Insatiable

Chapter Eleven

6:30 P.M. EST, Tuesday, April 13

910 Park Avenue, Apt. 11B

New York, New York

HAVE WHAT IT TAKES TO JOIN THE NYPD?

In order to be considered for appointment in the NYPD, you must pass a series of medical, physical, and psychological examinations to determine your suitability. Want to learn more about our requirements?

Jon, staring at the computer screen, shrugged, took another sip of his Gatorade, and clicked Learn more.

Applicants must be at least 17½ years of age by the last day of filing of the exam they are applying for.

“Oh, yeah,” Jon said. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

Meena’s dog, Jack Bauer, hearing the sound of a human voice, jumped up from his dog bed and trotted curiously over to the couch to see what was happening. Jon tilted his bottle of Gatorade in the dog’s direction in a toast and kept reading happily.

Applicants must not have reached their 35th birthday on or before the first day of filing of the exam they are applying for.

“Done,” he said to Jack Bauer. “We are so joining the NYPD!”

Jack Bauer tilted his head questioningly, sat down on his haunches, and yipped.

“Yes.” Jon put down his Gatorade, picked up the phone, and dialed. As soon as the person on the other end lifted the receiver, he said, “Dude. We’re joining the NYPD.”

“The hell we are,” Adam said. “I’m about to be a father. I may need a job, but not one where I get my ass shot off. Did you know there’s a serial killer on the loose out there?”

“I’m sure there are several,” Jon said. He put his size-twelve feet on his sister’s coffee table. Jack Bauer, inspired by this development, leapt onto the couch, where he was strictly forbidden by Meena from sitting. Jon moved over a little to make room for him. “And we’re going to catch them. Because guess what? The New York City Police Department? Hiring. All you gotta be is over seventeen and a half years of age and under thirty-five. Bingo. That’s us.”

“Also crazy. Did you read that part? How somebody would have to be crazy to apply to be a cop in this freaking city?”

“Yes, in addition to a written and physical exam, there is a psych evaluation,” Jon said, glancing at his laptop. “And you might have some problems passing that part, seeing as how you were a mortgage-backed-security trader.”

“Are you done?” Adam asked. “Because I have to go now.”

“Yeah,” Jon said. “Okay, go to the NYPD website. I really think we should do this. We can do something to make a difference, Weinberg. We can arrest perps. We can help little abused children.”

“Listen to you,” Adam said. But Jon could hear clicking in the background and knew Weinberg was doing as he’d asked him to. “Perps. Like you know anything about perps. Have you been watching The Wire again?”

“I’m serious. Think about it. What did we do at our last jobs? Sure, we made a ton of cash, for other people and for ourselves. But did we really touch people’s lives in a meaningful way? No.”

“I beg to differ,” Adam said. “I handled the Alaska Teachers’ Union pension fund.”

“And,” Jon said, “what happened to it, Adam?”

Adam grumbled, “It wasn’t my fault.”

“Those teachers are gonna be fine,” Jon said. “Okay, probably not. But maybe getting laid off is a blessing in disguise. This could be our chance to give back what we lost. By helping people who are really in need.”

“And carry guns,” Adam pointed out. “Admit it, Harper. The part you like is the part where we get guns.”

“The thought that we would be issued firearms and permission to legally carry them did cross my mind,” Jon said. “But it’s really about helping people, Weinberg. Do you honestly just want to let this serial killer you’re worried about roam around free?”

“No,” Adam said. “I want to find a job doing what I’m trained to do. I would like to implement cash and derivatives strategies and execute trades while communicating market information and trends to other investment professionals within the firm.”

“Really?” Jon couldn’t hide his disappointment. “That’s the line you’re going with on the résumé?”

“That’s what I told the HR rep at TransCarta,” Adam said. “Which is the only place that seems to be hiring right now.”

“When you could be saving lives.”

“Let me ask you something,” Adam said. “Have you run this one by your sister?”

“What do you mean?” Jon asked defensively.

“I think you know what I mean,” Adam said. “I mean, have you told that bat-shit-crazy sister of yours that you’re thinking of applying for a job with the NYPD?”

“I don’t have to tell my sister everything I’m thinking about doing,” Jon said stiffly.

“Oh, yeah?” Adam laughed in an evil way. “Well, I’m not applying for a job with the NYPD unless your sister says she sees the two of us retiring as lieutenants or whatever.”

Jon said, with a spurt of irritation, “You should know by now it doesn’t work that way with her.”

“Yeah,” Adam said. “I guess if it did, neither of us would be in this situation, would we?”

Jon sighed. His sister’s gift had never exactly made life easier for him. Why couldn’t she have been able to predict winning lottery numbers, or which girl in the bar was most likely to sleep with him, or something actually useful? Hearing the ways in which he might conceivably die was interesting, Jon supposed.

But he’d rather have gotten rich. Or laid.

Jon heard the scrape of Meena’s key in the lock. Jack Bauer heard it too, and quickly leapt off the couch to return to his dog bed.

Jon said, “We’ll talk about this later. I gotta go,” to Adam, then hung up and took his feet off the coffee table.

Meena came in looking flustered and fresh faced, as she always did when she returned from anywhere. She asked, “Was Jack Bauer on the couch just now?”

“Of course not,” Jon said, getting up. “How was your day, dear?”

“It sucked. I met a girl on the subway I think is going to end up sold into white slavery and then killed.”

“Sweet,” Jon said sarcastically.

“Tell me about it,” Meena said. “And Shoshona got the head writer gig. And the network is mandating a crappy vampire story line, so my beautiful and totally awe-inspiring proposal about the bad boy with the police chief dad was completely dead on arrival.”

“Shoshona got the head writer gig?” Jon asked. “That blows. You gave the subway girl your card, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Meena said, throwing her keys into the little tray on the kitchen counter, which she’d started keeping there for that purpose after Jon finally pointed out that her psychic power was useless at finding the things she kept losing. “Hopefully she’ll call.”

“What about Taylor?” Jon asked. He tried to keep his voice casual. He’d had a crush on Taylor Mackenzie-whom his sister had pointed out many times was way too young for him-since Meena had first started writing for the show.

“She’s the one getting the new vampire boyfriend,” Meena said. “They’ve got Gregory Bane’s best friend coming in to read with her on Friday. He’s hot, apparently. I think I saw him leaving the office with Shoshona tonight. But it was mostly only the back of his head.”

Jon glanced at his reflection in the round antique mirror Meena had hanging above the dining table.

“I’m hot,” he said, admiring his own reflection. “What do you think? Don’t I look like vampire material to you?”

Meena snorted. “Right. Playing a chorus member in the musical Mame when you were in high school doesn’t count as acting experience. Especially since you only did it for extra credit to keep from getting kicked off the baseball team thanks to your D in Spanish.”

She shrugged out of her jacket and crossed the room to meet Jack Bauer, who’d run over to give her a welcome lick.

“And how’s my little man?” she asked. “Did you save the world today? I think you did. I think you saved the world from nuclear annihilation, just like you do every single twenty-four hours. Look at you. Just look at you.”

Jack Bauer was a Pomeranian-chow mix Meena had insisted on bringing home from the ASPCA the first time they’d ever set foot in it, “just to look,” after David had walked out on her and she’d been pretty much comatose with depression. The tiny mutt had been sitting in a big empty cage by himself, his huge brown eyes so filled with anxiety that Meena had remarked that, with his blond fur, he resembled Kiefer Sutherland during a particularly dramatic moment on the television show 24.

When the dog had fallen into her arms as soon as the cage door was opened, showering her face with grateful kisses, the inevitable adoption was sealed, and the name Jack Bauer stuck, because the anxious look in the mutt’s eyes rarely vanished all the way, unless he was lounging in the apartment by Meena’s side.

“He saved the world, all right,” Jon said. “He tried to hump a maltipoo in the small dog run at Carl Schurz Park.”

“My hero,” Meena cried, scooping the dog up and hugging him. “Keep showing your male dominance, even though you’ve been fixed.” She turned to Jon. “So, what did you do today?”

“I was totally going to make chicken,” Jon said. “But when I got to the store none of the chickens looked any good.”

“Really?” Meena said, going over to the couch and reaching for the remote.

“Yeah,” Jon said. “They were all past their expiration dates. It was like the Perdue delivery didn’t come in on time or something.”

“Let’s just order in,” she said. She’d flipped on the news. “We haven’t had Thai in a while.”

He felt a surge of relief.

“Thai sounds great. Or Indian.”

“Indian sounds good, too,” she said. “Oh, my God, we got invited to the countess’s on Thursday. If we keep the lights out,” she added, like this was a perfectly reasonable way to deal with the problem, “we don’t have to worry about them seeing that we’re home under the crack in the door.”

“Meena.” Jon loved his sister.

But she was totally and completely insane.

And she always had been.

Meena shook her head. “Jon. You know I can’t help but love her. But she’s trying to fix me up with some Romanian prince her husband’s related to. Come on.”

“A prince?” Jon raised his eyebrows. “Seriously? Is he rich?”

“I don’t want to meet a prince,” Meena said. She sounded mad. She looked mad. “I’m already having the worst week of my life, and it’s only Tuesday!”

Jon knew Meena well enough to know this wasn’t about Shoshona getting the job, or the girl she’d met on the subway, or even the show, which she adored.

“What,” he said flatly. “What did you see?”

“Nothing,” she said, throwing him a confused look. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You know something,” Jon said. “You know what I’m talking about. Who is it about? Me? It’s about me, isn’t it? Just tell me. I can take it. When am I going? Is it this week?”

Meena looked away. “What? No. You’re fine. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jon shook his head. He didn’t think he was wrong. He’d lived with his kid sister long enough to recognize the signs.

She obviously knew something about somebody now…only who? And why wasn’t she saying?

“Is it Mom and Dad?” he asked. “I thought you said they were fine. I mean, relatively speaking.”

“They are fine.” Meena glared at him. “For two people who continue to whoop it up at happy hour every night down in Boca like they think they’re F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald.”

“Then I don’t get it,” Jon said. “Your crazy-ass millionaire neighbor who thinks she’s a countess invited you to a dinner party at her place to meet a real Romanian prince on Thursday night. And you’re telling me you don’t think you’re going to get any story ideas out of that? Are you serious?”

Meena looked at him, her big dark eyes luminous in the light from the sun setting just outside her windows, turning the sky from rosy pink to a delicate lavender. Finally she smiled.

“You’re right,” she said. “How could I miss such a fantastic opportunity, so rich with the promise of pretentious buffoonery for me to mock later on Insatiable? I have a professional duty to be there.”

“Absolutely,” Jon said.

“I’ll RSVP yes to the countess,” Meena said.

“Way to go.” Jon reached out to ruffle her short, boyishly cut dark hair. “I’ll go order us some samosas.”

Meena grinned and turned up the volume on the news, which was all about how they still hadn’t been able to identify any of the victims of what they were now calling the Park Strangler. They were urging any members of the public who might recognize the women to come forward.

“After all,” Meena said thoughtfully, clearly not paying attention to the information the grim-faced anchorwoman was doling out, “Victoria Worthington Stone’s dated plenty of doctors, lawyers, millionaires, shipping magnates, gangsters, murderers, maniacs, cops, cowboys, priests, and once even her own half brother-until she found out who he really was. It’s about time she dated a prince.”

“That’s the spirit,” Jon said, and started dialing.