“Love these,” she said, holding up the ice cube tray. “I can put little ice hearts in my bourbon.” She tucked her new toys into her large leather cross-body bag as she and Sean started back to her apartment frequently stepping over piles of debris. Garbage had become commonplace on the city streets. Since the city went on lockdown, government services had been seriously strained and most people who could remember agreed New York hadn’t looked this bad since the early 1980s.

“I can’t take this much longer,” said Zoe, sidestepping around another bag of garbage in the middle of the sidewalk. “Have you been over to the Broadway theater district? With all the shows closed, the streets in the West 40s are abandoned. What’s left is a whole neighborhood filled with drugs and crime. I know someone who got mugged on West 45th in the middle of a work day. It’s amazing how fast the changes happened.”

“Don’t complain, you’ve got a thirty-eight hundred square foot apartment to wallow in,” said Sean with a slightly snarky tone. “I, on the other hand, live in a one-room studio.”

Zoe let out a breath. “You’re right, I have it easier than most. I may have a big apartment, but no cash flow,” said Zoe. “That means a big tax bill, expensive insurance and huge, eye-popping monthly maintenance costs. If Miranda cuts me from the staff tomorrow, Conner and I will be in big trouble. I’m practically down to nothing from the money my father left for me.”

“Miranda might cut me too,” said Sean, “and then what do I do? I’m a restaurant person. No restaurants are hiring.”

“She won’t cut you. You’re her right hand. Miranda would chop her leg off before she’d let you go. You do all the ordering and purchasing and you double as bartender and waiter. She relies on you for everything. Me, I’m expendable. Miranda’s got two shift managers. With the restaurant operating at twenty percent, she doesn’t need both of us and Juliet has seniority.”

“Yeah, but Juliet is a total bitch.”

“That’s true.”

“Let’s not worry about the restaurant or Juliet right now,” said Sean. “We’ve got something much more pressing to deal with.”

“You’re right,” said Zoe snapping to attention. “We have to find that masked woman. It’s already Tuesday, which means we’ve only got two more days to save a life.”

18

Gabriela García-Harmen paced around the tiny living room of the small one-bedroom apartment on East 10th Street that she shared with her husband, Greg. The dark fifth-floor walk-up’s only windows faced another building which meant they had to keep the lights on during the day.