Page 99 of Witness 8

Written by Francis Ford Coppola and Mario Puzo. The actor who played the title role . . .

Marlon Brando.

‘Good evening,’ said the man in the chair.

43

Ruby

‘Hi,’ said her mom, cheerfully. ‘You never told me about this nice gentleman. A friend of yours, I believe?’

Ruby stood very still in the dark. There was a filleting knife in the kitchen drawer, eight feet behind her. A crack hammer and a crowbar under her bed. She had no weapons on her. Not even a penknife. The man’s face was calm. His lips curved into a welcoming smile. His eyes blazed, illuminated by the TV screen. Like the beams of a headlight hitting a big jungle cat’s eyes through the darkness.

The man said nothing. He didn’t move. His long legs were folded over one another. Sleek black pants, polished expensive leather shoes. Black again, like the rest of the suit. Only a pressed white button-down shirt and dark tie gave any contrast. It was hard to tell in this light, but his hair seemed to be a lighter color, and his skin the same hue as rice paper. So white it was almost translucent. Ruby could see, even in the glow from the TV, thin snakes of blue and red veins in his cheeks.

She had never seen him before. But he knew Ruby.

That is to say, he could see the true Ruby. The real Ruby. She could tell. He was one of those few who gaze right into you. This man, with his pale eyes, could see a black soul beneath a pretty pink sweater. The same feeling she had when Bloch was watching her – it returned now. Only this time it was dialed up to eleven.

‘Aren’t you going to say hello?’ asked her mom.

She was cheerful, delighted to have had a guest in their apartment. When they first moved here, there were a handful of her mother’s friends who wanted to come over and visit. But her mother refused them all. She didn’t want them to see how far they had fallen. From West 74thStreet to a two-bedroom, roach-infested apartment in Hell’s Kitchen was a long way down. And so, eventually, her mother’s friends stopped calling. And Ruby and her mother were alone.

‘Hello,’ said Ruby.

The man stood smoothly, with a pleasing and seemingly effortless agility, like a gymnast who is in absolute control of even the smallest muscles. The movement was unnerving and yet marvelous to behold. Ruby felt fear gnawing at her guts. She didn’t need to look down to know that her hands were trembling.

‘Your mother and I were just watching one of my favorite movies,’ said the man.

‘Mine too,’ said Ruby, and he smiled unexpectedly. ‘Yeah,’ said Ruby, ‘I love Brando. He deserved the Oscar. Pacino should’ve won too, for best supporting actor. Joel Gray won forCabaret. I liked how Pacino gave up his life . . . to protect his family . . .’

As she said that last sentence, she glanced at her mother.

Mr. Christmas acknowledged the subtext with a slow blink of his eyes.

‘Aren’t you the cinephile. Your mother and I were just killing time, as it were, until you returned. I made her soup. We ate together. I didn’t know what time to expect you, so I didn’t fix you a bowl. There is some left over on the stove. For later . . .’

‘I’m not hungry,’ said Ruby.

Who the hell was this man? He wasn’t a cop. That much was clear.

‘Well, I don’t wish to disturb either of you ladies a moment longer. Ms. Johnson, if you and I could just have a word in private? I’ve told your mom how influential you have been in the neighborhood watch. How we, in West 74thStreet, just couldn’t do without you . . .’

Ruby nodded and backed out of the room.

She turned as she heard the man say his goodbyes to her mother.

‘Thank you so much for your hospitality, madam. You have a lovely home. It’s been an absolute pleasure to enjoy your company this evening, Mrs. Johnson . . .’

Ruby was ahead of the man now. Maybe five feet. She could make it to the knife drawer in the kitchen. But not without him seeing her. If she was going to get a weapon, now was the time. She could dart into her bedroom and close the door. There was time to do that. The only question was what would happen to her mother if Ruby was safely behind a locked door.

Then she stopped panicking. Started thinking. He wasn’t going to kill her tonight. He had spent time with her mother. Cooked her dinner. And they had talked. He seemed to know Ruby had a connection with West 74thStreet, but she wondered how much this man really knew about her.

As Ruby moved through to the kitchen, she noticed two bowls and two spoons on the kitchen draining board by the sink. He’d not only heated the soup, but he’d washed up. Even draped a kitchen towel over the pot to keep flies and whatever else crawled along the kitchen tops out of her soup.

His DNA was all over this apartment. He had not come here to kill her. At least not tonight.

She opened the front door and stepped out into the dim hallway. The motion sensor in the corner wasn’t working, and the only light came from the apartment or the open elevator door, but of course the elevator was out of order. Ruby had tofeel her way to this floor using the flashlight function on her phone.