“Go on up,” he said.
Raymond broke his statue-like pose and stepped up to the doors. He hadn’t expected it to go this way, he realized. He had fully expected to be turned away.
Did this mean he had found the right Luis Velez?
“Twenty-second floor, apartment B,” the doorman said.
Raymond didn’t answer. Just nodded. His heart was hammering in his chest now, his head swimming. He moved to the elevators as if in a dream. A middle-aged woman was waiting for the elevator as well. She had already pushed the button, so he just stood.
When the elevator arrived, and the door opened with a loud bing, it startled Raymond. He stepped on. The middle-aged woman did not. He looked at her questioningly. He even reached one hand out to hold the doors open.
“No, you go ahead,” she said. “I forgot something.”
The door closed and the elevator moved upward. It was fast, and smooth. And quiet. And something burned in Raymond’s chest as he watched the floor numbers light up. Because you might forget something in your apartment, before you go out. But what could you possibly forget in the lobby before you go back up?
The elevator stopped on 22, and Raymond stepped out.
As soon as he did, he saw a woman waiting for him. She was maybe thirty, or maybe in her early thirties. She wore a carefully styled and expensive-looking haircut. Short and modern. Silk lounging pajamas with a silk robe tied over them. It was an outfit that could be worn around the house or into a fancy dinner party. It was that nice. Raymond honestly could not tell if she was Latina or not. Just that she was clearly waiting for him.
Her eyes met his, and she was afraid. And Raymond had no idea why.
It made him more afraid. And he had been plenty scared to begin with.
“Are you Raymond Jaffe?” she asked. She had no accent. At least, no Hispanic accent. Her vowels did carry a slight New York City affect.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, moving closer to her open doorway.
“What do you want to see my husband for?”
Raymond felt something sag in his chest. She didn’t even know what he wanted. Why he had come. The doorman must not have told her. The sweet notion that he had found Luis, on only his second foray out into the world, flew away like a shy bird.
“I thought the doorman told you,” he said.
“Something about a woman. Millie somebody. And that my husband will know exactly what you mean.”
“So he did tell you.”
He was standing right in front of her now, but a respectful few steps back. Behind her in the apartment sat two massive German shepherd dogs. Black and tan, perfectly matching, and maybe close to a hundred pounds each. Raymond swallowed hard and kept his eyes on them. They looked at him, but made no move. There was a calmness about them, in their eyes. They were not worried about what might happen next. They just watched. Maybe they simply had no doubt about their ability to handle him. To handle anything.
“He told me her name. Not who she was to Luis or anything. So you tell me, and hurry up, please, because this is freaking me out. Who is this Millie person to my Luis?”
The dogs shifted slightly on their haunches, picking up the woman’s fear. Raymond took an instinctive step back.
“She’s . . . she’s this older lady who lives in my building. Over on the west side. Very old,” he added, thinking he might know how to put the woman at ease. “Like . . . ninety.” He saw her take a deep breath and let it out. He plunged on. “She’s blind, and she can’t go out by herself. So Luis used to come and walk with her to the store and the bank. To help her, you know? But I don’t know if it was Luis your husband. You know. Or some other Luis Velez. Because there are twenty-one of them in the city. Or near it. And even that is only if I’m spelling it right.”
The woman pressed her eyes closed. Tipped her head back. Raymond watched her make the sign of the cross against herself.
“Oh, thank God,” she said, dropping her head and looking directly into Raymond’s face. “I thought you were here to tell me he was seeing some other woman.”
“No,” Raymond said. “Nothing like that.”
“I don’t know if he’s the right Luis or not,” she said, utterly transformed. Her face had softened. Her voice sounded deeper and more relaxed. “Probably not, because I think he would’ve told me. Although . . . I don’t know. He does this thing sometimes where he drops money on people, kind of just because he thinks they deserve it. He never lets them know who gave it to them. And he never used to tell me about it. But then one day I sort of caught him doing it, and I said, ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were doing that?’ He gave me this whole long thing about how it’s only really giving if nobody knows. If it’s anonymous. He said if you let everybody know you did it, then you’re just doing it for the glory. So people will think you’re a great guy. Then it’s just selfish.”
“I don’t know,” Raymond said, still watching the dogs. “Seems to me then the person gets something nice, and you get to feel good. Two wins instead of one.”
“See, I’m with you on that,” she said. “But I’m being rude. Making you stand out in the hall like some poor relation. Come in. I’ll call Luis at the office and ask if he’s the one.”
Raymond didn’t move. Just kept his eyes on the dogs.
“Oh, they won’t hurt you,” she said. “They like people. But they’re trained attack dogs. But they would never do anything I didn’t tell them to do.”
“You sure?”
“Honey, it’s fine. Come in.”
She reached one hand out. As if she could take hold of Raymond and pull him inside. He looked at the hand and backed up another step.
“So this thing you say to them when you want them to attack someone . . . you sure it’s not a word you could accidentally use in a sentence or anything?”