A Canadian Werewolf in New York

Chapter Seventeen

At approximately 1:20 PM, I stood alone in Howard Clark’s large corner office on the sixty-second story of the building near the corner of West 23rd and Broadway.

The building was owned by Riley-Schmidt Incorporated, one of a handful of the largest real-estate developers in New York City.  Howard Clark was their Corporate Finance Officer responsible for overseeing Manhattan area projects.

A quick Google search had provided me with enough information about Gail’s boyfriend to lead me here.  It had been enough to know his full name and the career he led to be able to narrow down his search to the correct person.

Beyond that, I had relied on a series of lies and charms using the biological cues of mood and heart-rate I was adept at reading in others to get into the building past the main reception area.  Once on the proper floor for Howard’s office, I’d been able to easily trick Howard’s personal assistant into vacating her desk long enough to gain access to his office behind her.

As I was approaching Howard’s receptionist, a curly haired blonde in her mid twenties, I could detect soft jazz music of coming from a speaker on her desk.  It was obvious by the sound that it wasn’t a radio broadcast, but rather a CD she was listening to.

“It’s funny you should be playing that CD at this moment.” I said.

Her heartbeat raced and her bright blue eyes sparkled as she suddenly perked up in her seat as if she’d been given a small shock to the buttocks.  “Michelle Amato?” Apparently she was eager to discuss this musician, and I didn’t need to hear her heartbeat or detect the subtle shift in her smell due to minor race of adrenaline in her system, because she gave just as many cues verbally.  “I just love her music.  Isn’t she the best?  But why is it funny that I’m playing her CD?”

My next statement was a complete guess, of course. I had no idea if this musician would likely ever be in New York nor even if she was still alive.  As I stepped up to the desk, I spotted the CD case on a pile of papers to her left.

“I could have sworn that I saw her in this building just a few minutes ago.”

Her heart did the equivalent of a backflip.  “Really?”

“Yeah.  There’s no mistaking the gorgeous brunette with those streaks of blonde.  It’s as distinctive as her sweet voice.”

She was on her feet.

“Where?”

“In the food court, actually.”

“The one on the lower concourse?”

I had no idea where that was but assumed it was 63 floors down.  “Yeah.  She was at a table across from the Starbucks.”

She quickly hit a combination of keys on the telephone, tapped several keys on her computer keyboard.

“This I can’t miss.  It’s time for my break anyway.”

And she was off.

I didn’t move or say anything as she rushed down the aisle toward the elevator.  I waited until the elevator doors closed before I walked past her desk and to Howard’s office.

Even if I couldn’t have tracked my way to Howard’s office by following the increasingly strong scent of Old Spice lingering in the air, his name was on the door in  large black letters on the gold name plate.

By applying just the right amount of force to break the lock on the door, I was inside within seconds.  I could tell by reading the heartbeat of the two other people at visible cubicles in the vicinity that they hadn’t even noticed.  One of them was intently entering data with a rabid clacking of keystrokes into a spreadsheet form while the other was staring just as intently at a YouTube video on his computer screen.