The driver takes Javy home first and then drops me off at Frankie’s place.
I buzz her a few times. She should have beaten us here, until it hits me. She wouldn’t have gone home. She’d have gone to the Stadium, to clear out her office, because . . . because she’s done and it was fucking unfair as all hell for me to ask her to not be.
I jog back down the steps of the brownstone and nearly run into a guy turning into them.
“Sorry,” I say, shifting around him.
“Hey, aren’t you . . . Charles . . . Charles Avery?”
“Yeah, that’s me.”
“Shane Sullivan,” he says, with meaning, and holding out his hand like I’m supposed to know who the hell he is.
“Have we met?”
“No, no, but you used to work with my wife. Francesca Sullivan.”
“Ex-wife,” I correct, instantly. This is the dickhead that followed her across the fucking country and moved in downstairs like that wasn’t fucking insane.
“Yeah, obviously,” he says. “What are you doing here?”
“Frankie and I are working together again.”
“That’s right.” I’ll give him this, he plays dumb very, very well. Too well. “You took the Eagles manager job. Good for you. I was always a big fan when you were inLA, but maybe I should root for the Eagles now.”
“What?” I snap, trying to keep the voice in my head that’sbellowing for me to just knock this guy into next week under control.
“I said maybe I should root for the Eagles now. You know, living in Brooklyn it just makes sense.”
“You’re a Dodgers fan, though.”
“Well, yeah, but . . . “
“You don’t just do that.”
“Do what?”
“Switch alliances. You’re a Dodgers fan. That’s who you cheer for. You don’t just fucking decide one day to root for another team because it’s convenient.”
“Youswitched teams.”
“It’s my job, that’s what I do. You’re just a fucking scumbag who can’t be trusted to honor a promise he made.”
“Listen, I don’t know what Frankie told you . . .”
“Save it, shithead. Don’t root for the Eagles. Or the Dodgers. Baseball doesn’t fucking want you and neither does Frankie.”
And with that I know exactly what I need to do, and it might not make everything right, but it’ll be a decent start.
A few phone calls and a couple of hours later, with my plan set into action, I head for the only place I think she could be: Russell Field.
Gregory’s camped out at his desk, as usual, and he sends me back with a flick of his head and pleading eyes. I’m not sure if he wants me to talk her into staying or if he just desperately hopes I don’t intend on defiling her office while he has to listen.
She’s not at her desk but standing up staring out the windows onto the field, but once I move to stand beside her, I’m not sure she’s even seeing it.
“They don’t have views like this from their offices in the Bronx.”
A soft huff of a laugh answers me, but not much else.Glancing around, her office doesn’t look any different. Nothing is packed, the desk is organized with her laptop there, open and waiting for her, the phone beside it. No boxes or storage containers. She’s even dressed for work, in one of her pencil skirts with a long-sleeved blouse tucked into it, not the jeans and t-shirt that someone would probably wear to clear out their office.
