Page 40 of The Paradox Club

She gripped her phone in her pocket. If she took it out and started texting, Lidenbrock 2 would be on her in an instant and her phone would probably end up in a storm sewer. She could try to lose him in the park, but he was tall and rangy and looked like he might be a runner. She had dressed down for the overnight shift, and in her black work boots and heavy jeans, she would be neither fast nor agile. So not the park. That left one of three establishments between the club and her apartment—businesses that played into her constant plans to avoid catastrophe. The rules for such businesses were simple: They had to be open twenty-four hours a day, they had to be located near Valentine 6’s usual routes, and they had to have friendly proprietors and employees who would play along with her little game. The closest was the Parthenon Diner on the corner of Fifty-Eighth Street and Ninth Avenue.

The bell jangled as she pushed through the door. Lidenbrock 2 was maybe fifteen seconds behind her, ten if he started running.

“Good morning—” began the broad man behind the register, but before he could even say her name, Valentine 6 ducked past him.

“Code red, Mr. Drakos,” she said quietly. “Tall man, blue jacket, vacant look on his face.”

“Got it. Supply closet off the kitchen.”

Valentine 6 stooped low behind the counter so that no one entering the shop would see her make her way into the kitchen through the swinging door. The staff didn’t give her a second glance as she dashed past a grill piled high with sausage and bacon and into a dark closet cluttered with mops, brooms, and buckets. She pulled the door almost closed behind her and took out her cell phone, its glow illuminating the tiny space. In a lull in the kitchen ruckus, she thought she heard raised voices from the dining area. She punched her passcode into the phone, and nothing happened. She tried again, still with no results.

Idiot, she thought. What are you even thinking using your own phone? We’ve practiced this. She shoved her phone back into her pocket. Good thing Lidenbrock 2 was somehow jamming it, she thought, or else she might have made the mistake of sending a message to the president through her own account. In the darkness she dug a hand into her canvas bag and felt around among pens and notebooks, tampons and medications until she felt the cold metal of her burner phone. Not just any burner phone, but one that unlocked with a ten-digit alpha-numeric code. No way Lidenbrock 2 could hack into that.

Twenty seconds later she had texted the message to the president, peaches followed by the coordinates. Thirty seconds later she had just dropped the burner into a bucket full of murky mop water when the door flew open and a red-faced Lidenbrock 2 stood in front of her.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he hissed.

“Didn’t you know that I moonlight cleaning floors at diners?” she said, picking up a mop and using the handle to hold him at bay.

“I have a weapon in my pocket that is considerably more powerful than a mop.”

“Yes, and if you shoot me here, there will be plenty of witnesses,” said Valentine 6, nodding to where the kitchen staff watched the proceedings.

“Do you want me to call the police?” asked Mr. Drakos, his wide frame blocking the kitchen door.

Valentine 6 considered her position. Involving the police would only delay the moment that someone dragged her back to the Paradox Club and before Pilgrim 3. If she spent her morning being interviewed by cops about Lidenbrock 2, she would accomplish nothing. They probably wouldn’t even arrest him. All he’d done so far was follow her. But if she went with him now, for better or for worse she’d be back at the club. Back where she could watch and listen and maybe learn something useful.

“There’s no need for that, Mr. Drakos. This gentleman and I were just leaving.”

* * * *

President Calvin 4, known to the staff of the Lakeside Hotel and Resort as Richard, had finally found a place to run. A young woman in the lobby decked out in running attire complete with Bluetooth earbuds and an armband to hold her cell phone had informed him to look for a narrow path into the woods from the lower corner of the rear parking lot.

“It’s twisty and bumpy for a hundred yards or so, with lots of roots, so you have to be careful, but it leads to this nicely maintained path that goes for a couple of miles along the lake. It’s easy to get in five miles if you want.”

The next morning, he woke before dawn, put on his headlamp, and found the path. Much as he hated the feeling of his cell phone bouncing against his thigh in the pocket of his shorts, Richard was not about to leave it behind. The path by the lake was made of soft mulch that sprang beneath his feet and Richard felt six days away from running pushing him forward all the way to where the path ended at a picnic ground. If the woman in the lobby had been right, he was about two and a half miles from the hotel when, as he was having a drink of water from the fountain by the restrooms, his phone pinged and vibrated with a new text message.

Peaches, read the text from Valentine 6. Richard sat down at one of the picnic tables and entered the coordinates into Google Maps and watched as the app zoomed in on an address. His stomach sank as he looked at the screen. What the hell had Vivian done?

For two and a half miles, he ran faster than he had in years.

IN THE CAR ON THE CURB

“You fell asleep,” said Montag 5, jabbing Nemo 7 awake. Morning sun flooded the car, and Nemo 7 had a crick in his neck from sleeping with his head against the window.

“Got to sleep sometime.”

“You were supposed to keep an eye on me.”

“Did you do anything awful?”

“Just watched the house,” said Montag 5. “And watched you.”

“And did I do anything awful?” said Nemo 7.

“Not so far.”

“It’s still early.”