On the Avenue by Antonio Pagliarulo Page A

or we could end up in a lot of trouble.”
    “I wouldn't worry about it,” Clarence said reassuringly. “You girls know what you're doing. You're all smart as whips. And right now, the good news is that the coast is clear. No vans following us. No freakin' paparazzi on the prowl.”
    “Thank God for that.” Madison shifted in her seat. As she did so, she dropped her purse onto the floor of the limo. Sighing, she leaned over and hastily began chucking the fallen items back in where they belonged. It was dark, but she raked her fingers over the carpet, grabbing at a tube of lipstick, a pack of mints, and, way up against the front seat, a compact. “I hate this damn purse,” she said. “It's always falling open on me.”
    “You wouldn't have that problem if you carried one of
my
purses,” Lex commented briskly.
    Suddenly, Madison leaned forward, half-hanging over the partition and nearly butting her head against Clarence's face. “Becker, how long were you waiting in front of the Met tonight?”
    He shrugged. “Since I dropped Lex off. I didn't move from that spot in front of the Stanhope. Just like always. Why?”
    “Did you by any chance see a short fat bald guy running out of the museum looking totally fried and sweaty?”
    Clarence laughed. “You're kidding, right? You think I sat there and
stared
at the museum for almost two hours? I read the paper, smoked a cigar. Who's the guy, anyway?”
    “Forget it,” Lex said, pulling Madison back into her seat. “It's useless. No one saw that ugly little man leave the building. He's not important anyway.”
    “Of course he is!” Madison retorted. “He's the reason we're in this mess. And for all we know, he could be the killer. I think we should go to the police right now and turn the camera in.”
    “No,” Park said. “We have too many things that still need figuring out. Let's get home and then we'll decide what to do.”
    Clarence slowed the limo down to a crawl as he reached the East Side again, having cut across Central Park at Ninety-seventh Street. The ride had been more stressful than he'd anticipated. His head was buzzing and his shoulders felt tense. Turning around halfway, he eyed the girls and sighed. “Listen to me. Park is right. You take that camera to the cops and it'll only add more fuel to the fire. That's what they want— to use you and exploit you as much as they can because it'll buy them more time to figure out what the hell really happened inside that museum.”
    “I guess so,” Lex said quietly. She reached into the magic purse and pulled out her cell phone. As she turned it on, Madison and Park did the same with theirs.
    Almost in unison, all three phones fired up and beeped, announcing messages.
    “That's weird,” Madison said, studying the screen of her flip phone. “Mine's a text message.”
    “So is mine,” Park and Lex blurted out simultaneously.
    An ominous silence fell. Clarence stared at the girls through the rearview mirror.
    “My message is from a restricted number,” Lex said.
    Madison and Park nodded. And then they all read their messages and let out little high-pitched squeals.
    Clarence slammed his foot on the brake, threw the car into park, and turned around.
    “Look,” Madison said, her voice shaking. She held her cell phone out to him.
    Clarence stared down at the phone's neon screen. His eyes almost popped out of his head. The message was cold and clear:
    THREE MINUS ONE IS MUCH MORE FUN .
    “Oh! My!
God!
” Lex shrieked. “Do you know what this means? Someone just threatened our lives. Or
one
of our lives!
One of us is the target of a killer!
”

7

Royally Clucked
    The cab sped up First Avenue in typical New York fashion. Diego Marsala—aka Chicky—sat in the backseat with his head pressed against the dirty window. He barely noticed the crowds on the sidewalks, the cluster of cars at the Ninety-sixth Street entrance to the FDR Drive, or the stream of police cruisers heading west. He was too