Inside the Shadow City (24 page)

“St. Vincent's Hospital,” I told the driver. “As quickly as possible.” As soon as the cab began to move, I remembered Mitzi's purse and the bronze dragon. I had left them sitting on the stoop.

• • •

Once Mitzi had been wheeled into the emergency room, I settled down to wait for the police. Flipping through an old newspaper, I came across the story of a group of second-grade girls who had captured a mugger. The girls had chased the man into an alley, tied him up with a jump rope, and dragged him to a nearby police station. I smiled at the thought of justice being served and looked up in time to see Mitzi's father run past me. Shortly afterward, a nurse guided two middle-aged men with thinning hair and protruding beer bellies into the waiting room.

“Ananka Fishbein?” inquired one of the men in a brusque tone.

“Yes?” I offered an exaggerated smile to show I wasn't scared.

“You the girl who found Mitzi Mulligan?”

“Are you the police?”

“FBI, Miss Fishbein. We're investigating the kidnappings,” the bully's partner answered. He was the more pleasant of the two. “I'm Agent Baynes, and this is my partner, Agent Bellow.”

“The nurse said you're friends with Mitzi Mulligan,” the gruff agent barked.

“I wouldn't go
that
far. We just go to the same school.”

“Still, it's some coincidence, don't you think? What are the odds
you'd
find her?”

It suddenly dawned on me that I was the only suspect they had.

“I couldn't tell you what the odds are. I've never been very good with numbers,” I replied.

“And just what, may I ask, was a girl your age doing wandering around Chinatown in the middle of the night?”

“Taking a walk. I assume that's still legal in New York.”

“Don't you know that it's dangerous for young women to be out alone after dark?” His gruff voice had assumed a fatherly tone that made me want to vomit—preferably on his shoes. I've always wondered why strangers feel they have the right to offer this kind of advice to girls—or why they don't seem to be as concerned about boys. I struggled to reply in a civil tone.

“It's dangerous for everyone, sir. Not just young women. Now, if you would stop interrogating me, I'll be happy to tell you what I know.”

The two men glanced at each other and decided to adopt a different strategy.

The good cop took over the questioning. “Okay, Miss Fishbein. Please start at the beginning.”

Without mentioning Kiki Strike or the Shadow City, I recounted how I had stumbled upon Mitzi Mulligan. I repeated everything that Mitzi had said, and even told them about the dragon I had accidentally left behind.

“You say Miss Mulligan had been drugged?” asked Agent Bellow.

“I think so.”

“And what makes you think she hadn't taken the drugs voluntarily?”

“Don't take my word for it. Ask her yourself.”

“I'm afraid Miss Mulligan either can't or won't tell us anything,” Agent Baynes explained.

“Mitzi's the school's kickboxing champion,” I sighed.
“She's about the last person on Earth who would ever take drugs. Besides, she gets tested before every competition. You can check for yourselves.”

One of the men scribbled a note.

“So that's it?”

“Pretty much,” I told them.

“Sure you don't want to tell us about the person on the scooter?” The bully had been waiting to spring this on me, and he looked quite pleased with himself.

“Who?” I asked, trying to play dumb.

“We just spoke with your cabdriver. He told us you were running from someone on a scooter when he picked you up. Mind telling us what that was all about?”

These guys knew what they were doing.

“It was someone I know.”

“Oh, yeah? And who might that be?”

I thought for a moment before I spoke. I hadn't intended to turn Kiki in so quickly, but with the FBI sitting right in front of me, it seemed as good a time as any. All I knew was that Kiki needed to be stopped, and I desperately needed some sleep.

“A girl named Kiki Strike.” I waited for a look of recognition to flash across the agents' faces, but neither seemed familiar with the name. Something wasn't right.

“Should we know this Kiki Strike?” asked Agent Bellow.

“I thought you already did.”

“Agent Baynes, why don't you run that name?” The pleasant agent pulled out a cell phone and turned away while the other continued to grill me. “What makes you think we know her?”

“I heard a rumor she was in trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“I couldn't say, sir. I don't pay attention to gossip,” I said, deciding not to volunteer any more information.

“Do you think she might be involved in the kidnappings?”

“No,” I told him, acting on instinct. Why was I protecting Kiki?

The agent stepped toward me. He was close enough that I could smell his dinner on his breath. Chicken vindaloo, if I recall correctly.

“You know what I think? I think you're afraid of this Kiki Strike.”

“I'm not
afraid,
” I snapped at him. “I just didn't want to talk to her.”

The agent on the cell phone hung up.

“We don't have anything on anyone by that name,” he said to his partner.

“Do you know where this Kiki Strike lives?” asked Agent Bellow.

I almost laughed. “I wish I knew.”

“In that case, is there anything else you'd like to tell us?”

“You know everything I know,” I assured him.

“You're sure about that?”

“Absolutely, sir.”

“Okay, then, Miss Fishbein. You're free to go. We know how to reach you.”

I bent down to pick up my bag and happened to catch a glimpse of the agents' shoes. Both men wore wingtips that were polished to a shine, but clearly of inferior
quality. Their suits, though carefully pressed, had also seen better days. Suddenly, inspiration struck.

“Do you have a business card?” I asked. “Just in case I remember anything.”

With Agent Bellow's card in hand, I hurried out of the hospital. As soon as I was out of sight, I phoned Oona and asked her to meet me at my apartment. When she arrived, I placed two business cards in front of her. The first was Agent Bellow's. The second belonged to Bob Goodman, the first FBI agent to pay me a visit. Suspecting it would someday come in handy, I had tucked it away inside
Glimpses of Gotham
.

“What do you think?” I asked, handing Oona a magnifying glass. She examined the two business cards I'd given her.

“You're right, they're different,” Oona finally said. “I wouldn't have guessed unless I had the other to compare it to, but this one's a fake.” She held up the card that the first FBI agent had given me. “The FBI would never pay for paper this fancy, and the ink is far more refined than the stuff they use. But like I said, whoever forged this is a real pro. I don't know if I could do any better myself.”

“I should have known,” I muttered.

“How? Even I couldn't tell at the time. Anyway, you did have a hunch about Bob Goodman—if that's even his real name. Remember his shoes?”

“Yeah, but this changes everything,” I said. “The real FBI isn't after Kiki. They don't even know who she is.”

“What are we going to do?” asked Oona.

“I have no idea,” I told her.

• • •

There was only one thing I
could
do. The next evening, I stopped by St. Vincent's Hospital during visiting hours to check in on Mitzi Mulligan. I was surprised to find Mitzi freshly showered and shoving her belongings into a plastic bag.

“I take it you're feeling better?” I asked. Mitzi jumped at the sound of my voice. There was something different about her and it wasn't just embarrassment. Mitzi knew something.

“Hello, Ananka.” Mitzi's hands were twitching, and she couldn't meet my eyes.

“So you've been released?”

“Yeah. I'm sorry, but I don't have time to talk. My dad's waiting for me in a cab. But thanks for bringing me to the hospital.”

“Don't mention it,” I said.

“I'm sure I acted like an idiot.”

“It's not your fault,” I tried to assure her. “You'd been drugged.”

“It's still embarrassing.” She grabbed her plastic bag, eager to escape from the room. I stopped her at the door.

“Mitzi, there's something I need to know. Can you tell me anything about the people who kidnapped you?” I asked.

Mitzi's face went blank. “No,” she announced in a slow, steady voice that sounded rehearsed. “I already told the police everything I know.”

A nurse popped into the room with an exquisite bouquet of flowers in her arms.

“Just in time,” she sang, handing the flowers to Mitzi. “Better late than never, they say.”

Mitzi tore open the envelope that was tucked between two lilies. Inside was another tiny envelope.

“It has
your
name on it,” said Mitzi, passing me the envelope with a trembling hand.

I pulled out the card. There was no signature, but the handwriting was unmistakable.

350 Fifth Avenue. 86
^th
floor. 21:00,
it read.

I checked my watch. It was eight o'clock.

• • •

An hour later, I was standing on the eighty-sixth-floor observation deck of the Empire State Building, looking out over the city. A thunderstorm was rolling in from the south. All the tourists had moved inside, leaving me alone, assaulted by raindrops that pelted my body from every direction. Leaning over the edge, I watched the city lights disappear as dark clouds surrounded the skyscraper. Soon, the observation deck was an island in the sky. Every few seconds, the clouds exploded with light. A gnarled bolt of lightning struck the needle that rose from the tip of the building. For the briefest of moments, it coursed with blue veins of electricity. A bird that had been seeking shelter from the storm fell from the upper reaches of the building. It landed with a thud at my feet, stone dead and faintly smoking.

A figure was standing at one of the telescopes that ring the observation deck. Wearing a slick black trench coat and dark hat, it bent over and peered though the lens of the telescope. As I approached, it glanced up at me.

In all the excitement at the herbalist's shop, I hadn't noticed how much Kiki had changed in the two years since I had seen her. She wasn't more than a few inches taller, but somehow she looked older than fourteen. Her colorless hair fell past her shoulders and her face had lost its elfin appearance. With her translucent skin and dramatic cheekbones, she was bewitchingly beautiful. The only makeup she wore was a lip gloss the same shade as the rubies in her ears.

“Want a look?” Kiki beckoned me over to where she stood, and I peered into the eyepiece of the telescope. Through a break in the clouds, I could see the statue of Washington Irving, which stood in the park in front of my apartment building more than forty blocks away.

“It's funny. Every time I see that statue I always think of him lying in the mud at the bottom of that hole.” There was a hint of nostalgia in Kiki's voice. I looked up and saw the rain streaming down her pale face.

“When did you get back from Hong Kong?” I asked.

“Hong Kong? I haven't left New York in years.” Then she laughed. “I guess you fell for it after all.”

“Fell for what?”

“The postmark on the letter I sent to the Capybaras Corporation. I made a movie in Chinatown with a director from Hong Kong. I asked him to mail it when he got back to China. Pretty smart, don't you think?”

“Brilliant. How did you know I was at the hospital?” I demanded.

“The same way I always know where you are.” She laughed again. Then seeing the serious expression on my face, she added, “You don't really expect me to tell
you
all
my tricks, do you? Wouldn't that ruin the mystery?”

“Fine. Don't tell me. I don't care. What do you want?”

“Your help,” she said.

“If you wanted my help, you shouldn't have run away when I saw you in Chinatown.”

“Sorry about that, Ananka. It wasn't the best time for a reunion.”

I looked away from her and into the clouds.

“Look, Kiki. I know you robbed the Chinatown Savings and Loan, and I know you're after the NYCMap now. In case you've forgotten, we aren't friends anymore. I have no interest in joining you in your life of crime. I'll turn you in to the police if I have to.”

Kiki sighed. “I'm not a crook, and I
am
your friend. You just don't know it. I haven't been inside the Shadow City since the explosion, and I've never robbed anyone. What would I want with a bunch of mink coats? I don't even wear fur.”

“What about the kidnappings?”

“Do you honestly think I'd kidnap Mitzi Mulligan? Even on drugs, she'd bore me to tears. I can't think of anything I want
that
badly.”

“So you had nothing to do with any of it?”

“On the contrary, my dear Miss Fishbein. I'm planning to rescue Penelope Young, the girl who's still missing. Who better to find a fourteen-year-old girl than another fourteen-year-old girl?”

“Penelope's parents have the FBI and practically every police officer in New York looking for her. Why would they need
you
?”

“Because the Youngs want their daughter back, and they may be willing to pay the ransom. And if the FBI knew what the ransom was, they'd never let that happen. That's why the Youngs haven't turned over the ransom note to the authorities.”

“The ransom is the NYCMap, isn't it?”

“I see you've been doing your research. Penelope's mother has access to the middle layer of the map—the one that shows everything street level in Manhattan.”