“I know I’m late,” he said. “I got sidetracked by my super, saying good-bye to the place. It’s harder than I thought it would be. But I got everything I needed. I’m leaving now.”
Jennifer sighed dramatically. “If you want to hang out and drink Modelos with Luis, that’s fine with me,” she said. “I mean, I’ve only waited seven or eight months for you to come over. What’s another couple hours?”
She was joking, but Ryan knew that a couple of hours or even a couple of days would be nowhere near enough time to sort through the chaos that had occurred and the possibilities of what might happen next. The fact that Arthur might still be alive. That the Manhattan tribe, once they weren’t preoccupied with the fallout from the files Jennifer had leaked, would probably make him public enemy number one. That he wasn’t sure if he was human or Ànkëlëk-ila or something in between. His apprehension about Natalia staying in Brooklyn and his thankfulness to her for giving Ryan and Jennifer her car. What they were going to do with the statues once they’d left the city, where they were going to go, how they were going to stay off the radar.
He took a deep breath and cleared his head until the only thing that remained was Jennifer’s face creased in laughter, her big eyes beaming back at him.
Everything else could wait, at least for a little while.
“No,” he said, walking back toward the kitchen, “I’m done here.” Luis patted Ryan’s shoulder and winked as he headed in the opposite direction, out the front door and back to his stool and his bottomless cooler of beer. “I’m a little hungry. I was thinking that before we take off, maybe I could park Natalia’s car in your garage and we could check out that ramen spot near your place that you always wanted me to try. Is that cool with you?”
“I don’t know if I’m in the mood,” Jennifer replied. “I had a pretty satisfying liquid lunch today. B negative. Why don’t you just pick something up on the way?”
“Well, I guess we’re on different sides of the double helix again. Talk about a role reversal.”
She laughed. “There have always been differences between us. We’ve made them work before. Why sweat it? I know I won’t, because … well, I can’t.”
Ryan smiled. “I’m leaving now,” he repeated, the words sounding even better the second time around. “I mean it.”
“I know you do,” she said before hanging up.
He picked up the duffel bag, slung it over his shoulder, and walked out of the apartment, closing the door behind him.
Acknowledgments
Much gratitude goes out to my editors, Brendan Deneen and Peter Joseph, as well as the rest of the staff at Thomas Dunne Books and Macmillan Entertainment. Thank you for having the faith to bring me onto this project and trusting me from day one. Your unwavering support, encouragement, and positivity made writing the book a hell of a lot of fun.
To all the teachers, mentors, early readers, and workshop-mates who have helped me shape my words over the years, especially Josephine Humphreys, Brian Henry, Jonathan Dee, Binnie Kirshenbaum, John Reed, Garrett McDonough, Stephen Cicerelli, Jobie Hughes, and Jonathan Maberry—and anyone else who’s bothered to spend time with my stories. You are the reason I continue to plod stubbornly along the literary path.
To my Richmond and Loomis people, the Little Branch crew, the Third Stall, the Burger Bashers, and everyone else who keeps me (in)sane and reminds me that an occasionally decent world exists outside my writing cave—I couldn’t have done this without you. Special shout-outs to my 2015 roommates—Sean, Len, and Anthony—and my parents, Lodia and Charles Vola, who heard the worst of my grumblings about vampires and supernatural conspiracies, and who delicately—and sometimes emphatically—told me to suck it up. And to Sandra Morrow, whose Facebook skills are much appreciated.
And finally, to the City of New York, without which this book couldn’t exist, and without which I couldn’t, either: thank you, thank you, thank you.
ALSO BY CHRIS VOLA
Monkeytown
How to Find a Flock
About the Author
CHRIS VOLA was born in Hartford, Connecticut. A former assistant greenskeeper, bouncer, waiter, and editor, he lives and bartends in New York City. Only the Dead Know Brooklyn is his third work of fiction after Monkeytown and How to Find a Flock. You can sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Acknowledgments
Also by Chris Vola
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THOMAS DUNNE BOOKS.
An imprint of St. Martin’s Press.
ONLY THE DEAD KNOW BROOKLYN. Copyright © 2017 by St. Martin’s Press. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.thomasdunnebooks.com
www.stmartins.com
Cover design by David Baldeosingh Rotstein
Cover photographs: man © Silas Manhood; bridge © Andres Garcia Martin/Dreamstime.com
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-1-250-07907-7 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-4668-9162-3 (e-book)
e-ISBN 9781466891623
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First Edition: May 2017