A Friend in the Glass (An Auden & O’Callaghan Mystery #3)

Chapter Twenty-Six

Hotel 10 was actually located on East Eleventh Street, not Tenth, but it was several neighborhoods north of the Financial District—which was, in Rufus’s opinion, the fact to focus on. Tourists would probably refer to Hotel 10 as a “classy hostel,” but it was more like an upscale YMCA. The two-star joint had existed for as long as Rufus could remember. He’d always assumed it had once been a rich family’s home during the nineteenth century, surviving the test of time only because it’d been successfully chopped up into two dozen rentable rooms. Such extreme changes to its interior had left the public hallways of each floor almost maze-like in their appearances, with some so crooked and narrow that a grown man’s shoulders would rub either wall as he made for his room. And the low wattage bulbs—which made it easier to hide torn wallpaper and hundred-year-old scuffed floors—cast such an ethereal glow Rufus felt almost certain he’d turn a corner and see Alice chasing after a white rabbit, and it’d turn out that he was in Wonderland this whole time.

But no. This wasn’t Wonderland.

This was New York.

And Hotel 10 might have been trippy, but it was also cheap, short-staffed, with no questions asked.

Opening the door to room 7 on the fourth floor, Rufus made a sound in the back of his throat. The flowery green wallpaper across the six-sided room, the threadbare, pink paisley bedspread, and the maroon shade on the lone window was really an assault on the senses. A cheap shelving unit had been installed on the wall opposite the foot of the bed, allowing for barely enough space to squeeze between the two. It was loaded with a small television, microwave, and desktop telephone. Sitting atop the microwave was a pile of folded towels and two tiny complimentary bars of soap. Beside the furniture was a sink. The actual bathroom was back the way they’d come and shared with the rest of the fourth-floor guests.

Rufus pulled his beanie off and turned around as Sam closed the door behind them. “I like it,” he started, trying his hardest for a smile. “It’s… very colorful.”

“It’s definitely that.”

Rufus caught his reflection in the small mirror above the sink. He leaned down for a better look, then straightened and asked, “Does my forehead have a bruise, or is that just the lighting in here?”

Sam reached up. His thumb traced a line of sensitive skin, and then he bent and kissed Rufus’s forehead. “It’s a bruise, baby. You knocked his block off.”

“I don’t think I did it right.”

“You did it right. It hurts like a bitch any way you do it.”

Rufus stared up at his boyfriend’s deep brown eyes. So hard, so soft, so critical, so beautiful. “They were gonna kill us, Sam.”

Sam let out a shaky breath and nodded.

Rufus shrugged out of his jacket and sweatshirt before dropping onto the foot of the bed. Tiredly, he gave the mattress a light inviting pat.

Sam turned himself out of his coat more slowly. When he sat, the bed sank under his weight, and Rufus rocked into him. He ran a hand over Rufus’s head, brushing his fingers through Rufus’s hair.

“I’m not na?ve,” Rufus said as he put his head on Sam’s shoulder. “I know most politicians don’t give a damn about the people they represent. But until now, the closest I’ve gotten to actual ‘government conspiracy’ was a few dirty cops.”

After a moment, Sam laughed softly. “That is not where I thought this was going.” He was quiet then. The rise and fall of his body with each breath was pleasantly rhythmic. “I don’t know if it’s a government conspiracy so much as a conspiracy involving a lot of government types.” Another pause came, more considering. “She freaked out about Stonefish.”

“Because the whole thing was a cover-up,” Rufus answered. He slumped a bit lower so he could wrap his arms around Sam in a sideways embrace. “A cover-up means you’re conspiring to conceal the truth. Ergo, government conspiracy.”

“So, what do we know? She’s on the Defense Subcommittee. Her husband’s a lobbyist with ties to Conasauga. They picked Del up off the street like he was a sack of potatoes, and even if he didn’t like it, he didn’t tell them to fuck off. I mean, it’s not hard to follow the thread—Conasauga pays her husband, she makes sure Conasauga gets contracts, and Stonefish threatens to send everything to fuck, but they manage to cover it up. Why pick up Del like that, though?”

“They kept telling Del to stay calm,” Rufus added. “Do they think he’s a loose cannon? Or loose-lipped?”

“Del definitely lost his cool with the colonel when we saw them in the hotel. He seemed desperate, and desperate people do stupid things.” Sam grimaced. “We’re missing a piece of the puzzle.”

Rufus picked a bit of lint from Sam’s shirt. “I hate that we didn’t have a chance to speak with Evangeline. It’s like an itch on my brain, you know? There’s a reason she’s dead and Del’s not.”

“And I don’t think her friends at Conasauga are going to want to help us.”

“You mean, if she had any friends besides My-Eyes-Are-Up-Here Anson. She didn’t come off as the most likable—”

“That guy.” And then Sam said, “Holy shit. That guy. He was all up in her business, right? And he wanted to talk to us at the conference center? Wouldn’t get out of the fucking way when we were trying to catch Del.”

Rufus’s light-colored brows crept up to his hairline. “You think he knows—what? About her death? About Del, maybe? Or about Evangeline’s work relationship with Del?”

“I don’t know. But if he’s got something to say, maybe we should hear it.”

“I don’t have his phone number,” Rufus replied. “Do you?”

“No.”

Rufus stood up. He tried to pace, but having to step over Sam’s legs just to get between the bed and the entertainment stand brought that to an end pretty quickly. “We could call the general number of Conasauga or— oh ! Hey! You know LinkedIn, right? It’s like Facebook but for finance bros?”

“I don’t think they bill themselves as Facebook for finance bros.”

“What I mean is, the kind of people who were at the Javits are the same people who’d have LinkedIn profiles. I’m pretty sure you get instant messages on that platform.”

“That’s actually a good idea.” He frowned. “I don’t have an account, though. Do you?”

Rufus shrugged. “I can make one.”

A smile crooked across Sam’s face. “Now that I’d like to see.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Rufus yanked his burner from his pocket. “I’m going to make Rufus—no— Devon . Devon MacDougal. He’s an up-and-coming young exec thirsty for fresh opportunities and new professional contacts.” Rufus navigated LinkedIn’s web page and started creating a new account. “Most recent job title… hmm…. External Vice President of Communications. That sounds good. Hey, do you think Devon would have been in a fraternity?”

“Obviously he would have been in a fraternity. Alpha Tau Asshole, I think.”

“Anson isn’t going to answer messages from a brother of the Alpha Tau Asshole Chapter.” Rufus took several more minutes to finish bullshitting his way through some recent job placements and academic achievements and was pretty impressed with his ability to use a lot of action verbs that really said a whole heap of nothing, once you deconstructed Devon’s profile. He briefly considered whether this newly-found skill was something he could monetize, then Rufus offered Sam the phone.

“What does ‘Innovated customer-oriented experience’ mean?”

“Sounds sexy, doesn’t it?”

Sam tossed him the phone. “You need a picture.”

Rufus raised the cell and quickly snapped a photo of Sam. “Gosh, what a scowl,” he murmured. He cropped the picture before uploading it. It took less than a minute before he found Anson’s profile. “Found him! Devon’s gonna invite him out for a beer, ok?”

Eyebrows raised, Sam said, “What’s Devon’s endgame here?”

“To get some nookie.”

Sam did not look amused.

“I’m kidding. Geez. I’m gonna say there’s a great networking opportunity—a popup event, I think they’re called.” Rufus turned, drew aside the shade on the window to take a look outside, then said, “It’s happening conveniently across the street from us at the Public House. Once he’s there, we can try to pull some intel about Evangeline outta him. Boom. Message sent. Let’s see if Anson lives on his phone like the hungry little Regional Director of Business Development that he is.”

“Perfect,” Sam said. “We can eat while we wait.”

“Wanna treat Devon to something nice?”