“Keep your voice down,” I hissed, pulling her behind the cart of a very confused hot dog vendor, just in time to avoid Portia’s gaze as her head snapped backwards, owl-like, to scan the area behind her. “And I don’t know why. Not exactly. Not yet. But I will.”
“Well, that’s reassuring,” Kate said with an amount of sarcasm so great that new scientific instruments would have to be invented to measure it. “And when, exactly, are you expecting to get this info? Is it going to be before she catches us and fires me? I’m really hoping it’s before she catches us and fires me. You see, I have this hobby of eating, and my day job allows me to do that.”
“She’s up to something,” I insisted. “I know it.”
Keeping one eye on Portia and one hand on Kate’s arm, I pulled her along and quickly and quietly filled her in on Portia’s behavior during today’s meeting.
“And then I came downstairs and saw her pulling that sweet innocent Disney Princess bullshit like she was just casually wandering out the lobby looking for a fucking bluebird to sing with or something. Would Portia ever pull an act like that if she didn’t have something to hide?”
“A falcon or a vulture does seem more her style for a duet bird,” Kate said, and raised her hands defensively at my glare. “I’m agreeing with you! Just give me a second; I didn’t get out of bed this morning thinking I’d be in a Cagney and Lacey act!”
I rolled my eyes and then ducked behind a dumpster as Portia yet again whirled to survey the area around her. Yeah, not shady at all, Portia. Why don’t you just rent a giant billboard saying ‘I AM TOTALLY UP TO SOMETHING RIGHT NOW.’ You could add on blinking neon lights and it’d still be more subtle than the act she was putting on.
“What, reference too dated?” Kate asked from behind me. “Fine, I’ll be Watson and you’ll be Holmes. Just don’t go getting addicted to cocaine; I think any more excitement in my life and I’ll need to become a nun and enter a life of silent contemplation. Also, there is a banana peel in my hair right now and it is totally your fault.”
“Banana peels are in this season,” I said absentmindedly, watching Portia glance up and down the street. “Also, you do know that Sherlock Holmes is older than Cagney and Lacey, right? He is, like, literally the oldest imaginary detective.”
“Girl, Sherlock Holmes was a cheap ripoff of Edgar Allan Poe’s Auguste Dupin,” Kate said. “Just because you have this new ‘trailing suspects’ hobby that you did not tell me about, do not even try to outmatch me in the fictional detective department. Think of it as a professional courtesy, like how I don’t try to argue with you that James Bond is better than John Steed.”
“That’s not even debatable,” I said, turning around for just a second to argue this incredibly important point. “Can Bond pull off a bowler? No? End of discussion.”
“Yeah, but Bond had all the gadgets,” Kate said. “Like, he totally would have had a sweet invisible car we could have tailed Portia in, or cameras in our hairclips so we could still have this discussion and you wouldn’t miss Portia going into Rama like she is just now.”
“Wait, what?” I whirled back around. Shit, she was right.
I caught just a glimpse of the hem of Portia’s dress as she swept inside the restaurant on the arm of some older Wall-Street-looking guy. He was followed by a whole wolf pack of Wall-Street-looking guys, you know the kind I mean, well-made suits in classic cuts and conservative blacks, greys, and navy blues, like the slightest unorthodox angle or splash of bright pink might bring the Conformity Police down on them with batons and tear gas.
“Okay, yeah, the fishiness index just went off the charts. I’m going in.”
I rose, and Kate rose with me.
“Kate, no. You don’t need to come in with me and risk your job any further.”
“So you dragged me out to, what, watch the building to make sure it doesn’t walk away?” Kate said with a raised eyebrow. She made her eyes large and pleading. “Come on, you can’t just ditch me now after giving me all that lead-up!”
“Well, first of all, I’m not even sure I can get in without Grant here,” I said, tapping my foot and darting nervous looks at the front door of Rama. The longer I stayed out here, the more likely the employees would notice me lurking behind a dumpster, and that was definitely not conducive to the image of a well-off young lady who could pay for an upscale Thai dinner. Also, what if this was a feint, and Portia was sneaking out the back this very minute? “Second of all, the more of us there are, the more likely she’ll see us the second we walk through that door.”
“Didn’t you tell me last time that everybody was watching the front door?” Kate pointed out. “Places like this, they treat people-watching like a competitive sport. And if you’re right about Portia and she’s on edge, she’s definitely going to see you even if you go alone.”
I gritted my teeth, and then sighed. “You have a point.”