Her pulse quickened. The arsonist. She closed her office door and called the number immediately.

“Yeah?” said the same voice.

She heard traffic noises in the background. He was no doubt at a pay phone.

“Is this Benny? I’m returning your call.”

“Yeah. This is about the Murray Hill place, right?”

“Right.”

“Yeah. I can do that.”

“Good. But I need more than that.” Jack’s comment about a fire leveling the whole block gnawed at her. “I don’t want it to spread.”

“No prob. You’re dealing wit’ a pro, here. The inside’ll cook. It’ll be done to a turn, crisped to ash before it shows outside. The water boys’ll be there by then, and if they ain’t, I’ll call ‘em myself. And that’ll be it. A surgical strike. With no one the wiser.”

“You’re sure? Absolutely sure? And no one will get hurt?”

“Guaranteed. Piece a cake, honey. You’ll be countin’ your money in no time.”

Benny obviously thought she was doing this for the insurance. Let him.

“Great,” she said.

“But I wanna be countin’ mine tonight. Like we agreed, half up front, half the morning after. In cash, know what I’m saying?”

“I know.”

Benny’s fee would just about clean her out. Was it worth it? Did she really want to do this?

Yes.

“Where do we meet?”

5.

5.

Alicia stood on a chair and stared out at the night through one of her skylights. She faced northeast. Toward Murray Hill.

Benny had said he’d do the job tonight.

“I’m workin’ another job farther uptown,” he’d said.

“But why wait? Your place is empty and ready to go. Piece a cake.”

Another job waiting… arson sounded like a booming business.

And then the police scanner she’d bought on her way home this afternoon squawked behind her. Something about shots fired near Madison Square Garden. Not what she wanted to hear.

Smoke reported from a house, on East Thirty-eighth.

That was what she was waiting for.

She knew she’d never see the flames or smoke from here, but something drew her to the window anyway. She’d stay here, squinting into the darkness until the alarm came through on the scanner. Then she’d run downstairs, snag a cab to Murray Hill, and stand there on Thirty-eighth Street, watching the flames burn that house to the sidewalk.

A tremor ran through her body and she wobbled atop the chair. She steadied herself against the skylight frame and closed her eyes. Her frazzled nerves were stretched to the breaking point. She wasn’t cut out for this.

God, what have I done? I actually hired someone to burn down the house. Am I out of my mind?

Sometimes she thought so.