While he was talking to the real estate agent Jim Kirk on a pay phone, his neighbor, Mrs. Noily’s tenant—Lydia, was it, or Lynne—came up out of the steamy subway, her body revealed in a strappy tank top and short skirt, long legs shooting out. Her light brown hair, pulled into a ponytail, had slipped seductively loose. She looked taller than he remembered from seeing her outside the Noily’s. Emil quickly turned to face the other way, but she’d seen him and waved. Their block of houses was a fifteen minute walk from the hub, which was where he assumed she would go.
He hung up the phone and there she was standing in front of him, long, lithe, and barely dressed. “Hello there, Detective Milosec.” Emil nodded, keeping his eyes on the top of her head of shiny, smooth hair. An odor came off her, a whiff not just of sweat, but of something from fields and early morning. “It’s Loretta, in case you forgot.”
“Loretta, right.”
