Page 62 of Antihero

That’s what he’d picked up on, a resonance between the women.

They sat close and spoke softly, and for a moment Evan saw their faces as mirror images. He blinked and the illusion was gone.

Joey’s voice pierced his distraction: “He’s got all kinds of miners and massive GPU farms training various LLMs.”

“Any headway identifying the men?” Evan asked. “The goat-skull tattoo?”

“Those are a dime a dozen in the demo. Which speaks to the demo, you ask me.”

Easing back from the door, Evan swiped through the dossier, finding Manny Llorente’s driver’s-license photograph. Beige lined polo shirt, generic side part, visible bifocal line on his eyeglasses— a paragon of the banality of evil.

“Alsos,” Joey continued, for some reason choosing the plural, “Rawlings and I caught another incoming request for Devine we want to run by you since he’s still on, like, time-out from being a global mastermind.”

Evan released a breath as calmly as he could manage. “What?”

“I guess there’s a sitch brewing in North Korea—”

“Josephine, we are not dealing with North Korea right now,” he said, and hung up.

He double-checked Manny Llorente’s Tribeca address and the magazine in his ARES 1911 before emerging from the bedroom.

“Everything okay?” Anca asked.

In Candy’s presence, Anca seemed more at ease. She’d draped a retro boho fringed shawl across her shoulders, dark green patterned with roses.

Evan said, “I have to run an errand.”

“An errand.” Crisp phrasing.

“Yes. Candy will cover your six while I’m gone. Locksmith should be here within the hour.”

“What happens if those men come before then?”

Candy said, “Then I will strip their faces off their skulls with my French-manicure gels and nail them over your mantel as decorative art.”

Anca’s head swiveled from her to Evan and then back to Candy. “Who are you people?”

“We’re like angels,” Candy said. “But the ones from the Old Testament.”

“Well, no one’s to die on your ‘errand,’” Anca said to Evan. “That I’ve made clear.”

Candy leaned back and stretched her arms across the couch back, her mouth twisting slyly as she looked up at Evan. “I’m sure you can improvise.”

“How long do you think the locksmith will need?” Anca asked, phone in hand with her calendar open. “The Divine Liturgy’s at eleven thirty.”

“Can’t you skip it this week?” Candy asked.

“No. I cannot.”

Evan said, “Candy will accompany you.”

“Sure I won’t ignite when I cross the threshold?” Candy said.

Anca said, “If so we’ll douse you with holy water.”

“Is that a joke, Ms. Dumitrescu?” Evan said.

“Don’t tell anyone. I’m not ready to be funny yet.”