Devine's Providence: A Novel by Stephen Reney

Author:Stephen Reney [Reney, Stephen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-10-11T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

DRUNKEN ANGEL

The War Room was filled with nervous energy. Zachetti was planted on the sofa. He had removed his mask but kept his opera cape on (“In case I need to exit with a dramatic fucking flourish,” he had said). Chelsea sat next to him, in what room was left. She had proven the theory that all good things come to an end by switching her dress for sweatpants and a t-shirt.

Terry remained completely done up. She served us coffee, and we munched on a variety of cookies she had relocated from the party’s dessert table into a large plastic bag hidden in her purse.

She winked at me as she handed me my java, and I knew why as soon as I tasted the whiskey mixed in. A smile from Zachetti and a cough from Chelsea told me mine wasn’t the only ‘special’ cup.

“You’re the tops, sweetheart,” I said.

“Cheers,” said Terry.

Chelsea coughed again but took a big swig from her mug.

The Phantom of Zachetti had filled us in on how his night went. Word that I was at the ball had gotten around pretty early on—someone had recognized me before we even got through security. Most of the talk was innocent enough; all of the veterans that would know me and were still on the force were like a sewing circle of old ladies. I hadn’t made very many public appearances in high-profile functions like that in about a decade and a half, so the gossip spread fairly quickly. “Did you hear Harry Devine’s here? With a gorgeous blonde number!”

By the time the game of telephone reached Chief Delgado, however, the innocence had rubbed off.

From what Zachetti could tell, no one had made Chelsea, thinking she was indeed just my date. A very long overdue rebound friend-with-benefits, perhaps.

I’m ashamed to say I didn’t mind people thinking that. And not just because it kept our cover intact.

As far as what I was doing there, Zachetti couldn’t find out what—if anything—Delgado and his comrades knew. Or even suspected.

Chelsea kept assuring me that I had played off our encounter just fine, and gave no reason for him (or anyone else) to suspect that I hadn’t given up on the Marc Winters case.

But my missing gun gnawed at me. It ate at the corners of my mind, and I couldn’t help but dread that it would come back to bite me. It could’ve been a coincidence, sure, if some random passerby happened to be digging in the trash of the same ATM vestibule I had stashed it. Or, more likely, if someone had seen me hastily discard it and then swept in as soon as I returned to the party. But I didn’t like coincidences. Not when the stakes were so high. And not with a police department camera in just the right place.

But then there was the question: if someone involved with the conspiracy saw me stash the gun, why take it? And why let me just walk out, once Delgado confronted me?

And what about Stanley What’s-his-Face? He definitely suspected something about me.

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