Game

The police had confiscated all of the materials Detective Hughes had brought the day before, but they hadn’t taken anything actually belonging to Jazz or Co

Which meant that they’d left Co

The police didn’t know that the previous night, Co

She skimmed through the images and notes, then double-checked some things on the maps app on her cell phone. Sure enough, many of the crime scenes were nearby—within walking distance, even.

Co

If her perambulations took her to some of the closest crime scenes, well… that was just a happy coincidence, right?

A man pushing a baby carriage nearly collided with Co

Co

She had always imagined herself here. Here or in LA. If she was going to be an actress, it would have to be one or the other. LA was where you went for the big money and the kind of fame that required bodyguards and came with hot-and-cold-ru

But New York was home of the stage. Broadway. Performing night after night in front of a live audience. That immediate reaction, that visceral feedback, as relentless and reliable as a tide. She’d first tasted it during a talent show in first grade and she’d hungered for it ever since. While Jazz sought refuge in hideouts and shadows, craving anonymity, Co

Would that keep them together? Would it drive them apart? “We go together ’cause opposites attract,” the old song said, and Co

She paused outside a hair boutique that advertised PRODUCTS FOR AFRICAN HAIR in enormous letters in its front window. A woman in a dashiki with braids longer and more impressive than Co

Just seeing the words African hair in a window made Co

“Can I help you?” the woman asked suddenly. “I’ll just be a second.” She gestured with the cigarette and her expression said, C’mon, kid—don’t make me put this out even a second early.

Co

“Actually…” she said, and launched into the cover story she’d concocted for herself when prowling around the other crime scenes: She was a high school student writing a paper about the reliability of eyewitness testimony over time. “So, anyway, there was one of the Hat-Dog murders over that way….” She pointed toward the alley less than a block from where they stood. “I was just wondering, Miss—”

“Just call me Rabia.”

“Great. I’m Co

“Who’s Puerto Rican? Mom or Dad?” That caught her off guard for a second. Back in the Nod, almost everyone assumed Co

“It’s actually Conscience.”

Rabia smiled. “Nice. Who does your hair, honey? It’s not bad, but let me fix you up with some extensions and—”

“I really sort of need to work on the report….” Co

“Oh, yeah, that night,” Rabia said. “I remember that.” She dragged on the cigarette with practiced, sensual ease. Her fingernails—visible through the ends of her fingerless gloves—had the hard yellow cast of a serious nicotine fiend. Co

Co

Ill concealing her pleasure, Rabia shrugged. “No big deal. Look, it was months ago, okay? A lot warmer.”

“Right,” Co

Co

And Rabia did not disappoint.

“And I was standing right about there,” Rabia said, grabbing the thread of conversation, pointing across a middling busy street. “Over near the mailbox. It wasn’t a bad night. Just having a smoke and looking at my window. Figuring out if it worked from across the way.” She craned her neck to look at the window now. “Still not sure about that display. Do you think—”

“So you were across the street,” Co

“And it happened over there.” She pointed again, this time to the alleyway. From the mailbox, it would be a pretty easy sightline. Co