Running of the Bulls

by Christopher Smith

All those years ago, when they secretly filmed the crowds coming undone at his parties, she made every effort to steer clear of the cameras. He assumed she was on those tapes, but she knew where the cameras were hidden and kept clear them. Be he was on those tapes, along with everyone else he wanted to hang if they didn’t come through with the inside information he wanted. Carra was so certain of this, she was willing to bet on it now as she prepared to take him down.

  “How are you alive?” Wolfhagen asked Andrews.

  “Well, let’s see, Max. Obviously, I didn’t die. Doesn’t that suck? People got to me in time. I was taken to the hospital Gregorio Marañón in Madrid and was brought back from the dead. And now it looks as if I’m about to bite it again.”

  “That’s because he made a mistake,” Carra said. “When Spocatti drove a knife into his side, he told him that he was being taken out for taking the stand against you. Three weeks ago, he reached out to me because he knows I hate you. He thought I’d want my own revenge and that we could help each other. What he didn’t know is that I already had taken out the Coles and that I already tried to kill him.”

  “So, why are you waiting?” Andrews asked.

  She thought of Maggie Cain. “Because you called at the right time. Because I’m using you as bait.” She snapped her fingers. “And then you’re gone, too.”

  “Why did you kill Wood?” Wolfhagen asked. “She put me away. You should have been thrilled by that. Why take her out for it?”

  “I didn’t kill Wood. Her death is as much a shock to me as it is to everyone else. I’ve given it some thought and the only thing I can think of is that someone you burned knew you were in town. It likely was a past member of your club, probably someone you threatened with one of your tapes. They saw an opportunity to nail you for whatever you did to them and they acted on it.”

  She shrugged. “What better way to implicate you in her death than to cut off her head, put it in a Tiffany box and send it to you at the Plaza? Some would think you were in danger. But others know your reputation. They’d see another angle. They’d think you sent it yourself because it’s the last thing a murderer would do. They’d think you did it so you could hide in plain sight. They know how crafty you are, Max, and I have to admit, it is good. If you weren’t going to die tonight, somebody was betting that by sending you her head, you’d be crippled by it. Just know that I didn’t kill Wood--and that we might never know who killed her. Life always doesn’t give us answers, but I do know this--you’ve got plenty of enemies who want to watch you burn. I’m just one of them.”

  * * *

  While Carra ticked off all the brilliant ways she’d pulled off this operation, Spocatti ticked off all the ways he should get out of it, but not without a brilliant shot of retribution of his own.

  He’d been lied to. He’d been tricked. By the expression on Carmen’s face, he knew she was as angry as he, but they refused to let it show. Their faces were blank slates.

  Occasionally, they looked at each other--communication in a glance. What he saw in her face was clear--she wanted revenge. She wanted Carra Wolfhagen and Ira Lasker strung up and quartered because they’d actively put their lives at risk by not coming clean with who they really were and what their true objectives were from the start.

  But what did she see in his face? Age and experience told him to hold off as long as possible while considering every option before acting. Safety was paramount. Getting out clean was key. He knew what Carra had in mind next and it was so twisted, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to see it go down. But at what cost? How far was he willing to go for his own taste of revenge when and if he was able to turn her own plan against her?

  What Carra Wolfhagen and Ira Lasker didn’t understand is that right now, he and Carmen owed them nothing. Their deal was broken the moment the truth was revealed.

  They’d signed a contract to work with Maximilian Wolfhagen, not Carra Wolfhagen and Ira Lasker. They’d gone into this job with the belief that they needed to murder those people on Wolfhagen’s list in a controlled environment manufactured only by them. They’d never agreed to the unnecessary, amateurish complication they were facing now. And they never would have taken this route because it could have been handled so much more professionally.

  He knew others were coming. He knew there were plans for them, too. An idea occurred to him on how to turn this when Carra called over to them. “Are you ready?” she asked.

  Ready for what, he wondered. Ready to scrap this deal and get out now? Or did he and Carmen have time to pursue other options? He didn’t know.

  “We’ve been ready,” he said. “You’ve been wasting valuable time.”

  She tilted her head at him. “Then let’s finish this.”

  ~~~~

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  11:36 p.m.

  When they left Roberta’s, they drove in silence. The safe house was on the Upper West Side, far and away from the orange glow they could see flickering above the East Side of Manhattan. Traffic was thick. They were barely moving.

  Maggie was looking out the passenger-side window, obviously reeling from Roberta’s repeated insistence that she was going to kill him.

  Did he believe it? No. Could he explain how Roberta had seen the fire and the people burning before it was announced that terrorists had attacked the Upper East Side with explosives? No. But he did know one thing--Maggie Cain was not a killer.

  She was someone doing her best under difficult circumstances. She was alone and she was frightened. This was beyond what she’d expected. After her experiences with Wolfhagen, which literally disfigured her, she had difficulty trusting people for good reason.

  Marty understood her now. She was the first to see a connection when the Coles died, and then presumably Andrews. Though she couldn’t be sure about it, she hired him to watch Wolfhagen, likely thinking he was somehow behind it. But now that Mark Andrews might be alive, they had to at least scope the safe house and see if it was true.

  He called Roz again at the FBI and had yet to hear from her.

  He called Hines, but since the explosions had yet to reach him.

  He reached out and squeezed Maggie’s hand, which she squeezed back. He tried to call Jennifer again but it still was a rapid busy signal.

  His mind went through a mental check list. Gloria was safe. His daughters were safe. But right now, he knew he was on the cusp of something that was either going to lead to more answers and a better direction, or possible death if they entered the safe house and it wasn’t Andrews.

  His cell phone rang.

  Startled, each looked at it in his palm. “It’s Roberta,” Marty said.

  He answered it. “Was she on the news?”

  She wasn’t. “It was another woman,” Roberta said. “She interviewed a few police officers, but no one by the name of Hines or Patterson.”

  “Did you see her anywhere in the background? Maybe she was making the rounds for a larger story. She’s their top reporter. Did you see--”

  Roberta interrupted him. “There’s no best way to tell you this.”

  A car rushed past them, horn blaring. He wasn’t focusing. He righted the car and slowed for the red light ahead of them. “Tell me what?” he said.

  “She’s missing. You haven’t seen the images I’ve seen. That woman reporter went on air and the last thing she said was that the Channel One family also was affected. They mentioned Jennifer. They’re searching for her, but they can’t find her. When the buildings let go, they lost her. They said there’s too much rubble. Too much chaos. I’m so sorry. They’ve put out an alert that if anyone does see her to please contact the station immediately.”

  ~~~~

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  11:36 p.m.

  “Get rid of Bobby’s body,” Carra said to Spocatti and Carmen. “Wipe up his blood. He’s been there awhile, so he’s probably stuck to the floor, poor thing, but clean it the best you can. There are towels at the bar. He can’t be there when Spellman an
d Cain arrive.”

  “If they arrive,” Spocatti said.

  “Oh, they’ll be here,” Carra said. “Love is a funny thing. Maggie Cain now knows her beloved is alive. They had a lovely chat. She’s flooded with hope. When they come in, take them out, then finish off Andrews.”

  She looked down at Mark. “Sorry,” she said. “But you’ve seen too much. And do you really want to be stuck in a wheelchair for the rest of your life?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “I didn’t think so.” She looked at Spocatti. “Then we do what we discussed earlier--call the police and get out of here. Each of you has your checks. You’ll never have to see us again. Just cash them in and move on.” She bowed her head to them. “And, thank you. We couldn’t have done any of this without you.”

  “We mean that,” Ira said.

  “Our pleasure.” He looked at Carmen. “Let’s get Bobby. We’re losing time.”

  “Why are you doing this, Carra?”

  That stopped Spocatti. It was Wolfhagen who posed the question, and now Carra was coming over to him to answer it.

  “I’ll keep this brief,” she said. “When we were married, you never once told me you traded inside information. You lied to me, you kept it all from me, and yet when it blew up in your face, it also blew up in mine. Do you have any idea what my life has been like for the past five years? It’s taken years to rebuild my name, and I’m only halfway there. As long as you’re alive, they still see you in me. The stink won’t go away until you go away. So, guess what? You go away tonight.”

  “Right now, I’m a guest at your home,” he said. “The media has been chronicling it. People saw me at your party. How are you going to explain that?”

  She reached out the tip of her whip and ran it along the curves of his face. “I’m going to tell them the truth. We had an argument over the home in La Jolla, which is mine and which I’ve decided to sell. If they want to--and they will--they’ll document your phone call to me just as they’ll document that soon after it, you booked an immediate flight to New York City.

  “Because you live there, you threatened me not to sell. You flew here to tell me to my face that you weren’t moving. You told me that if I sold, you’d hire someone to set fire to the house, which belonged to my father. I took you in as a guest because it was better to keep you close while I figured something out.”

  She paused. “It’s only been a day, Max. And guess what? I have figured something out. In the meantime, how could I have known that you had an ulterior motive to be here in New York? How could I known everything you were doing on the side? All these deaths captured on film.” She shook her head at him. “You’re not a very good person. The world knew that once. They’ll be reminded of it again.”

  She looked at Spocatti. “Bobby,” she said. “Then the rest. Move.”

  He turned to Carmen--communication in a glance. He began to step past Wolfhagen and Carra. “You said there were towels at the bar?”

  “They’re at the far end. There should be enough, but Bobby was big, so who knows?”

  “Right,” he said, and as he passed her, he swung violently around, dipped his hand into his holster and removed his gun. Carra sensed the rush of motion and turned just as the butt of Spocatti’s revolver came straight at the side of her head. She ducked and he missed. Missed! She stumbled back and he swung again, but not before her whip whirled around and struck him hard across his face.

  Stunned by the blow, he shook it off while she ran across the room. He charged after her. She was quick, but not quick enough--those boots she wore were a bitch and they didn’t give her the traction she needed. As she ran past Wolfhagen and toward the bar, where he knew there’d be a staircase, he saw Carmen swing at Wolfhagen’s head. He collapsed on the floor just as Ira Lasker started for the door.

  “Door!” Spocatti called.

  Carra was running faster now. She skidded as she rounded the bar. He heard a thump behind him and knew it was Lasker. He heard footsteps running his way and knew it was Carmen. And then, suddenly, Carra turned to face him.

  She swung the whip at him again, but this time he was prepared for it and caught it with his free hand. He yanked on it and pulled her close into to him. He could feel her breath on his face. He could see wild fear and rage in her eyes.

  “What the fuck are you doing,” she said. “You’ve got your money!”

  “You lied to us. You never should have done that. There are repercussions.”

  She started to struggle, but when Spocatti slammed his gun against the side of her head, her eyes rolled back and she went down at his feet in a heap of unconscious sleep.

  Carmen looked down at her. “I want that suit and those boots,” she said. “They’re fantastic.” She looked up at Spocatti. “But don’t worry, I’ll get them later. What do you have in mind?”

  Spocatti glanced across the room at Mark Andrews, who hadn’t moved because he couldn’t move. He stepped farther away from the bar and onto the staircase that was on the other side of it. She followed him and he quietly told her.

  “We have time for all that?”

  “I think so.”

  “But what’s the point? We should lock them in one of those cages, get out of here, make an anonymous call to the cops and be done with it.”

  “The police are a little busy right now, Carmen. We’ve got time. We finish this our way, then we call the feds, the cops, the media.”

  “They could die if we do this.”

  “Not if we do it right. And we have to do it right. I want them in jail. Death is too easy. I want a spectacle. I want something people won’t forget. And don’t think I’m not thinking about our own safety. That comes first. We do have time for this. Cain and Spellman aren’t here for a reason. They can’t get through. The streets are either jammed or blocked. Enough time has passed for them to be here, but they’re not.”

  “They could be close.”

  “Then we lock the door and deal with them if I’m wrong.”

  “Cain is good. You saw what she’s capable of. She took me down and she shot you. Don’t forget that.”

  “She also had surprise on her side,” Spocatti said. “This time, we’ll be ready for them.” He holstered his gun. “They’re coming,” he said. “And so will everyone else. But Carra Wolfhagen and Ira Lasker lied to us. They deserve what’s coming their way. Let’s really give the world something to talk about. Let’s crank this into the stratosphere. Let’s fuck with people’s heads. You with me?”

  “Well, when you put it like that, how can I refuse?”

  A knock came at the door.

  Worse, a knock came at a door that might be unlocked.

  Carmen immediately came across the open space, wishing the lights weren’t on. She pulled out her gun and held it on Andrews. She put her finger to her lips and pressed the barrel to his temple. All over her face was one message. If you say one fucking word, you’re dead. I will kill you. You will die. There’s no option. And then she pushed him across the room, to the very spot where Carra lay unmoving.

  Spocatti pulled Bobby out of the entryway, into the large room and behind one of the cages. The man had almost completely bled out. Behind him, he left a broad swipe of congealed blood.

  There was another knock on the door, this time more aggressive.

  Carmen lowered the lights and now Bobby’s blood, while sticky, appeared black on the dark floors. As another knock came, this one the most impatient yet, they quickly moved Lasker and Wolfhagen behind the bar.

  They looked at each other. It was Spellman and Cain, they were sure of it. They rushed across the room and moved to the curtained window to peer outside, but they couldn’t see anything. The tall hedges on either side of the entrance blocked their view, though not of the street, which was teeming with people. Some were running. Others were on their cells and walking quickly. All were moving toward the Park.

  They couldn’t see who was knocking. And then the knock came again.

&nbs
p; Spocatti went to the door while Carmen moved in place just behind the wall that separated them. She drew her gun. She heard Spocatti put his hand on the doorknob. And then she heard a voice the moment he opened it.

  “I’m Jennifer Barnes,” a woman said. “Channel One. I apologize for knocking so late, but I noticed your lights are on and this is important.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  “I think I was given the wrong address,” she said. “I was sent to 11 West 82nd Street, but it doesn’t exist. I’ve been walking all over this neighborhood and saw that you’re 11 West 83rd, so I thought I’d stop to see if this was the correct address.”

  Carmen pressed her back against the wall. Her gun was poised and ready. She could hear the people on the sidewalks in ways that she’d never heard them in this soundproofed house.

  “Who are you looking for?” Spocatti asked.

  “It’s complicated.”

  “How can it be complicated?”

  She hesitated. “It has to do with a federal investigation.”

  “Ah,” Spocatti said. “What did you say your name was again?”

  “Jennifer Barnes. I’m a reporter at Channel One.”

  “And how did you get this address?”

  “I’m working with Detectives Mike Hines and Linda Patterson. They gave it to me.”

  “Who were you hoping to find?”

  Another hesitation.

  “I’ll need to know, Ms. Barnes.”

  “I’m here to see Mark Andrews.”

  “I see,” he said. But he said nothing more.

  “I think I’ve made a mistake,” Barnes said. There was an edge to her voice. “I’m sorry if I interrupted. I think I might have the wrong address.”

  “Actually, you don’t,” Spocatti said. “Ms. Barnes, you’re at a federal safe house. If you’d like to see Mark, step inside. But I’ll need you to stay with me in the entryway while I phone my superior. Before we go any farther, he’ll need to question you.”