Suddenly I feel calm, simple, tough. Lucy is Lucy again. I have one of those hunches that’s actually a lot more than a hunch. And that kind of hunch is either a breakthrough or a disaster.

I pull out my phone and press the speed dial for Blumenthal.

“I’ve got to talk to you before you head to Westchester,” I say.

“Too late and too bad,” says Blumenthal.

I hate the guy. And for once I say so out loud. “You know, you’re a real son of a bitch. I’ve got an idea that could really help, and you say ‘too bad.’”

Blumenthal speaks. “Listen, Lucy. I don’t have time. I literally do not have the time.”

“I’m telling you, Detective. I’ve got an idea that could really help us.”

“Yeah? I’ve got an idea, too. Here’s my idea. You stay put. You do your job and…you’ll see. It’s all going to work out.”

Chapter 69

Chapter 69

I AM WILLING TO bet my New York City ass that this whole thing is all going to work out just fine. Here’s why: because I’m jumping fast and deep into the situation. Blumenthal won’t be happy. Bobby Cilia won’t be happy. Hell, it’s even possible that I won’t be happy. But I can’t run the risk of not getting involved and then end up hating myself for the rest of my life.

Or even worse—and this is wishful thinking—let the case absolutely fail and then hear Blumenthal say something infuriating like, “Why the hell didn’t you just ignore me? You always do. For Chrissake, Lucy, this time you could have been a hero…er, heroine.”

Okay. Back to reality. Game on.

I grab Troy and say, “Get your car. We have to move fast. Go get your car right now.”

Uh-oh. Glitch one in my plan. Troy says, “Lady boss, I’m a subway guy. I don’t even own a car.”

This inspires my decision to act like a maniac CEO type. Ignore reality. Just give orders. “Get a goddamn car, Troy! Just get a car!”

He looks at me like the true crazy lady I’ve become. “You are a woman possessed,” he says. “I’ll just assume that the Lord himself is talking to all of us through your screams.”

Troy runs to the exit stairs. “I’ll call you as soon as I know what I’m driving, and where you should wait for a pickup.”

“Great!” I say. “Now just move. Move…your…ass.”

“I always wanted to be somebody’s sidekick,” he shouts, and he disappears down the stairs.

As for me, I don’t ever remember being so freakin’ worried. I’m getting ready to follow a long-shot hunch—a good hunch, a smart hunch, but, like I say, a long shot.