“Thanks.”
“It was very cute,” Larkin continued. “The way you used your height to impose yourself and compared my eyes to the moon.”
“They’regray,” Doyle protested. “And bright. Like the—forget it.”
“I’m surprised you’re single.”
Doyle met his look. “It’s a shame you aren’t.”
Larkin smiled—only a little. “So long as you don’t comment on my ass, I’ll keep HR out of this.”
Doyle’s smoky laugh chased away the claustrophobic silence.
The Arsenal was visible just beyond the budding trees lining Fifth Avenue, which bordered the east side of Central Park. Built a decade before the Civil War to act as munition storage for the state, the out-of-time medieval fortress, complete with a cast-iron eagle that oversaw from its roost above the double doors, had since become the headquarters for the Department of Parks & Recreation. Larkin hit the brakes at the corner of Sixty-Fourth as two women came up on his blind spot riding Citi Bikes. He tapped the horn as they wove in and out of the two lanes of traffic before reaching the bus lane and peddling downtown carefree.
“They should be wearing helmets,” Larkin murmured as he crept behind a plumbing van attempting to merge into traffic.
“Want to get out and write them a ticket?” Doyle asked.
“I don’t meanshouldas inrequired. A rider fourteen years or older is not legally obligated to wear a helmet unless their job is accomplished via bicycle. I mean should as in it’s safer.”
“We can always hope Darwinism teaches them a lesson.”
“Doubtful. The benefits of a modern society have greatly reduced the process of natural selection.” Larkin stole the parking spot the van vacated in its process of cutting off a taxi, which led to a screaming match through the vehicle windows in two unrelated languages—Spanish and Urdu, respectively.
“That was dark.”
Larkin pulled the key from the ignition, opened his door, and glanced at Doyle. “Trials and tribulations. Then you die.” He climbed out of the Audi. Larkin tapped the lock after Doyle exited the car, walked past a too-full trash bin on the corner that folks kept piling wrappers and empty soda cans on, like a game of urban Jenga, then crossed the street.
Doyle’s long strides easily caught up to Larkin. They took the steps down into the park and toward the looming fortress, white flag of the Parks Department flapping overhead. “You can’t have the day without the night.”
“Is that a saying.”
“Hmm? No. Scientific fact. Nighttime is caused by Earth’s rotation on its axis.”
Larkin glanced at Doyle from the corner of his eye before pulling open the door to the Arsenal. “I passed Earth science, thank you.”
“I’m using allusion,” Doyle corrected.
Turning to stand in the open doorway, Larkin stared at Doyle for a passing beat, then said, “I represent nighttime.”
“Right.”
“And nighttime is yet another meaning for death.”
“Not what I intended, but given our respective careers, sure.”
“That’s a terrible allusion.”
“Why?”
Larkin glanced at the welcome desk before saying, a touch quieter, “Because, first, it’s imagery, not allusion. Second, if you have too much daytime—life—it is, in fact, just as bad.”
“Isn’t that what I said?”
“Yes. But you worded it in such a way as to suggest some kind of romantic malarkey.”
Doyle smiled. “Malarkey. Got it.”
