Stolen: Dante's Vow

“Hold on there, honey.”

I stop, turn and it feels like everyone in the place is staring at me. I feel my face flush with embarrassment.

“Your change,” she says.

“Oh.” I walk back to the counter and shove the money she hands me into my pocket. “Do you know where The Hudson Hotel is?”

“The Hudson?” Her drawn-in eyebrows disappear into her hairline. “The swanky place in the city?”

I nod.

She looks me over. I look down at myself too and I’m sure she’s thinking someone like me doesn’t belong in a hotel like that. She’s right.

“You can take the train to Washington Street and it’s a couple of blocks walk from there.”

“Washington Street?”

She walks to the end of the counter toward the window and points up. “That one. East-bound. It’s about six stops.”

I look up, nod. “Thank you,” I say, and walk out into the cold as I open the bag of chips and cram a handful into my mouth. I hurry up the stairs to the platform where I just miss the train. I mutter a curse and duck under the shelter to try and keep dry.

7

Dante

I stand on the decrepit street trying to catch a glimpse of her. She only had maybe a ten or fifteen-minute head start on us, but she’s vanished. I look into alleyways and eye the bums huddling around their fires. I climb up and down the stairs of the trains wondering if she’s up there. She’ll be freezing in what she’s wearing, and I don’t even want to think about what would happen if she got herself cornered in one of these alleys. This is not the best neighborhood.

“Anything?” I ask Matthaeus as he crosses the street toward me.

“Nothing.”

“Fuck.” I walk to the bums at the far corner, smell the stench of liquor and body odor from here. Three turn toward me, one of them with a grin that shows his lack of teeth. “You guys seen a girl out here? About this tall.” I gesture to the middle of my chest. “Wearing a gray hoodie. Blonde hair.”

They look at each other then over my shoulder.

I follow their gaze to another man who is bending to pick up what looks to be a discarded still-smoking cigarette butt. He puts it to his lips and takes a drag. I turn back to the others and take out my wallet. “Well?”

They glance down at it and the one without the teeth talks. “Pretty little thing.” He pauses, eyes on my wallet.

My fingers tighten around the leather, and I grit my teeth. I take out a hundred-dollar bill. “She was here?”

He holds out his hand and all their eyes follow that bill as I hand it over. “Talked to Bart over there for a minute then ran off.”

“Bart.” I turn to find the one with the cigarette staring at us. When he sees my expression, he tosses the butt away and takes off down the street.

Matthaeus and I both go after him and it takes about half a block before I’ve got him by the collar, his back against the wall.

“Where is the girl?”

“I didn’t touch her.”

I give him a shake. “Where is she?”

“Ran away. That way.” He points.

I toss him aside and Matthaeus and I take off in that direction, running several blocks before we slow down as a throng of people rush down the stairs of the platform above.

“Fuck! Get the fuck out of the way!”

But this is New York so no one does. That’s when I see it. My hoodie. A strand of long white-blonde hair escaped from beneath blowing in the cold wind as she rushes to board the train.

“There,” Matthaeus says, seeing her at the same time.

We shove our way through the mass of people but we’re too late. The train doors close and it’s already leaving the station before we’re even on the platform. I catch a final glimpse of her and look up at the train line.

“I know where she’s going,” I say, realizing something. Remembering what she said.

“Where?” Matthaeus asks, looking at me like I’m crazy.

“The hotel.” This line will take her near it.

“She’s going back there? Why the fuck would she do that?” he asks.

I look at him briefly before flying down the stairs to wave down the next cab, practically throwing myself in front of it.

“She asked if it was a test. A trick,” I say as the driver hits the gas when I toss a hundred-dollar bill into the seat beside him with the promise of another hundred if he gets us there at the speed of light. I watch out the windshield, the snow slowing down traffic. When we’re about two blocks out I turn to Matthaeus. “Keep going in the cab. Watch the subway exits. I’m going on foot to the hotel.”

“Petrov’s men will be looking for you.”