come forward to squeal like a pig.”

Inspector Lee frowned at her.

Suzie drained her glass. “Law and Order junkie.”

Vinnie beamed, her cheeks pink from the wine. “I particularly enjoy Mr. Ice-T. If any man can bring sexy back, I believe it is he.”

Robin burst out laughing.

Lee was speechless.

Suzie grinned. “She’s a trip, isn’t she?”

“Yeah,” Lee agreed, then turned to me. “So the heavy damage was pretty much limited to your studio?”

“Yes.”

“Are your supplies and tools expensive? Would a burglar be able to sell them quickly?”

“I doubt it.” I looked at Robin, who grunted in agreement. Both sculpting and bookbinding tools could get expensive, but I doubted they would generate much cash on the street. “I can’t see some burglar coincidentally picking my place up on the sixth floor, just to make some easy money.”

Lee gave me the raised eyebrow. “No, neither can I.”

“Everyone in the building can hear when the elevator’s moving,” Suzie explained. “The stairwell takes a key to access. No other loft was broken into.”

“So what do you think they were looking for?” Lee asked.

I frowned. “I don’t know.”

She tapped the pen against her notepad and studied me for a moment. “If there’s something you’ve been avoiding telling me, you might want to reconsider.”

I couldn’t make eye contact. “Nothing I can think of.”

She looked as though she might ask me something else, but instead, she slapped her notebook closed and reached for her purse. “Okay, we’ll be in touch.”

I followed her down the hall to the front room. “Inspector, did you let my mother go?”

She pokered up. “That’s police business.”

I fisted my hands on my hips. “My mother, my business. You know she didn’t kill anyone.”

“I can’t discuss it.”

“I thought we were friends.”

She actually laughed. It sounded silly to me, too. She patted my shoulder, with some affection, I thought. “Be careful. I’ll be in touch.”

“Okay.”

The two cops were still working in the studio as Lee opened the door. She took one last glance around. “You might want to consider staying somewhere else for a few days.”

“I’ll be at Robin’s tonight.” I wrote down Robin’s phone number and handed it to her.

“Smart,” she said. “Because if this was personal, they might be back.”

“Good to know. Thanks for that.”

She chuckled as she left. More cop humor?

I walked back to the kitchen in time to see the girls gathered at the west-facing window to watch the sun set.

Robin topped off my glass. “I called a locksmith. He should be here within the hour.”

I almost collapsed with gratitude. I’d completely forgotten that little detail. I sat on the couch and watched as the sky filled with pink and coral streaks.

Vinnie broke the silence. “We are happy to have the morning sun on our side, but the evening sun is more dramatic.”

“I love it,” I said, and hated that someone had marred my wonderful home.

Robin put the bottle in the recycling bin. “Inspector Lee has great hair, doesn’t she?”

“Very pretty,” Vinnie said. “But she is too thin.”

I took a big gulp of wine. “I was just thinking the other day that she needs a makeover.”

“Yeah,” Robin said, “but tonight probably wasn’t the best time to bring up the idea.”

“You could do me,” Vinnie said, draining her glass. “I would very much enjoy a makeover.”

Suzie stared at Vinnie, appalled, then looked at Robin and me. “I’d better get her home.”

Robin insisted that I spend the night at her house and I didn’t argue. I hated leaving my place unoccupied, but Suzie and Vinnie promised they would keep their eyes and ears open and alert our other neighbors to do the same.

I called my parents’ house that night, but there was no answer. My father didn’t own a cell phone, so I had no way of reaching him if he wasn’t home. I called my sister China and my brothers, but they hadn’t heard anything yet. I made them promise they’d call me as soon as they heard from Dad.

The next day I woke up to the smell of coffee and dragged myself out of bed. After examining my face and finding the bruise had turned to pale yellow, I stumbled to the kitchen, where Robin sat reading the newspaper.

She took one look at my worn plaid pajamas and said, “We could go shopping today.”

“I don’t need anything.”

She snorted. “Yeah, you do. Appropriate sleepwear, if nothing else.”

I poured myself a mug of coffee, stirred in a little half-and-half, and took a sip before responding. Then I took another sip and decided there was no suitable response.

“I’d better get moving,” I said finally. “I need to finish the Covington job.”

“I’ll pick up something cute for you while I’m out.”

“Sweet, but not necessary.”

I showered and dressed in jeans, sweater, jacket and comfortable yet stylish flats. No more heels this week. My mangled feet and aching calves couldn’t take it. I used some of Robin’s makeup to cover the bruise on my face and thought I did a pretty good job.

Robin lived on the edge of Noe Valley, one of the nicer, upscale neighborhoods in the City, a land of attractive three-story flats, charming shops and baby strollers. Whenever we ate out in her neighborhood, Robin would warn me to watch my ankles. Those new mothers with their strollers played hardball.

After thanking Robin for safe haven and breakfast, I walked down the block to Twenty-fourth Street, where the Phoenix Bookstore had two paperback copies of Goethe’s Faust in stock. One of them contained a convenient German translation on the pages facing the English text. I bought that one, determined to read it from start to finish for any possible clue to Abraham’s last words. I also found a German-English dictionary and bought it for good measure.

I strolled back to my car, enjoying the cool, sunny weather. For the first time in a few days, I didn’t get the eerie feeling that someone was watching me. But I did have a compelling urge to go home, see if my place was okay and clean up and reorganize things. The burglar had made a huge mess, but the fingerprint guys hadn’t helped the situation. Fine black powder covered every surface.

After weighing the pros and cons, I figured I’d better put in a full day at the Covington and get back on track with the Winslow project. I pulled out of the parking space and headed north on Castro, then crossed Market Street. The lush, thick palm trees lining the center island at this spot along Market were always an impressive sight, but I was too uptight to appreciate them today. I checked my rearview mirror all the way across Market, up Divisadero toward Pacific Heights. As I came to a stop at Jackson Street, a homeless woman with leathery skin and tangled hair crossed in front me, shouting and cursing at no one in particular. The disturbed, ranting woman reminded me of Minka LaBoeuf going off on me yesterday, screaming to the world that I was a murderer. Okay, maybe she had seen my car on Enrico’s street, but you’d never hear me confess it aloud.

I’d discounted Minka as the killer, but now I had to wonder why. She certainly was capable of violence. I touched my still-bruised cheek and rubbed the scar on my hand as if to hammer home the realization.

I doubted she was clever enough to pretend to show up at Enrico’s house after she’d killed him, but it could’ve happened.

But if Minka were the killer, she also would’ve been the one who ransacked my loft and studio. Regrettably, Minka had been in jail last night, so she was an unlikely suspect. Or was she? I made a mental note to check with Inspector Lee on Minka’s whereabouts last night.

My hands trembled on the steering wheel. I still had plenty of unresolved issues when it came to my nemesis.

When the signal changed, it felt good to gun the engine and roar up the steep hill.

“Yoo-hoo?”

I looked up from my pasting job and saw Sylvia Winslow standing tentatively at the door.

“I know I’m interrupting,” she said.

“Not at all,” I insisted with a smile. “Come on in.”

She stepped inside and closed the door, looking lovely in an elegant navy pin-striped pantsuit, her red hair tucked behind her ears to show off her diamond studs. Robin could’ve nailed the suit’s designer and the size of those diamonds in a heartbeat. All I knew was that everything she wore was expensive and gorgeous.

“I just wanted to stop in and see how you’re doing,” she said. “Your work is so interesting.”

“Come look.”

“Oh my.” She placed her clutch purse on the side table and stared at the vertical press that held the repaired signatures I was gluing. Her gaze slowly swept across the wide work surface, resting on the black leather cover for the Faust that was stretched and held in place at each corner by weights.

“It’s all in pieces, isn’t it? I never expected…” She wrung her hands. “Well, you obviously know what you’re doing. I won’t disturb you.”

“Please don’t worry.” I stuck my glue brush into the jar of water and wiped my hands. “You’ve caught me at the perfect moment. The glue has to dry before I can do much else.”

She wandered around the table to get a better look at the weighted leather cover, then looked at me, bewildered.

I explained the process of straightening the leather, showed her how the glue was drying on the signatures and how I’d fasten the refurbished leather cover to the new boards.

“It’s fascinating,” she said, but her lips were pinched with worry.

“What’s wrong, Mrs. Winslow?”

“Oh dear,” she said. “I hate to even bring up the subject. But I understand Enrico Baldacchio was found dead yesterday.”

“Yes. It’s horrible.”

Her hand was trembling when she took mine. “I hate to speak ill, Brooklyn, but he was not a nice man. I didn’t trust him in the least. But of course, he didn’t deserve to die.”

“No, of course not.”

“I don’t know what’s happening,” she whispered. “I wonder if it’s our fault.”

“What do you mean?”

“Our book is cursed,” she said, forlorn. “I’ll never forgive myself if we somehow-”

“No.” I pushed my high chair away from the table. “I’m sorry, but a book does not go around killing people. You can’t blame yourself for any of this.”

She waved her hand in the air, flustered. “Oh, of course it’s not really cursed. But so many awful things are happening. I don’t like all this controversy hanging over our exhibit.”

“Well, it’ll certainly drive up ticket sales,” I said philosophically.

She hid a smile with her hand. “That’s very bad of you.”

“I know,” I said, biting back my own smile. “I apologize.”

“No, you’ve made me feel better.” She wandered along the side counter and ended up in front of the heavy brass horizontal press. She planted both hands on the wide wheel and barely budged it a half inch. “My goodness, that’s impressive.”

“Yes,” I said, smiling. “Nobody can keep their hands off the book press.”

“I can see why.” She straightened her jacket and moved closer to the worktable. “Well, I didn’t come here solely to waste your time. I actually had a question about books.”

“I hope I can help.”

“It’s a bit distasteful.” She laughed uncomfortably.

“I can probably handle it.”

“It’s about silver fish,” she said, wringing her hands.

I laughed. “I hate those little buggers.”

“God, so do I. One of the maids found several on our bookshelves. I’m absolutely revolted at the thought of vermin in my house.”

“I don’t blame you,” I said. “And they do love books. Or rather, they love the paper and the wheat paste and the starch in the bindings.”

“I knew you’d know about this. You’re so clever. Tell me what I do. I’m determined not to bombard our home with chemicals, but how else can I get rid of them?”

“If I were you, I’d have your housekeeper empty the shelves and wipe the wood down with cinnamon oil.”

“Cinnamon oil? Are you sure?”

“Some people love it and recommend it. I’ve never had to try it, but I know bugs don’t like it.”

“It sounds perfect.”

I pressed my finger to the glued spine to test its dryness. Not quite. “I’ve heard of people using a drop of tea tree oil on the book paper, but it smells like antiseptic, so I’d try the cinnamon oil first.”

I mentioned some places she could buy the oil and she clapped her hands in glee. “I knew you’d have the answer. I’ll leave you in peace now. I’ve got to meet-”

“Mother?”

We both turned as the door opened and Meredith poked her head in.

“Here I am,” Sylvia said gaily.

Meredith looked at me with distaste, then turned to Sylvia. “What are you doing in here, Mother?”

Sylvia winked at me. “Just checking up on things.”

“We’re going to be late,” Meredith said peevishly.

“We’ll be fine.” Sylvia sighed, picked up her clutch and patted my arm as she passed. “Thank you, dear. We’ll see you at the opening this Saturday.”

Meredith threw me a poisonous look and stormed off behind her mother. Instantly, all the pleasant feelings from Sylvia’s visit dissolved. I was really growing tired of Meredith Winslow and her bad-tempered behavior toward me.

I’d been half kidding when I’d envisioned her in that orange jumpsuit, but now I seriously had to wonder if she had taken her hissy fits to another level by killing Abraham. I remembered Ian saying she wanted to put a hit out on Enrico. Was she capable of murder? Had she ransacked my studio?

I needed to walk off my anger and clear my head. Since I couldn’t do much with the book until the glue dried, I decided to take a lunch break. I told the front desk where I was going and headed to my favorite hole-in-the-wall noodle house, the Holy Ramen Empire.

As I cautiously walked down the steep slope of Pacific toward Fillmore, that feeling that someone was watching me returned. I continually glanced around, but didn’t see anyone I knew.

Safely inside the restaurant, I ordered the Singapore noodle bowl with shrimp and a small pot of tea, then set my tray down at a small table by the front window and dug into the noodle bowl with gusto. I opened my paperback copy of Faust and read while I ate.

It was… interesting. I knew it was a classic, considered by many to be the finest German work of fiction in history, but I couldn’t help thinking that if he tried to sell it today, old Goethe might find himself out of luck. Still, I was surprised to find so much humor in the dialogue. Naturally, the devil got all the best lines.

I skimmed the translator’s introduction and his words began to jump out at me. Alchemy, magic, necromancy. Temptation. The devil.

I rubbed my arms to ward off another bout of shivers, then glanced up as a man walked into the restaurant wearing worn jeans and ratty high-top sneakers. Despite the fact that his faded navy hoodie stretched so far over his head I couldn’t see his face, he seemed familiar to me. I’d seen him somewhere before. In my neighborhood, maybe? Or earlier in Noe Valley? Had he been following me? I realized I was holding my breath and forced myself to relax.

Hoodie Guy checked out the menu on the wall above the cash register, then turned around and stared at the people in the room. He might’ve made eye contact with me. I couldn’t tell. There was a black hole where the hoodie covered his face and eyes.

I tried to brush him off as yet another San Francisco burnout, but it wasn’t easy. After all I’d been through lately, this weirdo was freaking me out. I stared at the noodle bowl and realized I’d lost my appetite.

Now I was really angry.

I kept my eye on Hoodie Guy, aware that too much ugly stuff had happened over the past week. I reminded myself that once I was through with the Winslow project, I would be able to put the finishing touches on two books I was eager to enter in the Edinburgh Book Fair competition.

In one short month, I’d be packing my bags and taking off for Scotland. I breathed in deeply and tried to picture myself in Edinburgh, walking along the Royal Mile, stepping into a pub on a cold day for a pint and a sandwich. I loved the city, loved the people, and the Edinburgh Book Fair was one of the best in the world. I would see old friends and have a blast.

I smiled at the thought. Edinburgh as a distraction always worked for me. Determined to ignore Hoodie Guy, I scooped up another bite of noodles. My appetite-and therefore, my world-was righting itself.

A woman screamed at the front of the restaurant and I stared in horror as Hoodie Guy pulled out a gun and waved it around.

The woman at the counter cried out again and everyone in the room panicked, scrambling and screaming and dropping to the floor to avoid being hurt. Me, I was too stunned to move, but my blood and my temper were bubbling over.

“Shut up!” Hoodie Guy shouted, holding one hand over his ear as he brandished the gun with the other.

Two more people lurched off their chairs and scrambled to hide, using their meager fast food restaurant table as a shield.

I shoved away from the table, but the back of my chair was trapped too close to the chair behind me. The push caused the table to jostle and the noodle bowl bobbled precariously. I grabbed the bowl just as Hoodie Guy whirled around and pointed his gun directly at me. I let the bowl go. It hit the table and broke, sending noodles and broth and fragments of porcelain flying in every direction, but mostly all over me.

“Damn it,” I yelled, and Hoodie Guy stared right at me. His eyes were still hidden, but I could see his teeth as he grinned, cocked his gun and slowly straightened his aim.

“No,” I whispered.

He was a nanosecond from pulling the trigger when a man dressed entirely in black stepped inside the door and said, “What up, dawg?”

Hoodie was taken aback. It was just the distraction I needed. I grabbed the soy sauce bottle and threw it like a missile. It glanced off Hoodie Guy’s ear.

“Motherfucker!” he shouted, and turned back toward me, just as Man in Black kicked the gun out of his hand.

The gun went soaring. Some people cried out in horror. Hoodie Guy yelled incoherently and Man in Black moved in, grabbed Hoodie’s arm and wrenched it behind his back, then shoved him down on the floor.

Hoodie cried out as he writhed back and forth, trying to escape.

“Sorry, dude, does that hurt?” Man in Black asked.

“Yes! Oww!”

“Good.” He pushed his knee into Hoodie’s back and grinned harshly when the creep howled.

I stared at the surreal scene in utter shock. Everyone in the restaurant stayed completely still. The fear and confusion were palpable.

Who was this Man in Black? An accomplice? A savior? He was tall and wore a striking black leather duster that skimmed his long, lean legs and fit his broad shoulders like a glove. His shirt and pants were black and so were his boots.

He was frankly beautiful. His hair was black, too, thick and long, worn back off his forehead in a dramatic sweep that almost reached his shoulders. His eyes were dark as well, and when he grinned, two dimples emerged in a face more suited to an angel than any human.

A dark angel.

Broth seeped into my clothes, but I couldn’t move from my chair, just sat there staring at Man in Black as he pushed his knee more forcefully into the squirming Hoodie Guy’s back.

Man in Black scanned the room, then focused on me. I caught my breath as his eyes twinkled and his dimples teased.

“You okay, Brooklyn?” he asked.

Startled, I nodded. “I’m okay.”

He winked at me and said, “Call the police.”