“Don’t you mean Jonathan’s money?” I asked. I couldn’t help it.
Peter smiled snidely, stepped back into the room, and slammed the door in my face. So much for my note. I crumpled it in my hand and jammed it in my pocket.
“What was that about?” Derrick asked from behind me.
“Nothing,” I said, turning toward him. “But I’m glad you’re here. I was about to come looking for you.”
Derrick held up his palms like a traffic cop. “No. The answer is no, Keith.”
“You don’t even know what I’m going to ask.”
“I don’t need to. My answer is no, whatever it is.”
“Finch called from downtown,” I began. “And he— ”
“Downtown?” he interrupted. “I thought Finch left.”
“Guess not. Anyway, he said he really needs to tell me something.”
“About what?” Derrick asked, nervous now. Probably about being in my crosshairs.
“I have no idea,” I said. “That’s why I need to go talk to him. I just heard he’s moving to a new gallery, so maybe about that.”
“Oh, right,” Derrick said, like this was old news to him.
“Hold up— did you already know that too?” I sounded pissed. I was, a little bit, actually. “Did Finch tell you he was changing representation?”
“Yeah, um, I guess he did. Right after we got here,” Derrick stammered. “It didn’t seem like my place to, you know, get involved.”
I couldn’t actually blame Derrick for that. Still, his guilt was my only angle.
“Get involved?” I snapped. “You’re one of my best friends. You’re always fucking involved.”
“Of course I am. I’m sorry.” Derrick shook his head a little. “I’ve thought for a long time that you and Finch should go your separate ways. It could be a good thing.”
“You still should have told me. Anyway, this isn’t like breaking up with some girl you’ve been dating a few weeks. Finch and me— it’s like dissolving a marriage. There are assets and shit that need to be divided, agreements signed. Which is why I need to go talk to him now and clear things up.” Honestly, it sounded pretty convincing, even to me. “Just take me downtown and drop me off. Come on, you owe me. And if you don’t drive me, I’ll walk— dark roads, drunk drivers. Think of the guilt.”
Derrick glared at me, but finally he nodded. “Okay,” he said. “But I’m staying, and then we’re coming straight back here.”
I nodded and lied in that way that came so easily to me. “You’ve got a deal.”
Derrick wasn’t happy when I said that we were meeting Finch at the Falls. Not that I even knew where I really needed to be yet. But the Falls was at least downtown, so that seemed like a good place to start.
“Finch has just been here all day, hanging out in this bar?” Derrick asked as we were getting out of the car.
“Maybe I’m not the only one with a substance abuse problem.”
“But why not go home and hang out in a bar in Brooklyn?” Derrick pressed— he sounded suspicious now, of Finch though, not me. “There must have been half a dozen trains back to the city since this morning.”
“Do I look like a goddamn travel agent? Fuck, Derrick, who cares why Finch stayed?”
It was 7:53 p.m. Only seven minutes to get inside and ditch Derrick. I couldn’t risk him following me. Trying to stop me. Trying to save me from myself. That wasn’t happening, not this time.
“You have fifteen minutes,” Derrick said as he pulled open the door to the bar. His stern big-brother voice made my chest pull tight. I should have left Derrick a note too. “Thank you,” I would have written, “for being so loyal.” Because Derrick was always loyal, loyal to a fault.
I saluted. “Aye, aye, Captain.”
Inside, the Falls was even busier than it had been the night before, Aerosmith blasting, wall-to-wall damp bodies, a fucking mob scene near the bar. Something on the TV maybe. Despite all the people, when I looked up I met eyes almost instantly with the contractor sitting at the back. He even lifted his chin in my direction. I wondered if he thought that Jonathan and Peter were with me and had his money. They could already be on their way. Fuck. Another reason to speed things along.
Finally, a buzz in my back pocket. The location, had to be. For a second I wondered whether there was any chance this could end differently. But I couldn’t see how. I had no money. These people didn’t believe in second chances. And I’d already had way more than that. There would never be enough money to dig me out of this mess anyway. Rehab wouldn’t be a real fix, either— I already knew that. It would just be an exhausting pit stop on a never-ending downward slide.