Ticket guy nodded quickly. “Sure. Whatever you want, man.” He cupped a hand around his mouth and shouted to the security personnel at the escalators to let us pass without lanyards.
Neil led the way, pausing briefly and looking over his shoulder when I accidentally stepped on the heel of his expensive shoe. “You okay?”
“Fine.”
I caught the motion of Neil raising his head upward, and then he wrapped his hand firmly around my wrist. Not romantically. It was all business. But it was nice that he’d put two and two together pretty quickly about the lighting of the Javits Center.
We bypassed Bruno the Security Officer and got on the escalator, making a slow descent. The noise level rose exponentially as the huge crowd came into view. The layout seemed pretty organized despite the teeming masses—uniform rows of dealer booths in the middle of the showroom, with sponsors lining the ends. I had to admit, while dealing with Pete White might have been a disaster, this was an awesome turnout and I was sort of glad I’d sponsored.
“This is crazy,” Neil stated. He stepped off the escalator and pulled me to the side.
“Yup.”
“I mean, us being here.”
“I know what you meant.”
“Winter is going to have my ass for this.”
“I just want to talk to Lee,” I replied. “I have a knack for getting the guilty party to spill their most intimate secrets.”
“You just harass them until they’d rather be in jail.”
“How did we manage not to kill each other for four years?” I asked, motioning back and forth between us.
Neil finally smiled. “So what do you want to do—walk around and hope for the best?”
“Actually, I want to talk to Greg first.”
“Who?”
“That guy I don’t get along with,” I teased. “Marshall’s Oddities has a booth over on this side.” I pointed to the left of the exhibit hall.
Neil took my wrist again, and we walked through the crowds to the far wall. We kept close to the rope barriers, where there weren’t quite as many attendees as the middle of the aisle. We’d walked about halfway through the exhibit hall before I could make out the general shape of who I knew was Gregory Thompson. Blurry though he might have been, it was hard to mistake the tall, lanky build and ponytail for anyone else.
“Just up ahead,” Neil said, confirming my poor eyesight.
I bumped into his back when he stopped abruptly. “What gives?”
“Traffic jam.”
I peered around Neil’s shoulder as a group of people untangled themselves and headed in different directions. One came straight our way, made eye contact with me, and froze dead in his tracks.
Mr. Licorice, aka my assailant and thief, aka JD Malory, according to the girl from the academy. He had a lanyard around his neck with a vertical badge—which I’d realized indicated staff, versus the horizontal passes of attendees and dealers—and a fuckingTwizzlerhanging out of his mouth. I was pretty sure Calvin was still waiting on convention staff to return his inquiries about Casey Robert’s involvement with the event, but after speaking with his classmate and seeing JD here, it was confirmed for me. They had been working together, and JD was here with Lee.
JD did a quick about-face and walked the way he’d come.
“Neil,” I said, pointing at JD’s quickly disappearing figure. “That’s the kid—JD Malory.”
Neil, with his extra half a foot of height, was able to follow JD through the crowd. “Are you sure?”
“I’m athousand percentsure. I told the responding officer the night I was attacked that the guy smelled like licorice. He’s eating some now!”
“Sebastian—”
“I saw his face twice before. I’mpositive.”
“Okay, okay.” Neil turned and held his hands up in front of himself. “Don’t move. I’ll go talk to him.”
