Think Twice

“How’s business upstairs?” Esperanza asked.

“Shitty,” Myron said.

“But you still want me back?”

“I do. We can starve together.”

Esperanza smiled. She crossed the room and kissed Myron gently on the cheek. “I miss being around you every day.”

“Same.”

“And we can’t forget Big Cyndi.”

“No matter how hard we try,” Myron said. “When do you want to start?”

“Let’s table that for now,” she said. “So what’s up?”

“Something about this serial killer isn’t adding up,” Myron said.

“I thought Sadie did a pretty good job of explaining it all.”

“She did. But no one can explain why Greg is the only connection to two of the cases.”

“You have a theory?”

“Just a simple one: The killer is connected to him.”

“Or out to get him.”

“Or someone close to him,” Myron said.

“So what’s your next step?”

“When Greg was hiding, you found Grace’s hidden bank account in Charlotte,” Myron said. “I think we need to do more digging.”

He explained what he wanted her to do. She listened in silence. When he finished, Esperanza said, “I’m on it.”

“Have you spoken to Win?” Myron asked.

“No, why?”

“He sent a cryptic text.”

“Does he send any other kind?”

“I checked with Kabir,” Myron said. “He told me Win’s down in the basement training.”

She checked her watch. “Yep. Like clockwork. Talk to him. I’ll start on this.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

The only way to get to Win’s secret space was via the private elevator. There was no button to call the elevator. You could only access it with a key. Once inside the elevator, there was no button that would take you down below street level — you had to put the right code into the keypad. Myron always typed in the code very slowly for fear that if he got a number wrong, the elevator might self-destruct or the walls would slowly start closing in like the garbage disposal scene in Star Wars.

Win liked his gadgets.

Myron hit the lower floor. The elevator doors opened. Myron never knew what to call the room. Win’s gym? Workout room? Training space? Exercise area? All felt inadequate. There were the expected items you’d find in a classic workout gym — weights, barbells, pull-down-type machines, leg presses, a heavy bag, a Wing Chun fighting dummy, that kind of thing. The lights were kept low, giving the place a cave-like atmosphere. Right now, Win was barefoot and shirtless, sweating, running through a series of traditional katas. Win trains every day. His origin story is nothing as dramatic as Batman’s (murder of his parents) or Spider-Man’s (insect bite mixed with murder of his uncle), but when he was young, Win had felt unsafe and scared — the details are best saved for another time — and so he decided that he never wanted to feel that way again. That meant constant learning and training. He has studied with master fighters and top-level weapons experts from around the world. He is almost supernaturally knowledgeable about pretty much every hand-to-hand fighting discipline, knows his way around various blades better than anyone Myron knew, was a marksman with handguns and more than adequate with riflery. Win is always armed, though perhaps not right now where he was only wearing some kind of bathing-suit-like shorts. The room temperature was set at ninety degrees.

“A moment,” Win said, continuing through the kata, a flowing dance of kicks, blocks, blows, somehow both violent and meditative, “unless you want to join in.”

Over the years, Myron had trained with Win, most notably in tae kwon do and street fighting. It wasn’t a competition between them, but it would be hard to say who would come out victorious in a real fight. Win was smarter, more knowledgeable, better trained, more ruthless. Myron was bigger, stronger, and had the reflexes of an elite athlete.

“Pass,” Myron said.

“A sparring session. A quick workout. A hot shower. You’ll feel better.”

No doubt. “You said you needed to see me.”

Win finished the kata with a flourish, moving both hands and feet at blurring speeds. When he finished, he bowed to a mirror (not surprisingly, Win’s workout space had lots of mirrors), grabbed a towel and a bottle of room-temperature water. Win didn’t believe in drinking cold water when he worked out.

“Kabir is still tracking down Greg’s basketball game in Wallkill,” Win said, “but so far, no one remembers playing with him.”