Ivan demands. “Where’ve you been?” He’s keeping his voice on low simmer, but it could blow up the phone any second and I hold the phone a couple of inches away from my ear for my own protection. I can still hear him. “Your phone wasn’t on. Again. I thought something happened to you, that that guy who’s been following you…” My hero. Oh, puke. I hold the phone a little farther away, bracing myself for the Grand Finale. “…called the school and one of those other places where you work, on Twenty-Third Street, the emergency room at Downtown Hospital, Beth Israel.” He pauses. “Bellevue.” “Did you call the city morgue too, while you were at it?” “That’s at Bellevue, Delilah,” If someday someone has to run a tracer on Ivan, I’d suggest they start with Creedmoor Psychiatric Center. They won’t have to go much further than that. Someday he’s going to blow. Blow my brains out. Hearing his voice makes me feel like I’m on the Cyclone after one too many hot dogs at Nathan’s.
