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“Noted.” I stand up and look at my phone while I stand and wait for the elevator.
My notifications are going crazy. I ignore all of them and call home.
By the time I get out of the elevator, I’ve pulled my hair up and tucked into my jacket. I book it to the Duane Reed on Madison Avenue at Forty-Second and grab what I need off the shelves and duck into their bathroom.
When I’m done, I stop to pay for the things I bought and dump the shopping bags full of my hair into the trash.
When I step out into the street, no one spares me a second glance. I hail a cab and give it the precinct’s East Village address and start reading my texts.
I open the texts from the unknown number next.
“This is Lucas. Apollo has gone crazy. She’s trying to kill Nanette.”
His next text is less than five minutes later.
“Apollo is being handcuffed. Hope you’re happy.”
I shake my head. “Jesus.”
I’m about to open Dave’s text when Omar calls.
“Hey.”
“Yooooooooo,” he says with a very amused chuckle.
“Listen, I don’t have time for your shit. So, if you’re calling to laugh at me, just fuck off.”
“I get why you’re in a bad mood. Your shit just blew up. But, I gotta laugh. You got paid to fuck all of those hot bitches you were training. Damn, man, teach me your ways, Yoda.”
I can’t believe this fucker.
“Omar, believe me when I tell you that you don’t want to have to do what I did. And right now, you’re wasting my time. I’m trying to get to Apollo.”
“Well, good luck with that since she’s locked up. I just watched the video and damnnnn—”
“You have the video? Send it to me!”
“You haven’t seen it? Your woman is like a fucking assassin. And her friend, who’s that? She’s even crazier than Apollo. You think you can hook—”
“Omar will you please shut the fuck up and send me the video?”
“Shit, sorry, my bad. I’m sending it now. Good luck with shit. I’m out of town, but I’m heading back in the morning. I’ll hit you up.”
“Yup, thanks. Bye.”
I stare at my phone, and after the longest thirty seconds of my life, Omar’s text with the video attached shows up.
My finger is shaking as I press play. It starts with a blur of movement that I can’t quite make out and a lot of background noise. Then suddenly, the camera is pointed at a table in the center of the restaurant, and the background makes it hard to hear, but I can see very clearly. The shot catches them in profile. Apollo is standing across from a seated Nanette and Lucas. What the hell is he doing with Nanette?
Her friend Reena is standing to her right. Dressed in—of all things—a baseball uniform. And she’s holding a baseball bat. Apollo is wearing the dress she had on when I last saw her. Her shoes are dangling from the fingers of her left hand. I can hear her raised voice but can’t make out what she’s saying. Her hands are waving around her wildly as she yells at Nanette. One of her shoes goes flying off to the left.
The cameraman’s, “Oh, shit!” is gleeful.
Dean’s call interrupts the video, and I send it to voice mail and resume watching.
Apollo turns to Reena to say something and then holds out her hand. Reena hands her the bat without hesitation. Lucas stands up and backs away from the table. Nanette leans closer to Apollo, and from the expression of cool disdain on her face, I can tell that she’s being snide and vengeful.
Apollo raises the bat, and without pausing, brings it down hard and fast onto the table. The glass under the white tablecloth shatters and Nanette’s face freezes before her eyes widen with terror. She starts to scream so loud that I can hear it over the screams of the rest of the patrons.
