Tick Tock (Michael Bennett 4)

“Hey, Mike,” Agent Parker said, hurrying toward the suite’s bedroom after she let me in. “Karen isn’t here yet. Why don’t you have a seat and a drink while I get changed?”

“Twist my arm,” I said, spotting a six of Brooklyn Lager on a table by the terrace door.

I rolled open the sliders to her room’s small terrace and drank by the rail. The first beer was good. The second even better. Down on the street in front of the hotel, taxis were lined up back to Central Park West. One after the other, they pulled into the hotel’s driveway, and well-dressed, smiling folks got into them on their way to a night on the town. With my drink, the sultry night air, and the romantic city lights, I felt like I was having one, too. Almost, at least.

I decided to raise my drink to them and the city at large. I was proud of them. They weren’t going to let Apt ruin their night. That’s what the Carl Apts of the world didn’t understand, I thought as I took an icy sip. New York was just like the human race. Sure you could scare it, slow it down, maybe even halt it for a little while. But it kept right the hell on going. No matter what. That was the best thing about New York City.

“Mike, where are you?” Emily called behind me.

“Out here,” I said, turning.

I froze in midspin by the terrace sliders. Inside the doorway, Emily wasn’t wearing her usual Fed business getup. She was wearing a midnight blue dress. A short dress that hugged her hips and showed a lot of cleavage. As I failed to close my gaping mouth, she fingered the string of pearls around her neck.

I was still stumped for a verbal reaction when there was a knock on the door.

“Is that Karen?” I finally said.

“I don’t know. Go see,” Emily said.

It wasn’t Karen. It was two white-jacketed room service guys with two white-linen-covered rolling tables. On one table were two silver trays, on the other two silver buckets. They wheeled them both out onto the terrace and brought out two chairs. The older of the waiters smiled at me as he popped the champagne bottle’s cork.

“Shall I open the other, sir?” he said to me as he filled two flutes.

“That won’t be necessary,” Emily said, tipping the man as she shooed him off the terrace and out of the room.

Chapter 93

“UM?” I said when she came back.

“I forgot to tell you. Karen’s not coming,” Emily said as she put a glass of champagne in my hand.

She sat down in a chair above the sparkling city lights and took a sip of her bubbly.

“In fact, she never was coming,” she said. “I made it up.”

“Why?” I said.

“Several reasons,” Emily said, staring at me as she crossed her long legs.

She was wearing high heels, I noticed. Very high, very black, peep-toed ones.

“I’ll tell you all of them as we eat, Mike,” she said as she lifted the lid of her tray.

“You should see your face,” Emily said as I sat.

“I’d rather see yours,” I said, shaking my head.

I devoured the dinner. I couldn’t decide which was better, the perfectly cooked baby lamb chops smothered in lemon, parsley, and rosemary, or the white truffle–garlic mashed potatoes. The champagne we washed everything down with was cold crisp Veuve Clicquot. After the third glass out in the night air, I could feel bubbles dancing in my bloodstream.

Emily popped the other bottle and filled our glasses again.

“I’m still waiting for those reasons, Agent Parker,” I said, smiling at her. “Why am I here? What the heck are you doing? What the heck are we doing?”

She set down the wet bottle carefully on the linen.

“Okay. First,” she said. “Happy birthday.”

“But it’s not my birthday,” I said.