Weecho was at the computer, picking at some Indian takeout and going through the crash pictures again when Juna dropped the bomb.
“You know this Alex Alexey?”
“Who?”
She was curled up with Wanda in an old bean bag chair, thumbing through the issue of Cover Magazine that had Nina Galleon on the front.
“Publisher of Cover. He’s in a picture here with Nina.”
Call Alex… Nina’s last words.
Weecho jumped over there and Juna handed him the magazine opened to a spread of party pictures on the CoverAge page. One showed a dapper, silver-haired man smiling over cocktails with a familiar beautiful woman. The caption said, Cover publisher Alex Alexey with Cover cover model Nina Galleon.
A piece of the puzzle, maybe a big one, looking him in the face.
# # #
Later that night, Weecho got up by himself, went over and sat by the window, looked for a long time out at the bridge, the lights, the river, thinking how to play this.
Juna asleep over there on the mattress was putting herself in a bad place next day.
He had to get them better situated, get some substance, some leverage, to work this Lynch thing out with.
Should be do-able, right? Right.
# # #
Emer Lynch was sitting in the dark at his desk, the computer screen he was staring at casting a glow on the large snake coiled in his lap, on the Rottweiler bitch at his side.
He was watching a replay from the pet store’s security camera, the screen showing Juna grabbing a handful of treats from the bag by the puppy pen, sticking them in her pocket.
“We got a hot little hand in our pants, guys.”
# # #
Next morning they went down to the subway together, Juna heading out to Broad Channel and the new job, Weecho to Cover Magazine’s midtown offices.
“Why don’t you wait till tomorrow?” he said. “I can go out there and keep myself busy shooting bird pictures or something. Keep close by in case.”
“Nothing’s going to happen first day. I’ll be fine.”
They stopped at the top of the ramp to the A train.
“You’ve got your key.” He’d given her his spare. “I’ll try to have the other mattress there when you get home.” Home?
“If he pays me,” Juna said, “I’ll pick something up for dinner. Good luck.”
Weecho reached to his pocket to give her some money, but she was already gone. She had a MetroCard he’d bought for her yesterday, but what about lunch? He watched her go down the ramp till she disappeared in the crowd. She’d taken care of herself all this time without him, but still he felt like a cheapskate when he turned for the stairs to the Number 4 train.
He came up out of the subway at 59th Street, inspected his reflection in one of the Bloomingdale’s windows, walked west a couple of blocks, midtown crowded, everybody serious with their briefcases and Starbucks cups, then went south a block to a glass and stone building that had COVERCOM in brass letters across the front. He pushed through one of the revolving doors, crossed the lobby to the security desk, the guard in his official blazer giving him a look when he said who he wanted to see.
YOU ARE READING
Weecho: First Shots
Teen FictionA hot young photographer shoots a conspiracy murder, has cops and the killer chasing after those pictures, hooks up with a fugitive punk girl to cover his back.
