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Why you here?
I leaned close to Nico. “Do you know ASL?”
“Not really. Why?”
“Watch her left hand. Do it subtly.”
He did so, then cursed under his breath. “I’ve forgotten most of it.”
“ASL?”
“Kaylin went to the international school in Moscow. There was a deaf kid in her class, and she wanted to be able to speak to him, so she learned the alphabet. I used to practise with her. She was only eight. How can she remember so much?”
Because she was smart. Book smart, not street smart, seeing as she’d got mixed up with a motherfucker like Cesare Cavallaro, but not totally dumb.
“She’s asking why you’re here.”
“You understand ASL?”
“Nah, dude, I’m just making shit up.” At Blackwood, we had a CPD program that focused on more than simply shooting at things. Since we had several deaf team members, we’d added ASL classes to the curriculum, and anyone could show up on a Thursday lunchtime to learn. Yeah, the program cost a fair bit, but we ended up with well-educated employees and an excellent staff-retention rate. “I know the basics.”
“Tell her she’s a hard woman to find.”
I angled my body so the Cavallaros couldn’t see, my hand hidden between my chest and Nico’s. Kaylin sang on autopilot, watching as I slowly spelled out Nico’s response.
“She says she didn’t do it.” Presumably referring to the dead cop. “She’s stuck here now.”
“Does she want out?”
“She can’t. She has a kid. A dog.”
It was as I’d thought. She’d landed up in a situation she disliked, but she couldn’t see a way to escape.
“Tell her that if she wants us to get her out of there, we will. The kid and the dog too.”
I relayed the message, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw Alonzo Cavallaro leaning forward. He was watching Kaylin closely. Too closely. Had he noticed her hand? Or was her demeanour off? She seemed stiff, a bit wooden, and when she first walked out on stage, she’d been far looser.
Whatever, she’d noticed him too, and she turned on the style again, cradling the mic with both hands as she let her gaze roam the room. Then the Divas moved on to another dance number, and we still didn’t have an answer.
Dammit.
Dessert was served during the interval, and Emily leaned across to introduce herself to the trashy blonde.
“Hey, hun, I love your nails. Did you get them done around here?”
She looked to Fausto, who nodded. Sheesh, she needed permission to answer a question?
“At Paintbox in SoHo, but they don’t take walk-ins.”
“Maybe I’ll give them a call, see if they can fit me in before we go home.”
“You’re on vacation?”
“It’s my hubby’s birthday.” I waved at the waitress hovering behind the big boss. “Hey, can we get some drinks for these folks?”
“Uh, sure, but?—”
I gave Vito a wink. “Order the good stuff, honey. We’re celebrating.”
