The Caretaker by A. X. Ahmad

Author:A. X. Ahmad [Ahmad, A. X.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Thrillers
ISBN: 9781250016836
Google: cP1wPrbRtoAC
Amazon: B009LRWJDO
Publisher: Minotaur Books
Published: 2013-05-21T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-One

The next morning, Ranjit walks down Columbus Avenue in the South End. Even with the trees bare and gray crusts of snow piled on the ground, Anna’s neighborhood stinks of money.

He turns onto Rutland Square, passing rows of Victorian brick town houses with curved bay windows, their high brick stoops rebuilt with faux-antique iron railings. Land Rovers and Saabs are parked in the tiny service alleys, and through the windows he sees high-ceilinged rooms with chandeliers and tall, dark pieces of furniture. The richer Americans are, he thinks, the older they like their houses.

The Dunkin’ Donuts near the subway stop was still out of tea, so he bought a cup of hot chocolate. He sips it as he walks, noticing the street numbers painted in gold leaf on the high transoms. Number 51 is at the center of the square, and a motion-activated security camera above its front door whirrs to life as he approaches.

Cursing under his breath, he hurries past. He really should have planned this better. What is he going to do, wait for Anna to emerge? Or should he just ring the doorbell and hope that the Senator isn’t home?

He pauses in front of a brick town house on the other side of the square. It has been gutted and is being rebuilt, its windows empty holes, its interior swarming with workers in yellow helmets. He smells freshly cut lumber and hears the crack crack crack of compressed-air nail guns.

Moving closer, he stands on its stairs, hoping that in his blue mechanic’s jacket and boots he will fit in with the construction workers.

Minutes pass, and soon the hot cocoa is down to a chemical-tasting sludge. He looks for somewhere to throw his cup, but there seem to be no trash cans in this neatly manicured world. He is looking up and down the block when Anna emerges from her front door and pulls it shut.

He recognizes her long-limbed, confident stride right away. She’s wearing her blue-and-gold running sneakers and silver down jacket, her short hair hidden under an orange knit hat.

Anna, it’s me, Ranjit, please, can I have a minute … The words are in his throat as he starts to cross the road. And then he stops.

A black Land Rover emerges from the alley and pulls alongside her. The rear window hisses down and he gets a glimpse of the dark, shaved head of Senator Neals.

Stupid. Seeing her has made him stupid. Ranjit walks casually back to the construction site.

“Hey, you!” A bearded face peers down at him from a high window of the gutted house. “Yeah, I’m talkin’ to ya. Ya with the Sheetrockers? Where’s the rest of the fucking crew?”

Ranjit nods. “They’ll be right by. They’re looking for parking.”

“Parking? In this neighborhood? Stupid crackhead motherfuckers.” The man’s head disappears.

Across the road Anna leans into the car. Ranjit hears scattered words above the crash of construction.

“… nice today … going running … thanks…”

The Land Rover roars ahead and Anna sets off toward Massachusetts Avenue at a rapid walk.

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