Judgement Day

by Andrew Neiderman

  John took pleasure in the commotion that was building around him. Chaos was a fertile garden in which he could plant the seeds of his favorite sins. Egos flared, jealousies flourished, and charity was trampled under the hooves of self-preservation. A rich investment of contradiction had been installed in this creature, man. How easy it was to affect people’s balance and tilt them in his direction. Love your neighbor, but beat him to the finish line? Work hard, but pretend you don’t want to be rich? Stroke the church with your dollars, but cut the competition’s throat? It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven? Were the super-rich shaking in their leather boots? I doubt it, John thought as he looked around and smiled. He was tempted to put up a billboard that read: God made it impossible for you to be the creature he wanted and then punishes you for failing. He’s sadistic!

  John got into the rear seat of the BMW easily, even though the car doors were locked. Jason and Buzzy spun around, Buzzy reaching for his knife.

  “What the fuck . . .” Jason said.

  “Don’t tell me you’re relying on that knife again,” John told Buzzy, who looked at it, relived the memory of it scorching his palm, and quickly dropped it onto the seat.

  John ran his hands over the black leather.

  “Nice ride. You get it legitimately with the money I helped you raise?”

  “We used some of it, yes,” Jason said. “Let’s say it was hot off the market so we got a discount.”

  John laughed. “I’m glad to see you’re both doing so well. Now it’s time for you to repay me, although I’ll never ask you to do something that won’t in some way benefit you even more. Start the engine.”

  “What for?”

  “We’re taking a ride, Jason. Best you don’t ask too many questions.”

  Jason looked at Buzzy, whose face reflected his own terror, and then started the engine.

  “Make a left at the next street, and follow my directions,” John said.

  He had them drive to a West Side apartment building, warning Jason to drive carefully all the way.

  “You don’t want any accidents with this car, even fender-benders. You don’t want to draw any attention to yourselves. In fact, for the rest of your lives, you must think of yourselves as invisible.”

  “Invisible?” Buzzy asked.

  “Of course. My advice now is that you clean up your act, buy some better clothes, better shoes, stop with these stupid haircuts, and avoid getting any more tattoos. You’re like two rattlesnakes shaking your tails and hissing constantly. You invite attention and send out warnings. How do you expect to mine the richer veins of fortune? The moment you walk into a building or even step onto a street, alarms go off.”

  “Who are you?” Jason asked.

  “I’m your father and your mother. I’ve given birth to you, and I’m going to care for you as long as you listen to what I whisper in your ears.”

  “You look like some rich businessman,” Buzzy said.

  “That’s what I am; that’s what all of this is, a sort of business. Okay, park here. A woman is coming out of that subway station in five minutes. I want you to help her keep traveling.”

  “Keep traveling? Where?” Jason asked.

  “To her eternal destination. Where else? She doesn’t have a lot of money in her purse, about one hundred ten dollars, but she wears a wedding ring that her husband passed along from his grandmother. It’s worth about thirty thousand dollars. You can fence it for fifteen easily. I’ll tell you whom to go to. Problem is, the ring is practically part of her finger now. I hope that knife is sharp, Buzzy boy.”

  “I can cut a pubic hair in midair with it,” he said.

  Jason laughed. “He has, and not his own.”

  “You guys take such pleasure in domination. It’s joyful to see, but I’m expecting bigger and bigger things for you, so you’ll do what I tell you.”

  “Well, I do need new clothes,” Jason said. “So do you, slob face,” he told Buzzy.

  “Whatever. I’m just not dressing like some fag.”

  “Oh, that’s exactly what I’d like you two to do. Come off gay. People trust gay men more.”

  “Fuck that,” Buzzy said, but when he looked at John, he lost his bravado. “I’m never kissing him.”

  John laughed and then nodded. “Here she comes,” he said. “Mug her fatally, get the ring, and take the purse. I’m leaving an address on the seat. Bring the ring there. Get rid of this car, and find another,” he added.

  “What? I like this car,” Jason said. He could feel the fire in John’s eyes. It was as if he was only inches from a blow torch.

  “Your fingerprints are all over it. Someone in one of these buildings probably saw you parked here. You don’t have foresight. I’ll provide that. Am I making myself clear?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Jason said.

  “Go,” John commanded, with a voice that seemed to puncture their eardrums.

  They got out of the car. Jason looked back and saw that John had stepped out and stood by to watch. They walked quickly.

  • • •

  Kaye Billups had promised Lee that she would get the already-prepared lemon chicken breast. He would have their salad made before she arrived. Lee liked to tell everyone that they were a team. Her husband was a retired accountant, a very soft-spoken, gentle man who loved his family and made sacrifices when it came to providing more for them.

  She wondered what he had in mind for this weekend. Today she was going to tell him that she was seriously thinking of retirement, too. The brutal and still inexplicable loss of Warner Murphy never stopped haunting her, and now they had the death of Alexander James. For her, the pièce de résistance was the arrival of this new, far too suave, and, in her mind, dishonest man. He disturbed her in ways she never anticipated.

  Perhaps most important, she would never get over John Milton’s innuendo, his eerie suggestion that she’d had an abortion. There was no secret buried deeper in her heart. No one in her family knew, not even her parents. From that moment until now, she couldn’t look at him without a chill gripping her heart.

  No, she wouldn’t stay on much longer, not now. It was time to join Lee and graze on new pastures they would find together, do some of that extra traveling they had talked about for so long they’d almost faded into memories.

  She smiled to herself. Just out of the corner of her eye, she saw the two unpleasant-looking young men walk toward her and then split so each would walk on the other side of her before she had a chance to move. Neither looked at her, but she couldn’t help feeling they were well aware of her. She hadn’t looked at them very long, but just a glance made her cringe. It was as if her heart had closed like a hand into a tight fist under her breast. She quickened her pace and glanced around. No one took any special notice of her, which was not unusual on the streets of New York. Most people were afraid of making eye contact with anyone they didn’t know, and she wasn’t close enough to her building to run into any other tenants with whom she was familiar.

  She quickened her pace, wanting to get home as soon as possible. But then she felt it. It was like a needle, the point was that sharp.

  “Don’t scream, or I’ll push this right through you,” Buzzy said. His breath was a mixture of cigarette smoke, garlic, and something with the scent of death, something as nauseating as rotting flesh.

  Kaye felt her legs wobble and her lungs ache. The young man who had been on her right stepped up beside her and took her hand as if he was going on a Sunday stroll with her.

  “Walk,” Jason said, with a smile that could freeze the flame on a candle.

  “What do you want?” she managed. “Take my purse.”

  “We will, and it’s nice of you to offer,” Buzzy said. He had pulled the knife up into his right sleeve so that just the edge of it showed. “Turn,” he ordered, and with Jason tightening his grip on her hand until it hurt, she turned with them into an alleyway between two buildings. Two scrawny cat
s leaped off an open garbage container, and a third emerged, looked at them, hissed, and jumped out.

  “Keep walking,” Buzzy said.

  “Please.”

  “No need to be polite,” Buzzy said. “Your purse,” he added, and slipped it off her shoulder.

  Thank God, she thought. That’s it. That’s all they want.

  Buzzy opened the purse, took out her wallet, and tossed the purse into the open garbage container.

  “Two points,” Jason said. He still held on to her hand very tightly.

  “Let me go. You have what you want,” she said. She tried to turn, but Buzzy seized her left hand and held it up.

  “This ring belongs to us,” Buzzy said.

  “No, please!” she cried.

  Buzzy made an attempt to slide it off. She cried out in pain.

  “He was right,” Jason said. “Anesthesia first. We’re not inhuman.”

  Buzzy stepped behind her and pulled her head back to cut a neat incision in her throat. She gagged and collapsed.

  Jason reached for her left hand, her ring finger up. “Doctor?” he said.

  Buzzy smiled and then sliced, amazed at how easily the knife went through her finger. Jason wrapped the finger and the ring in a dirty handkerchief and shoved it into his pocket. Kaye Billups folded into a fetal position and died in small gasps at their feet. They looked at each other to see if either had even an inkling of remorse. Neither one did.

  “Let’s go,” Jason said.

  They walked out of the alley.

  It was like rising out of a swamp. No one passing by did more than glance at them, obviously fearful of them looking back and noticing. They walked faster and reached their car in less than a minute.

  John Milton was gone.

  “Where the hell is he?” Jason asked.

  “I’m not complaining,” Buzzy said. “Let’s go.”

  They got into their car and drove off. Buzzy reached back and looked at the slip of paper.

  “Got the address. The guy’s name is Murdock.”

  “Let’s go collect,” Jason said.

  “I wonder if he’ll give us more for the finger,” Buzzy said, and they both laughed.

  John watched from his limousine across the way. As soon as they disappeared around a turn, he tapped the front seat, and Charon started off. John sat back and took out his cell phone. He speed-dialed Michele Armstrong. Her voice mail picked up after only one ring.

  “I imagine you’re a little tired,” he said. “No worries. Only, I’ve done some digging around. You have good reason to believe someone is setting you up for another fall. You’re going to lose this rape case.” He hung up.

  “I love the courting process so much, Charon,” he said. “Almost more than I love the result. In fact, if I had to be honest, which, as you know, I hate to be, I would have to admit that I deliberately prolong it sometimes. Of course, you might think I’m simply teasing him, giving him the impression he might just win one. It’s sort of a win-win for me, Charon. Are you absorbing all this?”

  Charon turned to look at him.

  “Yes, I’m serious. I keep track of everything. Someday I hope to have my biography written, or, rather, my autobiography. Who else would I trust with it?” He laughed.

  Charon turned back to look at the street ahead.

  John sensed something and leaned forward to look. “Well, I’ll be. You’re actually smiling, Charon. I do believe you will evolve into something worthwhile yet. I’ll be like Dr. Frankenstein and run around screaming, ‘He’s alive! He’s alive!’ ”

  Charon accelerated on John’s laughter. The black limousine slipped into the city traffic seamlessly and continued along, as if he had always been there, always walking to and fro through the earth and up and down in it.

  26

  Blake was standing by the printer in his office and waiting for the photo the warden at the maximum-security prison in Woodbourne was sending him. According to the warden, it was relatively recent. Of course, he’d wondered why Blake wanted the picture of a dead convict and what was the interest in his final arrangements, anyway, but Blake satisfied him by simply replying, “To tie up some loose ends.”

  As the photo began emerging, John Fish hurried over to him. Blake didn’t notice him. He was concentrating on the face he had just printed out.

  “Before you start, this is definitely just a coincidence,” Fish began. He had just arrived himself and had assumed Blake wasn’t in yet. He hadn’t answered his cell phone all night, and Fish thought he was still out of town.

  Blake turned to him slowly. His eyes looked cloudy, confused. For a moment, Fish had the eerie feeling that Lieutenant Blake had forgotten who he was. He seemed to be struggling with recognition or was so deep in thought he really didn’t see him.

  “Lieutenant?”

  Blake blinked rapidly.

  Coming back to this world? Fish thought.

  “What is it, Fish?”

  “Just in. A mugging victim was identified as Kaye Billups, a receptionist at John Milton’s new firm, Simon and James.”

  “What?” Blake’s face came fully back to life, his cheeks reddening. “When?”

  “Late yesterday. I knew you’d be interested, but it looks like a random mugging for sure. She was led into an alleyway and—”

  “How is she?”

  “She’s dead, brutally murdered, Lieutenant. Throat cut, and apparently, the mugger or muggers couldn’t get her wedding ring off, so they cut off her finger and took it, too. No sign of it in the alley. Of course, a cat or a rat could have carried it off, but . . .”

  Blake’s face turned a pale shade again. “That’s definitely no coincidence, Fish. She was giving me information.”

  “Information? About what?”

  “About John Milton.”

  “What sort of information?”

  “Information about what he is doing at Simon and James. That’s how I knew Paul Scholefield was going to work for them—for him, I should say.” He looked distant again. “He knows I’m on his trail.”

  “What trail? Why investigate a defense attorney and whoever he hires? Are you out to get some sort of revenge for the Heckett acquittal?”

  “Revenge? Hardly. He’s going to do something more significant than the Heckett acquittal, anyway.”

  “Who, Milton? What’s more significant? Wait a minute. Why isn’t this a coincidence? You think he’s responsible for the Kaye Billups mugging?”

  “Of course he is.”

  “To stop you from finding out who he’s hiring?”

  “Oh, much more, Fish, much more. I think this proves it,” he said, tapping the picture he had just printed.

  “Who’s that?” Fish asked.

  “A convicted killer, Sam Lonegan, the latest resurrected,” Blake said. He folded the picture and put it into his jacket pocket.

  “The latest resurrected? How do you mean? Does it have something to do with that funeral home? What are you saying, Lieutenant?”

  “I haven’t got time to explain it all right now, Fish. I have a few things to confirm, but I’ll be calling you later. Stay alert. There’s a storm coming.”

  “Storm? But what about . . . the Kotter case?” he asked, his voice drifting off as Blake rushed out of the offices.

  Blake wouldn’t have heard him if Fish had shouted it, but even if he had heard it, he wouldn’t have turned back. He could understand easily why many would think he was suffering from serious paranoia, but at the moment, anything that would interfere with his goal was highly suspicious. Even too much traffic on the city streets looked as if it had been suddenly created.

  He’ll throw everything he can in my path to stop me, Blake thought, but nothing will.

  He turned on his bubble light and worked around the traffic, through red lights, even taking a one-way street for a short distance to get to the East Village, the neighborhood adjacent to Greenwich Village, and to what he knew was Tom Beardsly’s apartment building. Just as he got out of h
is car, he saw a young woman leaving the building. He thought he had seen her in the courtroom during the Heckett trial, sitting right behind John Milton. He sensed that she had spent the night with Beardsly. She was an attractive light-brown-haired woman, no more than twenty but dressed in a light blue designer skirt suit more characteristic of a Madison Avenue businesswoman. As soon as she reached the sidewalk, a black Town Car pulled up. She got in quickly, and the car drove off as Blake reached the front steps of the building. He watched it disappear around a turn.

  Fringe benefits, he thought, convinced he was right, and started up the stairs.

  He didn’t expect that Beardsly would let him in, and he was thinking he would buzz some other tenant and identify himself. He wanted to surprise Beardsly. As he reached to push someone else’s button, however, he noticed the front door had not closed when the young woman had left.

  “Nothing happens by coincidence,” he muttered, repeating his favorite mantra. He opened his jacket and put his hand on his pistol as he walked into the building. Beardsly’s apartment was on the third floor, a corner unit. He looked at the elevator and decided instead to go up the stairway, drawing his pistol as he turned to the first landing. He paused and listened. Someone was playing his TV too loud in one of the second-floor apartments, but other than that, there was nothing unusual. He continued up and turned slowly to look down the third-floor hallway to see if anyone was waiting for the elevator door to open.

  He saw no one and heard no one. Stepping out slowly, he walked quietly up to Beardsly’s apartment door. He heard what sounded like someone walking around just inside. Talk radio was on. He heard Beardsly laugh at some political sarcasm. Looking back and down the hallway first, he knocked instead of pushing the buzzer. The walking stopped, and the radio volume was lowered. He knocked again and then heard the handle being turned.