Running of the Bulls

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Running of the Bulls Page 19

by Christopher Smith


  They came down the steps crouched low. When they hit the street, they intentionally slammed their backs against one of the cars parked curbside. The alarm went off, Spocatti looked up to see people coming to their windows or closing their curtains, and when he looked back, Spellman and Cain already were in flight and near the end of the block.

  He watched them flag a cab, saw them snag one on their second try and then they were gone, fast into the night.

  Spocatti wasted no time.

  He ran across the street, entered Schwartz’s building, took the staircase to the second floor. He called out Carmen’s name and came face-to-face with her when he entered the room he’d left her in. When he saw her, she was standing with her back to the window, her gun raised and pointed at his face.

  “Why did you leave me?”

  He came toward her, knowing that time was running out and that they needed to leave. “I had no choice. She shot me. She ran after me shooting. I had to run or I would have been killed. You would have done the same thing.”

  She looked at his arm, saw what must have been a flesh wound given the absence of significant blood, but nevertheless kept her gun as steady as she could on him.

  “What did she do to you?” he asked.

  “She threw a bronze bookend at me. It hit me in the kidney and I went down.”

  He kept moving in her direction. “Why is there blood on your forehead?”

  “I fell, Vincent. Guess what hit the floor first?”

  “Put down the gun,” he said.

  “I’d rather blow your fucking head off.”

  “Just put down the gun.”

  “I should take you out now for leaving me here.”

  “I didn’t leave you. I came back for you. I can’t do this alone.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Maybe, he thought. But what he heard in her voice now wasn’t so much anger as it was ego, and that was enough for him. He kept moving toward her just as, in the distance, the faint wail of police sirens started to sound.

  “We need to get out of here,” he said. “Those sirens are for us.” He reached out a hand and lowered the gun. “We have to trust each other. If we don’t have that, both of us will be dead.” He cupped the side of her face with his hand. “I didn’t have to come back. You saw what happened. I don’t know where she learned to shoot like that, but she’s no amateur. We can’t forget that.”

  And with that, Carmen holstered her gun. “There are others on our list tonight,” she said. “We’ll chalk this up as a botched job and move forward.” She moved quickly past him. “Unless you want to get caught, I suggest we get out of here. I need to clean your arm and bandage it before we start again.”

  They hurried out of the room, down the staircase and left the building. Outside, well down the street, a police car was speeding forward, its sirens mixing with the sound of the car alarm. Together, they moved to the end of the block, turned it and kept going at a steady pace.

  “Who’s next?” she asked.

  He told her.

  “Good,” she said. “I need a little theater.”

  ~~~~

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  9:14 p.m.

  In the cab, Marty told the driver to take them to the Tarot Cafe on Prince. Then, he leaned back against the seat and was quiet while the driver shot down Fifth.

  He needed to call four people, beginning with either Katie or Beth, but his phone was busted. He asked Maggie if he could use her cell, she gave it to him, he dialed and listened to the phone ring. Maggie looked out at the city, her gun in her lap, the side of her head against the window. He put his hand over hers and motioned for her to conceal the gun, which she did.

  Beth answered on the third ring, music blasting in the background.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s Dad. Turn down the radio.”

  “Radio? God, you’re old. It’s my iPod.”

  “Whatever. Just turn it down. I need to talk to you.”

  She turned off the music.

  “Is your mother home yet?”

  “She won’t be home until midnight. She said ten, but she always says ten. It’ll be midnight. And then they’ll be moaning and groaning all night long, as usual, which already wants to make me barf. Katie said something about a dog. Are we getting one?”

  “Not tonight,” he said. “There was a mix-up, but that will be cleared up soon. I need you to listen to me.”

  “You need me to listen to you after you deliver that shitty news?”

  “Beth,” he said. “This is important. It’s as important as anything I’ve ever said to you and I need you to do as I say and do it quickly.”

  Maybe she sensed the urgency in his voice or maybe she was just playing nice so they’d get a dog, but there was a pause before she spoke again, and when she did, her tone was serious. “I’m listening.”

  “Are the Moores home?”

  “Of course, they’re home. They never go anywhere. I finished watching a movie with Andrea about an hour ago. Why?”

  “I need you to take Katie and go down and stay with them. I need you to call your mother and say one word to her--blue. You don’t need to know what it means, but she will and that’s what matters. Call her now, get Katie, lock the apartment and go down to the Moores immediately. Say the same word to them. They’ll also know what it means and then I need you to listen to them and do as they say.”

  “Are we in some sort of trouble?”

  “Not if you do as I say.”

  “Then, we are in trouble. Why are you scaring me? Why are you acting weird?”

  “I’m not trying to scare you.”

  “Then what’s wrong?”

  He couldn’t answer that without alarming her more than he had. And if he lied to her now, what good was he to her? “It’s complicated,” he said.

  “It has to do with us,” Beth said. “That’s obvious. I think we have a right to know.”

  She resembled her mother and also had inherited her mother’s tenacity. He closed his eyes and tried to keep his voice calm. “I really need you to cooperate with me right now, okay? Can you just do that for me? I need you out of the apartment in five minutes.”

  There was a long hesitation before she agreed.

  “I love you,” he said.

  “I love you, too, Dad.”

  “And I’m sorry if I’ve scared you.”

  “That dog better be cute.”

  She severed the connection and Marty stared at the phone. There was fear in his gut, but long ago, he and Gloria had devised a plan to keep the family safe in situations such as this. Gloria and the girls lived in a large building. If Beth did as she was told, they’d be safe.

  This time it was Maggie who reached over. She clicked the phone shut and put her hand on his. “Are you all right?”

  He moved his hand away. “You and I will talk when we get to the cafe.” He opened the cell and dialed Jennifer Barnes.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s me.”

  “It says it’s Maggie Cain.”

  “I’m borrowing her phone. Are you at Carra Wolfhagen’s?”

  “I’ve been here since eight, when we agreed to meet. Why aren’t you here?”

  “I’ll tell you everything later, but I can give you an exclusive now. Peter Schwartz is dead. His throat was sliced and now his body is home to a whole host of things you don’t want to see. If you want the scoop, I’d run with it now for the 11 o’clock newscast before someone else does. You’ll find him at his house. He’s been dead for awhile, so be prepared. Wait for the police to arrive before you go anywhere near his house.”

  “I’m on it.”

  “Did you hear me?”

  “I won’t go near the house. I’ll wait for the police.”

  “Promise me.”

  “I promise.”

  “One last thing. Are the Wolfhagens home?”

  “Carra left about an hour ago. A limousine arrived and she left the building with a young, really bu
ilt guy. A few minutes ago, I saw Wolfhagen pacing in front of one of the upstairs windows.”

  “I need you to get out of there now,” Marty said.

  “You don’t need to tell me twice.”

  “What was Carra wearing?”

  “That’s a bizarre question.”

  “Things are getting bizarre. Wait until you have a look at Schwartz.”

  “She was wearing a black cocktail dress.”

  “Nothing else?”

  “It’s still in the 80s and humid as hell, Marty.”

  “What about her escort?”

  “A black suit.”

  “Grab a cab,” he said. “Watch your back. We’ll talk later.”

  “Be careful,” she said.

  “I’ll try.”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  He hung up the phone, thought for a moment and decided to call Linda Patterson first, Hines second.

  This time, he dialed *67 to conceal his identity so neither knew whom he was working for. He told them about Schwartz, he came clean that he owed each a tip but that he was telling nobody else other than themselves. Now, it was up to them who got on-scene first and decided who was taking Schwartz’s case.

  Though Marty would be happy for Hines, he was pulling for Patterson. Hines was a friend Marty had helped countless times over the years, usually in ways that lifted his stature and his title within the department.

  But in this case, which might prove the largest of Marty’s career, he knew he needed to be smart. Winning over Patterson after he screwed her out of two grand was critical. With her contacts and ability to tap into information, having her on his side could be the game-changer he needed as this case progressed.

  * * *

  When they arrived at the Tarot Cafe, Marty was relieved to find it open. It was nearly 9:30 and the café’s neon sign--a tarot card tipped into a coffee cup--punched a red halo of light into the night and across the faces of those on the street.

  “We’ll be safe here,” Marty said.

  Since she’d been secretive from the start, he was expecting her to put up a fight. But she didn’t. Instead, she nodded and they stepped out of the cab. Marty went to the driver, handed him some cash and they went inside the cafe, where Roberta was across a room filled with hanging tapestries positioned in such a way that they diffused the light and created a mood.

  Just inside the door was a rush of incense that smelled of something toasted and earthy. Candles burned low on the gnarled wooden tables. Marty swept the space and saw that only a few of those tables were occupied. Moroccan music played in the background. He caught Roberta’s eye and immediately saw the concern on her face.

  “Twice in two days?” she said. “Let me get tea. Sit in the rear booth, not the front. The energy is better back here.”

  They went to the back of the café and slid into the booth. Marty chose the seat facing the door. Maggie sat opposite him and looked around the room. “I’ve never been here before,” she said.

  He had zero patience for small talk. He removed his cell and looked it over. Physically, it seemed fine. He smacked it hard against the palm of his hand and tried it. Nothing. He smacked it harder, this time against the side of the table, and it worked like a charm. He gave her back her phone. “Let’s get to it,” he said. “If my kids weren’t involved in this now, I’d be out.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “For which thing?”

  “For everything. For the first day we met. For tonight. For lying to you. For all of it. I’ve been watching my back for years. I don’t know who I can trust. I saw them enter the building tonight. I called the ambulance for a distraction so I could go inside without being heard. Did they hurt you?”

  “I’m fine. But we’re finishing this together and you’re going to tell me what you know. Who were those two people tonight?”

  “I don’t know. Assassins?”

  “Wolfhagen hire them?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Why aren’t you sure?”

  “Because one thing still doesn’t make sense to me. Wolfhagen wouldn’t have sent himself Wood’s head. I know him. He wouldn’t have pointed the finger at himself.”

  “Not even for an alibi?”

  She paused. It was obvious by her expression that she hadn’t considered that angle. As her expression changed, he saw now how much sense it made to her.

  “Would he do it for the alibi?”

  “He might. Forcing the attention on himself would actually work in his favor if he did hire this out. That’s how he thinks.”

  “What about Lasker?”

  “He’s a possibility.”

  “Where does he live?”

  “On Fifth.”

  “You’re not writing a book, are you?”

  “I’m not.”

  “Then, what are you doing?”

  “Trying to expose Wolfhagen. Trying to make him pay for what he did.”

  “He’s already been to prison, Maggie.”

  She leveled him with a look. “That’s right. For securities fraud.”

  “What else did he do?”

  At that moment, Roberta arrived with two cups of tea, each smelling of cinnamon. When she handed Maggie hers, Marty noted that she intentionally brushed the side of her thumb along the curve of Maggie’s left hand. Her eyes darted to his, but she kept her voice light. “So, who’s this?”

  “Roberta, meet Maggie.”

  Roberta held out a hand, which Maggie shook. “You seem familiar to me,” Roberta said, still holding Maggie’s hand. “Have we met before?”

  Maggie looked down at her hand. “I don’t believe so.”

  Roberta gave it a slight squeeze before releasing it. “I’ve seen you somewhere,” she said. “It’ll come to me.”

  Maggie smiled, which emphasized the scar on her face.

  Roberta’s eyes lingered on that scar before she turned to Marty and leaned down to kiss him on the forehead. “I’m glad you’re here, because this has been killing me. Do you remember that joke I told you the other day about the three women?”

  He looked at her for a moment and then remembered. It wasn’t a joke--it was a warning. This was her way of reaching him covertly. Her words came back to him. “Three women,” Roberta said. “One of them loves you, one of them resents you, the other is keeping secrets from you. They’re in danger, too, but only one of them knows it and she doesn’t care. She’s got murder in her heart. She wants someone dead. I don’t know if it’s you, but you’re involved. She might kill you.”

  “I remember,” Marty said, and in his mind’s eye, he saw Maggie rolling into Schwartz’s room, her gun held out in front of her and firing. No amateur moved like that, so where had Maggie Cain learned to? It took everything he had not to look at her. “But as usual, you forgot the punch line.”

  “That’s because I’m old. And the worst part is that it’s not even as funny as I remembered. Still, I remembered it. Want to hear it?”

  “Why not? I could use a joke right now.”

  She kept her gaze squarely on Marty and though she tried to mask her emotions, she couldn’t. In her eyes, he saw fear and sorrow. “The third woman killed him.”

  ~~~~

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  9:27 p.m.

  With his children involved, the only way out of this was to see it through. To do that, he needed Maggie. There was no other option. She’d lied to him before, but Marty now sensed it wasn’t with malice, but because she felt threatened by what was happening now.

  She was scared and trying to protect herself. He felt she was finally being honest with him. Still, if she thought for one second that her fear would ever get in the way of him protecting his daughters, she was a fool. His family was in danger. To end this, he would do whatever it took.

  He watched Roberta go back into the kitchen. “Alright,” he said. “Go on.”

  “I need you to understand one thing,” she said.
“If my name is connected to any of this, I’ll be dead in a week.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I do know that.”

  “Then we’ll keep your name out of it. Why were you at Wood’s?”

  “How did you know I was at Wood’s?”

  “It’s what I do.”

  “She had a videotape I wanted. She had files on Mark. With him dead, there was no one else who could protect his memory from that tape and those files if someone didn’t intervene and destroy them. So, I called and threatened her. I got from her what she never should have had.”

  “What was her condition when you got there?”

  “She was high, but at least she had the box ready. I was there for about ten minutes. I left with what I came for.”

  “Why does the FBI have a file on you?”

  “We’ve already discussed that. They think I have Mark’s stolen money, but I don’t. That’s their only interest in me.”

  Marty knew the answer--he just wanted to see if she delivered the same response. She did. “Who would want to kill you?”

  “Who do you think? You’ve seen the DVDs.”

  “I’ve seen one DVD.”

  “Fine, you’ve seen one. That’s enough.” She cocked an eyebrow at him. “Did you recognize anyone on that tape, Marty?”

  “Senator Diamond from Arkansas.”

  “No one else?”

  “Everyone else was wearing a leather mask.”

  “Then you chose the wrong DVD.”

  “Who else should I have seen?”

  “Diamond was enough,” Maggie said. “Take off those leather masks and you would have seen more senators. More players with power. People who could buy and sell your ass a hundred times over.”

  “Wolfhagen started this club?”

  “He started it.”

  “Was it a sex club?”

  “It was whatever they wanted it to be. A sex club. A place to relax. A kink palace. A place to drink and have your drugs served a la carte. You could participate or just watch. It was whatever you wanted it to be because that’s what that crowd demanded. Anything they wanted. Admission wasn’t free. Each paid millions to join.”

 

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