by Gary Starta
That was something Berringer hadn’t thought of before now. “Anything is possible, I suppose. But I want to know every single detail of his work life here with the JASONS and with Blake. Dig up what you can on the wife and financial situation. I also want to know where Montgomery’s hiding. He’s using the name Arthur Moreland now.”
“Look, he was fishing, Tony. Why would the F.B.I. share that kind of information with you unless he wanted to see how you’d react? You didn’t react, of course...did you?”
“Of course not, but we’re involved now whether we like it or not. The publicity alone will be a killer, and I don’t plan on leaving this job in disgrace. Why couldn’t Montgomery just stay dead, damn it?
“Listen, Greg, there are things you don’t know about. You absolutely cannot mention the JASONS to anyone at all under any circumstances, do you understand? Not even to our own investigator.
“The JASONS are a myth to anyone outside Meese and the D.O.D. If their existence becomes known, the White House is going to use our carcasses for charcoal at their next barbeque. No one will ever find out about the JASONS, and you and I will never be seen again. Get it?”
Greg turned white and gulped. “Got it.”
“I need to know what Montgomery’s game is.” Berringer stalked out of Greg James’ office, slamming the glass door so hard that Greg winced.
***
Carter kept both hands folded and resting in his lap. He wasn’t about to blow his career in a fit of pique over a petty dictator’s decision to play both sides against the middle. He no longer trusted the man, but he’d play it cool, just as Seacrest suggested.
“Good morning, Agent Carter.”
Fischetti paused to take a large sip of coffee. “These meetings whip up hate for everything and everybody. That much is evident from what we pulled off of Red’s cell phone. These con men invariably turn up when the economy is bad and people are looking for a scapegoat. This isn’t news, Carter; it’s been going on since the beginning of time. Unfortunately, it always will, people being what they are.”
Carter almost bought it. Almost. Fischetti was a good chess player, but Carter was better. “I see. But Agent Deeprose made a visit to a corporation in Virginia - one that I didn’t even know existed, so it would seem there’s more to the story than that.”
“Her visit to Meese may very well turn out to be nothing, Agent Carter, a tempest in a teapot. She discovered a photo of Moreland in an obituary written for a man named Montgomery who worked there, so I thought we’d jab them with a needle and see if anyone hollered Ow.”
“I understand, sir, but I was told that the reason she went looking for Intel on Meese was because of an anonymous tip you received. Wouldn’t that tell us that the tipster thinks Meese is involved with the killings? How can we ignore Deeprose finding out Moreland worked there as Montgomery or that his wife was murdered shortly before he resigned and then supposedly died.”
“We’re looking at all avenues of possibilities, Agent. Meese and Montgomery, a.k.a. Moreland, are a new focus of our investigation, but unless we can connect the Collective’s meetings to the drug dosing and organized assassinations, the only motivation we have so far are thrill kills or hate crimes. Call them whatever you want.”
Carter nodded.
“On another topic, your friend Red either intentionally gave us the wrong address or was fed the wrong Intel. I want to know whose side he’s on.”
Based on Carter’s conversations with Red, he had a hard time believing the young man wasn’t being completely honest with them. It was more likely he was fed the wrong information. He nodded again. “Sir, getting back to – what’s his real name? Montgomery? I thought he left New York to travel internationally. Do you have any new Intel in that regard?”
“Not yet.” Fischetti shrugged.
“The tip you received didn’t mention anything concerning his whereabouts, sir?”
“No. I don’t know who this tipster is. Maybe it’s some crackpot or someone with an ax to grind.”
“Did he mention anything about himself or his personal history? Did you get a look at him?”
“I could give a description to a sketch artist, but I doubt it would do any good. If he’s the real thing, you’ll never find a match; he hasn’t survived this long because he’s stupid. He’s probably had his face changed and his finger prints burned off, at the very least.”
Carter knew when he was being stonewalled and was beginning to feel very frustrated. He was deeply disappointed in the deputy director for treating him like a first-year rookie and for playing a shady game of his own.
It was unlikely the tipster would leave out any major details that would corroborate his story. He also doubted the tipster was a crackpot; he knew too much. No, the mystery man was the real McCoy, and they both knew it.
Fischetti tossed him a bone. “Agent Deeprose is in her office completing a report on her interview with Meese if you’d care to look it over.”
Carter took that as a not-so-subtle hint that the meeting was over. “Of course, sir.”
On his way out, it struck Carter that Senator Pressman had suddenly become a distant object in the rearview mirror.
***
Eliza took a long swig out of the bottle she bought on their way back to Clara’s. “Scored the bag and ditched the ride too! Well, ladies, it’s been real.”
Alison was worried. “Oh, no! You don’t walk away from us that easily, Eliza. It was too easy. There’s always a catch when it’s too easy. What about that phone call? You still haven’t told us anything about it. I think we’re being watched.”
“Don’t be paranoid, Alison. I know you think it was too easy, but maybe that’s just because you’re used to being hit when you’re down. And watched, too. Your creepy father’s dead. Let it go, already!”
Alison looked like she’d been hit in the face. “You shut your mouth! He loved me. He just didn’t want me to turn out like my mother, that’s all. Now be quiet. Clara can hear us from the bathroom.”
“So?”
“So I don’t want her to hear what we’re saying, Eliza. She’s not like me and you; she’s clean and perfect.”
“Why is Clara so important, Alison? You know she’s using you, don’t you?”
“She is not! She needs us. There’s a girl out there planning to kill her, and I can’t stand by and do nothing. She’s using me? I like that! What have you ever done but use people for your own ends?
“Look Eliza, I know you couldn’t care less about Michael, although if it wasn’t for him, the Silver Man’s people might have already murdered you. I know exactly how you feel about me; you think I’m weak, and you hate me for it. But I know something about you, too, Eliza. I know why you really helped us steal that bag – you want it for yourself, and I’m pretty sure you won’t stop with taking the drug just to feel invincible. You’re a killer yourself, Eliza, and you want that drug so you can go out on a toot and kill anyone in your way, you sick bitch.”
Eliza looked at Alison with something akin to respect. “Look who has a spine after all! That may be a problem for me, Allie, so don’t push your luck.”
“And one more point before we move on. I don’t want to have this conversation again, so pay attention. Clara is important to me because she’s my family, now. She genuinely cares about me. She could have avoided this whole thing by telling the police who threatened her life and then going back home to her uncle upstate. But she didn’t. She stayed, for me. And God help us, for you.”
Eliza smirked. “And if I take the bag and leave? What can you do about it?”
“You won’t take it. You know Michael, and you got into his car voluntarily. You threw him to the cops to keep yourself out of trouble, and at that point you weren’t even in any trouble! But now you’ve got an illegal street drug. One anonymous call from me, and you’ll be right where Michael is, answering a lot of questions about the vial they found in the car that maybe, just maybe, belonged to you all along. I may be
damaged, Eliza, but you have no heart at all. You were born without one.”
“And for that I am truly grateful. But let’s talk about Michael. Why aren’t you trying to help him out of jail?”
“Let me explain in no uncertain terms what makes you and Michael alike, Eliza. Maybe you’ll learn something about yourself. You are both born killers. It’s in your D.N.A., and no one can ever change it. Your brain is wired up all wrong. You’re turned on by power and control. You have no sense of right or wrong. You think if stealing is an impulse it’s natural and what’s natural is O.K. to do. But nothing about you is natural! You were the kids that killed insects with a magnifying glasses and then moved on to drowning cats. That’s who Michael is, and that’s who you are.”
“All right, Alison, if you’re gonna choose this moment to grow the hell up, then here’s a news flash - I have to make a kill, and it’s an order. An order, Alison, not a choice!”
“Is that was what the call was about?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, why do you think it was from the Silver Man, and why do you think you’re going to have to do your kill after all?”
“You were right about the Silver Man’s people, Allie. We’re being watched. We broke the rules and it can only end one way. Until then, I’m gonna live it up as long as I can, and I’ll kill anyone who gets in my way, including you and Clara.”
Clara emerged from the bathroom. “Did I miss anything?”
“Eliza’s thinking about dumping us to go on a toot and kill anyone who gets in her way. Isn’t that right, Eliza?”
“Shut up, Alison. Here’s the deal; if I don’t get another call, I’m on board with you.” Eliza pulled her leather jacket off the back of her chair. “I’m out to get some air.”
***
When Eliza left, the two girls sat down to talk.
“We have to think up a way to scare that girl away from you without resorting to violence.”
Clara perked up. “I’ve been thinking about that. I know a guy who used to have a serious crush on Abby. He’s a nighttime security guard at a local micro-brewery. I’ll invite Abby there for a little party and get him to open the door for us while he’s on duty. Then, with him there as a witness and protector, we’ll confront her and tell her that the cops are looking for her in connection with the Collective murders. He can help control her if she loses it, and if she does, he’ll call the cops on her, himself. What do you think?”
“It sounds fairly simple. Abby has nothing on you. You never even heard of the Collective before we came along. But will she accept your invitation?”
“Nope. That’s why we’re going to deliver an invitation in person.”
Chapter Twenty Four
Eliza’s phone rang just as she pulled the car into traffic. She dispensed with the niceties. “Give me a minute. I’m driving.”
The caller was curt and commanding “I have a message from the Silver Man. Pull over and park. You did not follow the instructions you received at the meeting. You stole our property. You have one last chance to prove that you are not an enemy of the Collective.”
For the first time in her life, she was truly scared. This was the moment she had dreaded. Sweat soaked through the back of her shirt making it feel like a second skin.
Will they let me live after this?
“I was going to do it, I swear. I’ll do whatever you want.” Frantically pleading with him, she heard her own voice as if it came from somewhere outside the car.
“Relax, Eliza, we know you’re going to do your job. Why don’t you have a smoke? They’re in the glove compartment. I think we’ll both get more done once you realize we’re your friends. And you’re going to help your friends by doing exactly what you’re told. That’s reasonable, isn’t it?”
His voice was deep and rich, smooth and slick with culture and class – not at all what she expected. Eliza’s fear increased exponentially, until all she could register was sheer terror.
“Will you let me go after it’s done? I have to know.”
“Once you complete your assignment, you’re done. We have no interest in cultivating this relationship any further than that.”
His answer was unmistakably clear; she was a liability. He was either unaware that two others also knew about the drug and the pre-programmed hits or didn’t care. She kept quiet about that, hoping there might still be a way out.
“Go to the U.S. Post Office at 127 West 83rd Street and retrieve the key taped underneath box 1001. It contains instructions and everything you’ll need to do the job. Follow the instructions, and you’ll be fine.”
“Who is it this time?”
“Here’s a little hint…who wants to kill a billionaire?”
***
“Are we all set for tonight, Clara?”
“All set. Doug Meir is the overnight security guard at The Ginger Man on East 36th Street. I told him that you were my best friend and that you’d be bringing Abby there tonight to meet us for an after-hours party when the bar closes. I’ll wait for you at the back entrance. It’ll be unlocked. The fermenting rooms are the perfect place to scare the hell out of her.”
She giggled and squeezed Alison’s hand. “He’s going to cut the feed to the in-house security cameras so no one will know we were ever there. He thinks he’s got a shot at a three-way!”
“Shut up!”
“Abby hangs out at a bar called the Pig n’ Whistle On Third on 55th Street every night without fail. The bartender is her cousin, so she drinks for free. He hates her guts.” Clara smiled beatifically.
“Then what?”
“Get a seat next to her at the bar. When she’s stinking drunk, walk out with her and get her into a cab. Have the driver drop you off a few blocks away from The Ginger Man and steer her to the back door. I’ll be waiting.”
“O.K., but…” Alison looked worried.
“But what?”
“I just thought we were going to do this together.”
“Alison, if I’m seen at the bar and anything happens we didn’t count on, I’ll be the first person they look for. They’ll find out I know you and connect you to the Collective. Then it’ll be all over for you, Allie. Victim of the drug or not, they’ll put you away. Look, you’re a stranger to her; if anything happens that we didn’t count on, no one’s going to be looking at you. Besides, she can’t say anything without incriminating herself.”
“But what if the bartender sees us talking and remembers I left with her?”
“Don’t do either one, Allie. Just watch and wait. Leave when she leaves. Clever, huh?”
“Yes. Clever.” The thought made her uncomfortable. “What’s the rest of it?”
“We’ll tell her that we know about the Collective and have proof that she’s one of them. Alison, didn’t you ever wonder why I was Eliza’s assignment? Eliza didn’t know me; if it works the same way every time, Abby should have been the one to get dosed and kill me, but too many people know she blames me for what happened to her. She must have either traded murders with Eliza or bribed her to do mine to keep suspicion off herself. Look, all I want to do is scare her so badly that she’ll pack up, leave town and never look back. End of story.
“Do you think I ought to change my dress? I think black is more appropriate.”
***
Eliza found the key taped under box 1001, exactly where she was told it would be. She opened the mailbox and looked over everything inside it.
You’re kidding me. Austen Boyd? The bankrupt billionaire? The brainless wannabe whose mouth is his own worst enemy? Well! I consider this one a public service.”
A full dossier lay inside the black folder. Before Eliza read it, she began to salivate over what else was inside the folder - a set of keys to a Lincoln Town Car, along with a big wad of money.
Good afternoon,
Purchase a little black dress at Bergdorf’s. You will be posing as a call girl. Billionaire Austen Boyd is the target. His valet has already made arrang
ements for an escort for this evening’s festivities. You will present yourself as “Jolie Gaspar”. Drive to the address you see here and park in the underground lot. Take the freight elevator and exit at the lobby level. The chauffer will meet you there and escort you to Mr. Boyd’s limousine. Boyd expects you to be up for anything he wants to do. He likes his cocaine, so play along but stay alert. He was going to make a speech tonight at an N.R.A. gala asking for their support of his candidacy for president. You must stop him while it is still possible. Blow the enclosed bag of poison into his face and then shove him out the back door before. After that, you’re on your own. Burn this before ditching the car.
Eliza’s recalled her low end jobs, low end pay, and low end life style. She understood the Silver Man, now. Yes, it did feel good to be the one to eliminate a bastard like that. It would improve life for everyone. People had to learn that when you try to grab it all, you only wind up with a handful of enemies.
***
Clara was so smart about everything else. I wonder why she didn’t realize I didn’t have to go into the Pig n’ Whistle at all. I know who to look for; why risk being seen when I can just wait out here on the street for Abby?
The bartender spoke to Abby in a monotone voice without making eye contact. “I can’t serve you another one. Rules are rules. You can catch a cab outside.”
Abby nodded, stumbled out of the bar and straight into Alison’s arms. The two women got into a cab and headed toward The Ginger Man for round two.
***
Eliza leafed through the literature one more time before burning it. Her weapon was Fentanyl, a dangerous narcotic responsible for a recent rash of overdoses. Despite its highly publicized death rate, Fentanyl remained wildly popular as a synthetic opiate usually mixed with heroin to increase its potency. Even touching the substance could be lethal. It was immediately absorbed into the body, causing the organs to fail within moments.
This is my kind of kill. Quick and easy…