Nick being alive wasn't good. Billy would lose it when he found out. It wasn't her fault. She had done her job - Wolfe and Stark were dead. Still, she didn't want him to know. She would take care of Hume.
For three days, she had played this game. She went to work, to keep up appearances. She and Billy would be in Mexico soon.
It took her hours to get home, which, for the last few days, had been with Billy. She couldn't stand being alone in her own apartment, she needed to be where she didn't have to pretend so much, where she had someone to talk to and could be herself, as much as herself disgusted her. She went as roundabout as possible, changing her appearance from stop to stop.
She applied her makeup in a subway rest room. Her skirt and blouse were rolled up in her bag, replaced by black jeans and one of her regular tops. It was like a reverse disguise, and it made her feel much less tense. Billy loved it. She hardly ever did herself up anymore, as much as she liked to herself.
A young girl, about seventeen, exited a stall, and eyed her up. She looked at herself in the mirror next to her and pulled out an cheap eyeliner pencil. On her neck the name "Dante" was tattooed. Jessica knew who he was, a B-Street runt. She was a gang girl, too, but a rival one.
The girl gave her a hard look in the mirror, then looked down at the cosmetics on the sink in front of her.
"You work for MAC?" the girl asked.
"What?" Jessica looked down. She was using top-of-the-line makeup. She didn't have a lot of extra money. Most of it, even her Detective pay, went back into underworld dealings and bribes. The makeup was her one luxury, and she bought way too much of it, even though she didn't wear it most of the time.
"No," she said.
"Oh," the girl said. "That shit's expensive... hard to steal, too, unless you work for them. My old man won't give me enough to buy it."
Jessica paused, and picked up the the pencils, tubes, and shadow compacts. She looked at the girl and shrugged. "I don't even like it," she said. "You can have it if you want." She held it out to her.
"For real?" The girl said, wide-eyed. Her expression turned suspicious, as she eyed the tattoos on Jessica's arms that identified her as a rival. "Why would you give that to me?"
Jessica handed them to her. "I can always get more. My sister works for them."
"But -"
"Look, honey," she said. "I been around for a long time. I don't care who your man is. Life is too short."
The girl looked at the unexpected gift, then at Jessica. "How long?"
Jessica pulled her hair up. "Forever," she said.
The girl grabbed a paper towel and started rubbing off her dollar store makeup. Her fingernails were long and ornate.
"Who does your nails?" Jessica asked.
The girl put down the paper towel and splayed her fingers out for her to see. "I do them myself," she said. She wiggled her index finger. "This one took me three hours."
"Seriously?" Jessica said. "That's your own design?"
The girl nodded proudly.
"You should go into business or something."
"Nah," she said, shrugging.
"No, I mean it." She really did.
The girl looked at Jessica's plain nails. "Maybe I could do yours sometime," she said enthusiastically. Then she paused, remembering the rivalry. "Or... maybe that's not a good idea..."
"I guess not," Jessica said. "I mean it, though, you should go into business. Then you could buy all the MAC you want."
She wrinkled her nose. "I couldn't."
Jessica picked up her bag and slung it over her shoulder. "You can do anything you want, honey," she said. The girl's expression suggested that no one had ever told her that before. She moved past her quickly and out the door. She didn't want the girl to see her cry.
