by Cathi Stoler
“I’m picking someone up at Provence Sud.” Helen was inside, certain he and the car were waiting just a few steps away.
“Not tonight, you’re not. We’re closing off the street until the Gordon’s party is over. Better call your passengers and tell them to meet you downtown a few blocks.”
It was pointless to argue. There was no way Joe could tell the patrolman the truth, or he’d jeopardize the whole operation. He eased the sleek black car back into the parade of traffic crawling down Broadway. He hoped the unmarked Organized Crime Unit van was still in position and that the uniforms hadn’t made them move it. He glanced at his watch, praying his men were set in the restaurant, but he had no way of checking. Not wanting to take the chance of anyone tapping into their communications, the team agreed to maintain radio silence until Santucci left the restaurant.
Joe would get as close as he could, but it was definitely going to take a while. “Shit.” He banged his hand on the horn, adding to the din. All he could think of was Helen’s little wave goodbye and that, for now, she was on her own and unaware of the fact.
Chapter 44
Friday, 8:15 p.m.
Laurel exited the Lexington Avenue subway at Spring Street and heard the noise right away. All these people and all this commotion. What is going on? She made her way west through a thickening crowd.
It didn’t take her long to figure it out. People coming toward her carried large Gordon’s shopping bags filled to the top and were talking excitedly about the new store and the party going on inside.
“Damn!” I should have remembered about this, she thought. I read about it in the paper just a few days ago. You’re losing it, Imperiole.
“Excuse me. Pardon me. Can I get through, please?” She pushed through the throng and crept along toward the corner. Using all the willpower she possessed not to cut her eyes left and peer at Matt’s building, she crossed Crosby Street and pressed her way through the crowd to the restaurant’s entrance. She paused to catch her breath. The interior of the bistro was as much of a mob scene as the street outside. Groups of waiting men and women were squeezed up against crowded tables of diners who barely had room to lift their forks. Women in six-inch heels and designer dresses were jostled from every angle and held their drinks high to keep them from spilling. Waiters and waitresses slipped in and out with the skill of acrobats. Laurel was astonished by how many people could actually fit in the space.
She worked her way to the jam-packed reservation area and waved her arm until she got the attention of one of the frazzled young women manning the desk. “I’m Laurel Imperiole,” she shouted over the heads of three or four people. “I have an eight thirty reservation. I’ll be at the bar.” The woman nodded and made a note in the reservation book.
Laurel cast her eyes toward the long zinc bar and spotted a couple paying their check and about to vacate their seats. She slipped in front of several people waiting, sliding onto a barstool just as the previous occupant slid off, pretending not to hear the protests and curses uttered in her direction. She turned her back on the crowd, marveling at her unusual boldness and waved to the nearest bartender. When he acknowledged her with a tip of his head, she mouthed the words, “Vodka martini, straight up,” sat back from the bar, and looked up into the mirror that dominated the wall behind it. It was huge, ornate and no doubt came from a palace in France, like many of the bistro’s furnishings. The mirror offered a great view of the dining room beyond, which was an undulating sea of diners, waiters and busboys hefting trays loaded down with food, accompanied by a noise level reaching for the stratosphere.
The bartender delivered her martini with a nice, big smile. His bar was busy and he was making money. Laurel fished a twenty out of her bag and paid for her drink. No running a tab. Not tonight. She wanted to be ready to leave the bar at a moment’s notice.
She glanced up into the mirror again to survey the crowd and watch for Matt. As she scanned the room, a figure at its edge, partially hidden behind a large group, caught her eye. The image registered on her brain. The woman looked like Helen, head bent, walking quickly toward the doors marked toilettes. By the time Laurel turned around to gaze back at the spot, the woman was gone.
She turned back around, reached for her drink and brought it to her lips. As she did, she stared into the mirror one more time. Her heart nearly stopped and her breath caught in her chest. Matt stood just behind her. He had entered the restaurant and reached her side without her being aware of it. Seeing his reflection in those mirrors on Second Avenue a few days ago, she hadn’t been certain; this time she was. It was Matt. She bit back a startled cry as her eyes met his, and a few drops of her martini spilled onto her lips.
“Hello, babe.” He smiled coldly. Bending in close, he wiped the spilled drink from her mouth roughly with his thumb. “You know it’s not polite to start without me.”
Chapter 45
Friday, 8:25 p.m.
Aaron stood behind the huge Ficus tree on the far side of the restaurant’s entrance, well hidden by the check-in desk and the crush of patrons. He’d been there for half an hour when Laurel arrived, followed a few minutes later by Helen.
Neither woman had noticed him, nor had they been looking for him. He definitely wasn’t expected for the night’s festivities. Aaron smiled and shook his head. They were both too preoccupied with their own plans to notice help in the form of an ace detective was nearby. They didn’t appear to notice each other, either. What could the two of them actually be arranging and were they aware of each other’s agenda? He checked his watch and glanced at the person standing next to him as if to say, “How long is this going to take?” Settling back behind the tree, he tried to stay in the character of an exasperated New Yorker who hated waiting for anything.
He had flashed his badge earlier at the uniforms patrolling the area because of the Gordon’s party, and was able to slide his car through the melee. It was parked just around the corner on Crosby, behind a utility van probably standing by in the event of an emergency at the store. All ready for hot pursuit. He chuckled. Although, he realized, it’d be hard to achieve any kind of pursuit at all, given the mess on the street.
Aaron brought his attention back to the overflowing bar area where Laurel had snagged a seat. She scanned the room in the bar’s back mirror, and he saw her catch a glimpse of Helen. It brought a puzzled expression to her face. Aaron was about to check out what was so important to Helen in the downstairs lounge when he stopped dead in his tracks. Matt Kuhn entered the restaurant and moved toward Laurel. She didn’t appear to see Kuhn reflected in the mirror over the bar.
Aaron tensed when Kuhn touched Laurel’s face and noted how she recoiled. Steady, steady. You’ll get your turn. Soon.
* * *
It took Helen ten minutes of inching through the crowd on the street to reach her destination. She glanced at her watch again. It was close to the drop off time. This was one appointment she couldn’t afford to miss.
Neither Laurel nor Mike should be at the restaurant yet. She didn’t want to get caught up in the evening until she dumped the DVD. It’d be difficult to extricate herself from the social niceties if one of them spotted her before her task was complete.
She kept her eyes downcast to avoid making eye contact with any of the staff or diners and moved as quickly as possible toward the restroom doors, which led to the lounge downstairs.
Okay, Helen, you’re almost there. She put on her woman-who-needs-the-bathroom-now look as she flew across the room, through the doors, and down the stairs. Thank you, God. Mercifully, the lounge was vacant. Of course, it would be. All the action was going on in the main dining room and, New Yorkers being who they were, no one wanted to miss any of it. There was a huge party in progress right outside the doors and you never knew what celebrity or star might arrive. Now, wouldn’t it be horrible to miss one of them because you were peeing?
She checked to see that the doors to both the men’s and women’s rooms were closed and sat down on t
he worn leather club chair near the payphone. Trying to look as nonchalant as possible, she placed her blue pashmina stole on her lap and waited a few seconds to make sure she wouldn’t be interrupted during the transfer of the DVD under the chair. All was quiet. No footsteps on the stairs. No doors creaking open. She unfolded the soft fabric with trembling fingers, eased out the DVD and tucked it beneath the chair. She sat back to catch her breath and closed her eyes in relief for a second. Thank God, it’s done. I swear this is the last time I get into this cloak and dagger stuff. Just then, the door to the restroom opened with a bang and three women exited, laughing loudly. Deep into her moment of reverie, Helen jumped out of the chair as though propelled by the crack of a starter’s gun at the beginning of the hundred-meter dash.
The women trooped up the stairs, giving her strange looks and a wide berth, and began laughing again. Helen tried to mask her surprise by reaching for the bistro’s vintage payphone but the women were already gone. She hung up the receiver, collapsed into the chair again and shuddered. Great. Helen remembered the hidden camera the OCU team had installed over the chair earlier that day. I’m sure those guys are getting a good laugh from that maneuver.
Helen forced herself to get moving. You don’t, I repeat, don’t want to be caught here like a sitting duck when you-know-who arrives.
The image of those ice-cold black eyes boring into hers was motivation enough. Helen jumped up again, although thankfully no one was there to witness her awkward movements, and ran up the stairs. She hoped Laurel and Mike were here by now. She needed to see a friendly face. Vodka on the rocks wouldn’t be so bad, either.
Chapter 46
Friday, 8:40 p.m.
Laurel pulled away from Matt’s touch and stared at him in disbelief. He seemed completely different from who he was just last week. So hostile, aloof and menacing. This is the real Matt, the face behind the mask. He’s a crook and a mobster’s errand boy, and maybe worse.
“What’s the matter?” Cold amusement filled his eyes as he observed her reaction. “From your message, it sounded as if you couldn’t wait to see me.” He leaned in close, whispering the words in her ear, sliding his hand up and down her arm in a parody of a caress.
Laurel’s face got hot. He let her know he’d used her, that for him she was good for sex and nothing else. She was hemmed in by Matt and the crush of people around them. “Stop it. You had your fun with me. The game is over.” She willed her body not to shake at his touch. She swallowed her panic. She was finally able to say what was on her mind. She pushed his hand away. “Who are you?” She couldn’t hide her derision. “A sophisticated banker, or just a common, murdering mobster, like your uncle?” She spat out the last word.
Surprise flitted across his face, quickly replaced by anger. “Be careful what you say. You don’t know who you’re dealing with,” he said.
“Oh, I know all right. You’re despicable. You used me. You threatened Jenna. Did you think I’d just ignore it … and everything else you’ve done?” Laurel paused, took a steadying breath and shook her head. “I can’t believe I ever cared about you.”
“You cared all right, didn’t you, you stupid bitch?” he hissed at her furiously, grabbing her arm harder. “Cared enough to investigate me and try to ruin my life. Well, that’s not gonna happen. Never.”
Laurel swallowed the fear rising in her throat. She had to get through this, to make him understand he couldn’t get away with what he’d done. “I said stop it. Take your hands off me.” Her voice was disdainful. “I know what you did to Anne Ellsworth.” His face didn’t change at the mention of Anne’s name. The name didn’t mean anything to him.
“Don’t know the name?” she asked coldly. “You should. She was David Adams’ girlfriend.”
“What do you know about David Adams?” His eyes flashed with something harsh and frightening. “Tell me.” He leaned in close again.
Laurel pulled back. Keeping her voice calm and controlled, she reached in her handbag and withdrew a heart-shaped pendant on a gold chain. “I wanted to show you this.”
“Why would I want to see that?” he spat.
“It belonged to Anne. I thought you might want to know about her.” Her words fueled her rage. “She was killed a few days ago in Pennsylvania.” His face was hard as stone. “She was strangled by your friend, Adams.”
If Laurel wasn’t staring at him, she wouldn’t have seen the merest flicker of fear and surprise pass across his face then disappear in an instant.
“Whatever happened, it has nothing to do with me.” He grabbed her arm violently again. “Don’t be a stupid cow. Leave it at that. It’s over. What we had was nothing. Do you understand me? Nothing. Stay out of my business and forget you ever knew me … I’m warning you.” Abruptly, he let go of her, turned from the bar and pushed his way through the crowd to the exit.
Laurel watched him go. She hugged herself and shuddered at the heat that pulsed from where his hand left its mark.
* * *
That McCorkendale bitch is going to pay. I’ll enjoy every minute of it, Sal Santucci thought as he entered the restaurant. Coming here tonight, with all these people, was a mistake. He knew it right away. Too many eyes. Too much going on. When he saw what was happening outside, he should have called it off. First, his car couldn’t get through the traffic and Ralphie dropped him off on Lafayette Street. Now he was inside the restaurant and still on edge. Too many things could go wrong.
Sal had dressed conservatively for the occasion; the fewer people who noticed him, the better. Although in this crowd, it hardly mattered. Inconspicuous in a dark gray suit, white shirt and nondescript tie, he blended in with the restaurant’s usual clientele—another overworked businessman out for a night on the town. He left the flashy jewelry at home and even tamed his silver mane. I’m gonna finish this and then finish her. He walked down to the lounge. Once there, he didn’t waste any time. He grabbed the DVD, slipped it into his jacket pocket and went back upstairs. Then he saw Matt. “What the hell?” he muttered under his breath. Matt was with that Imperiole bitch, leaning close and deep in conversation. His anger built. What’s going on here? I tell him to stay away from her and he disobeys me? Does what he pleases?
The casual bystander would never sense what Sal Santucci felt as he left the restaurant. Only those who knew him well would see that his rage had reached critical mass. As he walked back toward his waiting car a few blocks away, he took the disk out. The snake-shaped “S” hologram that marked it as his, the mockery of his family, added to his fury. He broke it into bits in his hands and threw it on the sidewalk until it was mere slivers of plastic. His frantic actions terrified the crowd around him and sent them fleeing. Sal didn’t care. Glancing down at the pieces of plastic, he stomped on them with pent-up rage. His deal was garbage now, just like the DVD he’d trampled. Better to destroy it than to have it come back as evidence that could bite him in the ass.
Blinking once, his wrath assuaged for the moment, Sal straightened his jacket and sauntered toward his car. Ralphie didn’t say a word. He held the door open as Sal slid into the rear. He sat back against the soft leather and stared out the window. This wasn’t done. Not by a long shot.
Chapter 47
Friday, 8:45 p.m.
Helen reached the main dining room and was overwhelmed by the noise and confusion. Her nerves were shot from the five minutes in the lounge and she realized she needed a breath of fresh air before looking for the Imperioles or indulging in that vodka she was thinking about. She also wanted to check out front for Joe and give him a sign that the DVD was no longer in her possession.
Helen exited into the velvety softness of the night and shivered as though fending off a freezing blast of icy air swooping down from the arctic. “I’m thanking you in advance, God, for making sure this turns out okay, so please, don’t screw around, all right?” she whispered as she continued her search for Joe. Where is that man? She didn’t see the Mercedes across from the restaurant, their agreed-upon r
endezvous point. Some big, bad protector. She realized there were no cars parked on the street, just the same teeming mass of people milling about since she arrived.
Helen scanned the crowd, trying to spot Joe’s familiar face. She didn’t notice the man next to her until he was just inches away, pressing close like one of those too-friendly salesmen who stood nose-to-nose with their customers, invading their space. “Hey,” she turned toward him in annoyance. She was about to tell him to back off when he grinned sloppily and grabbed her arm. She glanced down at his hand and saw the mark that looked like the scar from a burn, and a flare of recognition, then confusion, crossed her face. Pizza Man? What the hell was he doing here?
Still clutching her arm, the man moved slightly behind her, taking advantage of her moment of confusion to push even closer. A gun was thrust roughly into her back. “Surprised to see me?” he whispered quietly in her ear in a voice that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.
“Who the hell are you? What do you want?” Helen’s free hand reached to open her purse and retrieve her gun.
“Don’t do it.” He jabbed her harder with his gun. “There are a lot of people around and I really don’t care if any of them get hurt.” As if to emphasize his point, she and the man were jostled from behind, pushing them even closer together. “Drop your bag on the sidewalk and keep moving.”
“Oh, my God,” she whispered as he kicked her purse into the gutter. “Why are you doing this? Who are you?”
“I’m the man of your dreams, the one you’ve been looking for,” he said. “Here I am. I want you to take me to Laurel Imperiole.”