8
Eve pulled up at the lofty dual towers spearing over the Hudson. Since she wasn’t in the mood for snotty, superior doormen, she flipped on her On Duty light and got out of the car, badge in hand.
The doorman, decked in ruby-red jacket with silver braiding, silver pants with a red tuxedo stripe, scowled at it, at her, at the dead ordinary vehicle.
“We only let prime rides sit out here. We got an ambience to uphold.”
“Ambience? Is that why you’re decked out like something that should be on some weird little girl’s doll shelf?”
The muscle in his jaw twitched. “We got an underground lot,” he began.
“This is my badge, that’s my vehicle – and it stays where I put it.”
“Look, look, I’m not trying to give you trouble. My brother-in-law’s on the job in Queens.”
“Good for him. Carmine Atelli.”
The doorman heaved a long, windy sigh. “Penthouse West. Badge or not, you’re going to have to log in, and they’re going to buzz up to Mr. Atelli, ask if he’ll receive. He works nights, so he mostly sleeps days.”
“I’m his wake-up call.”
With Peabody, Eve walked into the slick, shiny lobby with its glossy red walls, silver floors. Huge black vases flanked a seating area, filled with flowers that looked like they’d been plucked from a garden on Venus.
Ambience, she thought. It took all kinds.
A table held a bowl of glossy red apples, and a sleek black computer.
“You’ve got to log in there,” the doorman told her. “You can’t access the elevators unless you have a swipe or you log in and get cleared.”
Eve held her badge up for scanning. “Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, Peabody, Detective Delia, NYPSD.”
One moment, please, for verification…
“You could cut through this bullshit,” she said to the doorman.
He pokered up in a way that made Eve think he didn’t much like his brother-in-law in Queens.
“I’m not supposed to clear anybody up without the resident’s say-so.”
Identification verified for Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, Peabody, Detective Delia. Please state the nature of your business and/or the resident you wish to visit.
“Carmine Atelli, Penthouse West.”
One moment please while Mr. Atelli is notified. Would you like to state the nature of your visit?
“You got two cops in the lobby. Guess.”
Unable to comply.
“Underground business must be good,” Peabody commented to the doorman. “For Atelli to rate a place like this.”
“Couldn’t say. I haven’t been down there since I was sixteen and lost a bet.” The doorman hustled over to open the door for a woman wrapped in a blue coat, with a mile of multicolored scarf wrapped around her neck, an earflap hat pulled low over her head, and thick mittens on her hands.
She had three yappy little dogs, all in plaid sweaters – and, to Eve’s amazement, tiny boots – on leashes.
“Thanks, Chester.”
She led the yapping, booted dogs to the elevators, hauling and clucking when they tried to drag her to Eve and Peabody.
“Sorry!” She trilled out a laugh. “They don’t bite!”
She pulled a swipe out of her pocket, then made kissing noises and herded the trio into the elevator.
“Those dogs had boots.”
“I guess their paws get cold,” Peabody said.
“Huh. Who makes tiny dog boots? Who thinks to make tiny dog boots? How do you know what size to buy? This is an area with many, many questions.”
Mr. Atelli will receive you. Please use Elevator C. Enjoy your visit, and the rest of your day.
The elevator rode swiftly and silently to the penthouse level, then opened into a private foyer painted dove-wing gray and holding a pair of black lacquer benches. A large white orchid bowed between them from a pedestal in the form of an elongated, naked woman.
Niches ranged on the opposing walls, all filled with jewel-toned bottles and statues – all women in various states of undress.
Even as she stepped up to press the button on the inner door, Carmine opened it.
He wore black lounging pants in a silky hue, and some sort of short black robe, open over a snug white tank. Gilded blond hair fell in tousled waves around a sharply handsome face. He smiled, gestured them in. A large stone winked on his finger – the same silvery blue as his eyes.
“Ladies, an unexpected pleasure.”
“Not ladies, not a pleasure. Cops and police business.”
“Different perspectives. Please, come in, sit.”
Windows backed the living area, with dwarf lemon trees, heavy with fruit, bathing in the pale winter sun that slipped through them.
Low-slung gel sofas in navy, double-wide chairs in navy and gray stripes ranged with tables with a dull nickel finish. Splashes of color came from the art – the female form again, in every hue, sinuous or robust, sensual or pastoral.