"Lillian still won't say anything," Wade said, his jaw working. "Even when she does open her mouth, it's just 'I don't know anything, I don't know anything.' We can't push too hard. You know why."
"Then how do you know?" Jimmy pressed. "I was always very discreet."
Wade's large dark face cycled through a remarkable series of expressions. His mouth opened and closed twice. Finally:
"Because—at the time, I was under the bed."
He let that sit for a moment.
"I was in the middle of something with Lillian when you showed up. I panicked and hid under the bed. And then—" He exhaled through his teeth. "You barely said two words before you started. And I'll say this, Jimmy—I've never gone through anything like that. Lying there listening. I nearly lost it. And you know what really got me?" He paused for effect. "I'd never managed to get Lillian to do that. Not once. And there you were, first try."
Jimmy's face — naturally pale — went through white, then crimson, then a kind of ashen grey, then back through the full cycle again. He was on his feet before he realized it, striding to the door, yanking it open, checking both ends of the hallway. Nothing. He closed it carefully.
He circled the desk several times before he managed to put himself back together. When he finally turned to face Wade — who was watching him with undisguised satisfaction — his voice came out very controlled.
"Wade. Whatever you think you have here — Lillian's situation involves you too."
Wade spread his hands with a grin. "Sure does. But here's the thing, Jimmy—after you left, I helped myself to what you left behind. And Mary is obviously pure white. I'm Black—do the math: paternity questions don't point at me." He let the implication hang. "You, on the other hand... I'm thinking the boss might want to know whether you're actually Mary's father. Or he might just decide you'd look better at the bottom of the Hudson."
Jimmy put his head in his hands and sat perfectly still for a long moment.
"Fine," he said at last, voice muffled. "Fine. You win. What do you want?"
"Well, heh — funny you should ask." Wade's grin widened. "Word is you're some Upper East Side man's illegitimate son. I've never had access to that kind of quality before, and Fisk's people have me all wound up. Help me unwind, Jimmy—"
Maya, having observed all of this from the rooftop across the street, had been frozen in place for a full minute.
Is this real life? Or has the world simply moved on without me?
She had come here expecting a crime stakeout. Instead she'd walked straight into a melodrama with a structural complexity that would put most daytime dramas to shame — multiple secrets, multiple leverage points, two men discovering they'd both slept with the same woman, one of them apparently under the bed at the time.
And now.
Gentlemen. Distinguished members of the underworld. You both have criminal records—presumably. You are grown men of standing in this neighborhood. What exactly are you doing.
Maya decided firmly that she needed to go home and wash her eyes out. She could really use a bottle of eye drops right now. The information she'd actually come for, she had. The rest of this — she was leaving it right here.
She turned and went back the way she'd come, rooftop to rooftop, arc by arc through the cold night air, feeling somewhat spiritually contaminated.
Twenty years from now, surveillance cameras would be everywhere. In 1993, the technology wasn't there — even on the nicest blocks, the cameras that existed were too low-resolution to capture anything useful at distance. Maya didn't need to worry about being spotted.
At her speed, anyone who did happen to glance up and see her bounding between buildings would have registered a blur, a shadow, a trick of the light. Maybe a mutant. They'd probably assume it was one of Magneto's mutants causing trouble.
She got home, peeled off her stockings, and crawled back under the covers.
Bloody Rose Frank wouldn't return from Mexico for at least another two weeks. Tom was safe for now. And whatever tangled history Lillian was sitting in the middle of — that was Frank's headache. His people would be busy unraveling their own mess for a while.
Maya's breathing slowed. Within a few minutes, she was asleep.
A new Monday.
Maya did not terrorize any troublemaking students this time. Instead she assigned several Student Council officers to stand at the school gate and conduct uniform inspections. Today's theme: No Unapproved Hairstyles. Mohawks, scene-kid hair, dirty mini-braids — anything that violated the student dress code was to be documented and the owner given a deadline to fix it. After the deadline, five morality points would be deducted. Student Council members would make follow-up rounds using the registered list: five more points per check, until the situation was corrected.
Since Maya was graduating and stepping down imminently, she only needed to make a brief appearance — enough to let the more difficult students know she was still watching.
Jamal, filing through the gates with the rest of the queue, gazed at Maya's retreating figure with undisguised admiration. He tugged his brother's sleeve.
"Andrew. Maya is so cool. And she's so pretty. I want to be like her someday."
Andrew, thick-lipped and unreadable, glanced sideways at his younger brother.
"If you're willing to take Dad's fists for it," he said evenly, "feel free to go over to her place and try on her skirts again."
Jamal went quiet immediately and rejoined the queue without another word.
A few steps back, Will White was listening. He reached up and touched one of his braids — currently on the inspection list — and fixed Andrew with a hard look.
"Hansen's student council president lives near you?"
"What's it to you?" Andrew said. "You starting something? Fair warning — fighting's as natural to me as breathing. I don't know what your problem is, but you're not ready."
He pushed up his sleeve. In Hell's Kitchen, you learned the rules early: no right or wrong, only strong and weak. Whatever this kid's angle was, showing softness would only make it worse.
Will swallowed visibly. "Hey, hey — easy. I'm not going after you. Seriously." He glanced around and lowered his voice. "I'm just going to level with you. I've had a crush on our student council president for a while."
Andrew stared at him. "You and half the school. There've probably been a dozen people who've confessed to her directly. So what?"
Will leaned in closer, expression tortured. "See, before — I knew I had no shot. No guy in school did. I accepted that." He paused, anguished. "But now I know it's not just me, and it's not just our school. It's all guys. Everywhere. Because—" He exhaled in pure despair. "Because our president is a lesbian. She's gay. And I just — why—"