It was after 7pm so the Manhattan traffic was only bad, as opposed to its rush-hour, War-of-the-Worlds, evacuate-the-city levels of bumper-to-bumper honking insanity. If anyone ever found a way to turn rage into electricity, one set of broken lights in Manhattan could power the Eastern Seaboard.
The waving little green man on the screen indicated his fare was on the left-hand side of the street. The only person standing on the sidewalk amidst the stream of hurrying pedestrians was a woman in a red coat, holding a matching red umbrella over her head. As he pulled up, she stepped forward smartly, collapsing the umbrella as she slid into the back seat.
Smithy pressed the icon on the screen. “Ms Muroe?”
“That’s right.”
“And we’re off to Lincoln Center?”
“Correct.”
Smithy put on his turn signal and pulled back into traffic. “Anything good on tonight?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“Oh. OK.”
“I’m meeting someone.”
“Gotcha.”
“Actually, that person is you, Mr Smith.”
Smithy was startled, then remembered that his ID was on the plexiglass screen between the seats. He laughed awkwardly. “Thanks, but I’m spoken for.”
Not that he was interested, but the woman was certainly attractive. Late thirties at a guess, long auburn hair, with bangs over piercing brown eyes. She smiled brightly at him in the rear-view mirror, knowing he was looking.
“That’s actually not what I meant, Mr Smith. Although I believe you prefer Smithy?”
Smithy hit the brakes so hard that the car behind him honked. He looked in the rear-view mirror again at the still-smiling Ms Muroe. “What is this?”
“Just a friendly chat, I assure you.” She glanced behind them. “You might want to continue to drive, Smithy. Do you mind if I call you Smithy?”
“Maybe I want you to get out of my cab?”
“Ohhh,” she said and tutted. “If you throw me out here, that’ll be your third and final strike. The app will not tolerate a poor customer experience. I know that because it’s owned by my employer.”
The car behind them laid on the horn again. Smithy glanced in the side mirror and noticed the NYPD cruiser on the far side of the road, its driver giving him a questioning look. Smithy waved and moved off. He took a left and, in the absence of any other ideas, started driving toward Lincoln Center.
“Whatever this is, I’m not interested.”
“Oh, come now, Smithy – I’m going to call you that unless you tell me to stop, by the way. How can you know you’re not interested if you don’t know what this is?”
“Wait a sec. Who owns this app?” he asked, pointing to the phone on his dash.
“Lou Reed,” she said. “I believe you are acquainted.”
“I don’t know who that is.”
“Really?” said Muroe, giving him a sardonic little smile that might’ve been cute in other circumstances. “I’ve got footage from a couple of CCTV cameras on my phone here that says otherwise.” She pulled a smartphone out of her coat pocket. “Would you like to see it? There’s a bit where you slide along a table, which is frankly pretty badass.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“OK,” she said, laughter in her voice. “We can play it that way if you like.”
“How did you find me?”
She shrugged. “I could give you an answer like, ‘It is my job to find people.’ It’d make me sound all mysterious and sinister, but it has been a long day. When you competed in Mr Reed’s little hunt you filled out legal paperwork. You didn’t fill it out correctly, but you did so incorrectly in such a way that still gave us enough to go on. Look, relax – this isn’t anything bad. Mr Reed wants to thank you for your assistance in dealing with certain matters.”
“OK. Consider me thanked.”
“He wishes to do so in person.”
“No, thanks.”
“Mr Reed is a very generous man.”
“No, he isn’t,” said Smithy. “He’s a guy who thinks his money can buy him anything. That is not the same thing.”
Muroe gave a little nod. “OK, I shall rephrase. He’s a very rich man who wants to meet you so badly that this time yesterday the app I used to bring you here was owned by somebody else. If he’s willing to drop that kind of cash just to get your attention, imagine how much money he is prepared to give you.”
“I’m not interested in him or his money.”
“Everybody is interested in his money.”
“Nope,” said Smithy. “I’m not for sale. He’s the physical embodiment of everything I despise and I’ve no interest in his gratitude or his cash. I wasn’t in his apartment for either.”
“Careful, Smithy, you just confessed there.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“OK. Mr Smith? Shall we go with that?”
No response.
“Mr Smith it is. You do have a temper, don’t you? I can see why Judge Rodriguez said what he did.”
“Those records are sealed.”
Muroe laughed again. Smithy was beginning to hate the sound. “Actually, can I just ask? Help me settle a bet. Why were you in Mr Reed’s apartment?”
There was a long pause during which Smithy said nothing.
“Right, sorry. You don’t want to incriminate yourself. Although it is a little late for that. I think you were there to teach him some kind of lesson. My colleague reckons you wanted to kill him.”
“With paintballs?” asked Smithy.
“Oops, incriminated yourself there again, Mr Smith. And yes, he thinks you were going to do something inventive with them.” Her eyes flashed on the word “inventive”. “Personally, I don’t think that’s your style. Not the inventiveness, so much as the murder.”
“No comment.”
She laughed again. “Oh, I do enjoy you, Mr Smith. Down to business. I’m empowered to offer you ten thousand dollars to meet with Mr Reed.”
“No.”
“Twenty?”
“No.”
“Thirty is as far as I can go.”
“Good.”
“So, you’ll take it?”
“No, but now you can stop asking.” Smithy pulled the taxi over and turned around in his seat to look directly at Muroe. “It’s been a real hoot, but you can tell Mr Reed I’m not interested. End of story.”
“Look, just meet him. Hear what he has to say. Call him an ass and take the guy’s money. What’ve you got to lose?”
“My self-respect.”
She raised an eyebrow. “If the report I read this morning is accurate, the security consultant reckons earlier this week you exited Mr Reed’s building dressed as a leprechaun via a garbage chute. Exactly how high a price are you putting on your self-respect?”
“Look. Let’s just forget the whole thing.”
“Mr Reed is not prepared to do that.”
“Well, he will have to get used to disappointment.”
Muroe sighed. “I’m the easy way, right? You get that? I’m him asking nicely. He will ask in other ways.”