200 Eleventh Avenue Novels & Stories

“Just tell me about that apartment you found for Tony recently. Tell me where it is. I just want to go take a look at his apartment, eh?” Elliot hesitated for a long while. “I just want to look at his apartment. What’s wrong about that?! Are you trying to ask for trouble here? Okay. I’ll just call your grandmother and ask her,” Sebastian hissed. “Hey, hey, hey. Don’t do that, Old Master Hart… It’s the Ocean Blue Residence on Heathrow Street. It’s Unit 709 on the 7th floor in Block A. Don’t tell anyone that I told you about it, Old Master Hart!” Elliot looked extremely helpless and glum right then. He quickly ended the call once he finished his words.

Somehow I knew that Macy would be here, at this one. What I didn’t know was where exactly, or where Luca was keeping her. The address:110 Petersen Ave, was an enormous old factory that had been converted into a warehouse. I knew I’d gotten there when the cab passed by an old, red-brick wall, and I saw the place behind a set of gates, wrought-iron with1—1—0carved above them.

POV: MARA KADE We go to Margaret on Wednesday. Elara gives us her address. A flat in Kensington, the top floor of a period building on a quiet street that has the particular quality of old money that does not announce itself. Adrian calls ahead. Margaret says come at eleven and I will have coffee ready and do not bring anything. We do not bring anything.

Which, technically, I am. "Someone who actually recognizes those addresses." I walk to the screen. My heart is hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs, wet and heavy. I point to the list Marcus submitted. "This building. 2847 Astoria Boulevard. That's low-income housing. Rent-controlled units. I know because I looked at an apartment there three years ago." I move my finger down. "This one? 3912 31st Avenue. Same thing. And this one—" My finger lands on the third address. The text is small, black and white, but it screams at me.

Jade bent her neck, staring up at the hotel. It was nothing short of modern, located on what was known as Billionaire's Row on 57th Street. Every level of the large tower was made of reflective glass that cast off prismatic gleams from the surrounding city lights. She could barely make out the brightly-lit night sky between the narrow spaces of the surrounding buildings.

A rlington Avenue, might be one of the easy going towns in Brooklyn, New York, but deep inside its heart laid one of the dopest buildings in all of Brooklyn, the lighthouse. The lighthouse made more crazy noise than the entire Yankee stadium and had more lightening on its dance floor than ‘club la-vela,’ the largest nightclub in the United States of America.

I have spent the past week trying to scrub the existence of Elias Arden from my brain with an iron sponge and is I have to face him now, I’m not sure if I have enough composure left to stand on his doorstep without it showing, and showing it is not something I am prepared to do right now. I close my eyes for a brief moment, take a deep breath and start walking again. I’ll deal with it if it happens. Crane Street is in the part of the lower east side that sits just past the point where the neighborhood stops pretending to be transitional and settles into what it actually is, narrow buildings close together, the kind of street where the trees are small and the gutters collect things, and every

245 West 163rd Street, Apt 4B New York, NY 10032. For a woman who loves to go after the rich and mighty she lives in the middle-class side of the city, how fun, guess she knows how to cover her tracks better than I thought. Well Sienna, time to pay you a little visit, you don’t get to go silent on me and not expect a reaction.

Blakely decided to trust Nickson and let the man take her to his penthouse on 5th Avenue. Had she not been so exhausted last night, she would have admired the whole place in Nickson's splendid penthouse. This time Nickson’s property is not black and gray, but a sapphire blue that looks very beautiful when combined with the view from the large windows overlooking the sparkling heart of New York City.

The other ten floors were rented out to other companies which, of course, didn’t bother him; on the contrary, they benefited him. I get into the elevator and tell the attendant I’m going to the top floor. I’d like to say there were only a few people, but I’d be lying; the wide, modern space with mirrored walls was packed. I thank God when we finally arrive. It was already late—only five minutes until eight. I walk the short distance from the elevator to the glass doors where a black plaque reads: “W&S I.I. Ashford’s” (William and Susan Real Estate Investments Ashford’s).