I shook my head and turned my attention back to Rudy, who, if he knew the figure was there, wasn’t overly concerned with him.
If that was the case, what was he concerned about?
I found out way too soon as I was grabbed from behind and carried to a familiar black SUV that had pulled up without my noticing, the sound of their approach likely buffeted by the falling snow. I watched helplessly as Rudy backed a few more steps away, then turned and ran farther into the park.
I was stuffed into the back of the SUV.
Damn! I was long beyond tired of this.
An hour later I was dumped in front of the agency, the FBI getting no more than I was willing to give them . . . which was nothing.
After all, they had nothing to barter with, mostly because I’d already figured out who set Dino up; partly because I knew they had nothing on me outside tampering with a federal case, something I hadn’t actually done, because, as near as I could tell, there was no federal case. Which made me all the more curious.
While I knew it probably wasn’t a good idea to piss off the FBI, if I’d been in a foul mood earlier, the one they inspired was doubly dark when they’d snatched me for what I hoped was the last time.
I went inside the agency, checked for messages, saw nothing that couldn’t wait, then went out to Lucille where I’d stashed my cell phone. I checked and found messages from just about everyone.
Yeah, well, they were all going to have to wait; I had one piece of business I was compelled to complete tonight.
I started Lucille’s engine, grateful she was one thing in my life that hadn’t let me down lately despite the frigid weather, and then dialed the woman connected to the one case I actually wasn’t supposed to be working on.
Snow was coming down even harder when I met Mrs Claus – I mean, Mrs Nicholas – at the same drop-off point I’d been at almost two hours earlier. She pulled up behind my Mustang in an old, battered Ford truck with crate-like sides built up in the back bed. Both of our vehicles looked like bondo specials just this side of the dump, which made me feel a certain kinswomanship with her. She got out wearing much the same thing as I’d seen her in before, glasses included, which she now pushed up her nose.
Was it just me, or did it seem that while I was getting coated with snow, not a flake landed on her?
‘I’m so glad you called, dear,’ she said, coming to stand before me holding a small paper sack.
I breathed in. Licorice. She smelled like cherry licorice.
‘Don’t thank me yet. I’m not sure if he’s still around or if he was scared away and is even now twenty miles inland.’
She stood for a moment, staring into the wall of white. I wondered what she was doing, but decided it best not to interrupt. I glanced at my cell phone and the time. I had tons yet to do; the sooner we got on with this, the better.
She turned her head to smile at me. ‘He’s here.’
How could she know that? ‘How do you know that?’
‘Trust me. I know.’ She began walking forward. ‘Come on.’
I didn’t question her further for fear that I’d hear something I didn’t want to. I merely followed her into the park, taking the same path I had when I made the ransom drop. I eyed the garbage bin, half hoping our trek would take us past there so I could take a peek inside. But Mrs Claus veered to the right, moving off the semi-cleared walkway on to the snow-covered grass.
I glanced down at my high-heeled suede boots and sighed before following. What was one more pair of ruined shoes? We were talking Rudolph here. And he was needed to lead Santa’s reindeer.
I laughed.
Mrs Claus looked at me with a closed-mouth smile. I almost believed she knew what I was thinking.
Almost.
About fifty feet in, she suddenly stopped.
‘What? What is it?’
‘Shhh,’ she quietly hushed me.
I pulled my leather coat tighter around myself and pulled up my gloves.
‘And stop fidgeting. You’re making him nervous.’
I was making who nervous?
I followed her line of sight, squinting against the flakes falling into my eyes. My hair was soaked and I was standing in snow up to my knees.
And still not a single flake seemed to land on her.
‘There.’
Where?
Then I made it out. The faint, red glow.
Mrs Claus gave out a whistle that didn’t raise the hair on the back of my neck so much as electrify every hair on my body.
The red glow got brighter.
OK, I must have been more stressed than I thought; now I was seeing things.
The glowing stopped. I couldn’t make out anything else in the white-out.
Mrs Claus reached into her bag and pulled out a shiny red apple.
The snow parted like a soft curtain and the reindeer I’d seen earlier stepped through it, raising and dipping his head as he walked, his breath puffing out before him.
Was my mouth open? I was pretty sure my mouth was open. And it was accumulating snowflakes.
Rudy went straight to Mrs Claus, tucking his nose against her chest before raising his head to lick her chin. She giggled like a little girl and smoothed her free hand over his coat.
‘We missed you, Rudolph,’ she said so quietly I almost didn’t hear her.
Who was ‘we’?
Probably her and the kids that visited her holiday display, I told myself.
‘Oh, did you want this?’ Mrs Claus laughed when Rudy nudged the hand holding the apple. She held it out and he bit into it, crunching away.
She glanced at me. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
I shook my head in amazement. ‘Not so much a ghost . . .’ More like a piece of fiction come to life.
Which was ridiculous, of course.
But awesome nonetheless.
‘Go ahead. Pet him.’
I reached out a tentative hand, remembering the last time I dared touch him, recalling how he felt. My fingers met with his soft coat. So soft . . . so warm.
His eyes met mine and I smiled, feeling something burgeon inside of me.
‘The kids love petting him. He’s always the star attraction,’ Mrs Claus said.
‘I can see why,’ I whispered, wondering if he made them all feel this incredible sense of wonder. ‘Why do you think he ran away?’
Mrs Claus finished feeding him the apple then reached into the bag again where she took out sugar cubes. She allowed him to smell them, but didn’t feed them to him. Instead she put them back in the bag and gave him a final pat before fastening a lead on his harness and turning toward where we were parked.
‘Oh, I don’t think he so much ran away as got lost. He’s such a playful one, you know. Always getting into trouble . . .’
Go figure.
A calm, peaceful silence fell as we walked back to her truck. I noticed she didn’t have to pull on the lead once, and, even if she had, I wondered how this one little woman could hold power over this magnificent creature that was easily four times her size.
I helped her open the back of her truck and secure the ramp, and up Rudolph went on his own, seemingly as glad to be found as we were.
We closed the back and then stood facing each other.
Caramel. Scads of it. That’s what she smelled like now.
‘I will contact your wonderful Rosie tomorrow about payment,’ she said.
I shook my head. ‘No need. I never officially took the case so there is no official billing.’
‘I insist.’
‘No, I insist.’ I smiled. ‘Look at it as my gift to the kids.’
She hugged me, nearly surprising me out of my soggy boots. ‘Thank you, Sofie Metropolis. You helped when everyone else turned me away.’
My eyes stung, but whether it was because of the snow getting in them, or her generous display of affection, I wasn’t sure.
I walked her to the truck door and helped her inside.
‘Merr
y Christmas,’ she said, a smile as wide as Long Island splitting her sweet, pink-tinged face.
‘Merry Christmas to you.’
She slowly began pulling away.
Apple pie. I smiled and inhaled deeply. Definitely apple pie.
I stood waving as I watched her disappear into the snowy night..
If I spotted a bright-red glow coming from the back of the truck . . . well, I wasn’t saying.
Twenty-Five
I thought about going home to my apartment, to get out of my wet clothes and into a hot shower, but while I was driving back to Astoria, I felt . . . I don’t know, energized somehow. And, as strange as it seemed, I was also dry. So I drove to the agency instead to see to the next item on my list.
I let myself inside and checked to verify that not only was I dry, but it appeared I’d never gone out trekking in three-foot snowdrifts in a storm at all. My suede boots looked as if they’d come straight from the box. Even my hair appeared freshly blown out. And a glance in the bathroom mirror verified that everything about me looked not only presentable but . . . nice?
And I smelled like – I sniffed my coat – cinnamon.
Hunh.
In recent months, I’d come to understand it was best not to look at certain things too closely. But when it came to items of this nature . . . well, I’d take Mrs Claus’ missing reindeer over neighborhood vampire covens any day.
I went into my uncle’s office, shrugged off my coat, switched on the rarely used TV to a local station and got to work, connecting the dots in a way not even a green prosecutor on his first case would be able to screw up.
A few minutes into my work, the words ‘breaking news’ caught my attention.
I glanced up at the television, watching as a popular female anchor readied herself before the cameras. She smiled. ‘Seems all is well tonight in Manhattan as little Jolie Abramopoulos, daughter of real estate mogul George Abramopoulos, is recovered after a horrific kidnapping ordeal . . .’
The screen flipped to images of the seven-year-old girl being led by none other than my would-be arch nemesis Charles Chaney as he led her by the hand toward her father outside his famed apartment building, who scooped his daughter up in a hug reminiscent of a Jimmy Stewart film, snow swirling around them.
I shook my head, telling myself all that mattered was that Jolie was safe.
If I wished Chaney and whoever had given him the better job of collecting the girl, well, that was between me and my Glock, which I’d thankfully recovered from the FBI earlier.
The report went on to say the kidnappers were still at large and then the broadcast returned to the snowstorm that was burying the city.
I smiled.
Having gotten what I was looking for – I’d had a feeling little Jolie’s recovery would hit the media, and, outside a crooked ponytail and wrinkled clothing, she looked well – I used the remote to switch off the television and picked up the office phone, making the first of several phone calls.
An hour later, I’d done most of what I wanted to do with few complications. Seeing as tomorrow was Christmas Eve, I’d expected some more resistance or at least a few groans. I was happy to say I got none outside my cousin Pete, who I wasn’t able to get through to.
A sound out front.
Of course, I was frequently known to speak too soon.
I craned my neck to see out through the crack in the door into the reception area, which I’d left dark. I couldn’t make anything out. Probably because it was dark.
Damn.
I wheeled my uncle’s office chair back and went to have a look. I’d locked the front door, but even if someone had managed to pick the locks, I’d have heard the cowbell.
I hoped.
I slowly opened the office door, resisting the urge to say, ‘Hello?’ or something equally lame like, ‘I’ve called the police. They’re on their way.’
The light panel was near the front door, so I had little choice but to cross the area in the dark. A flick of two switches and the room was awash with light, sweet light . . .
Revealing two guys with whom I’d grown all too familiar.
Well, what did they want?
‘What in the hell are you doing here?’ I asked Boris and his forever sidekick.
He grinned at me and began to lurch forward.
I slid my Glock out of the holster and pointed it at him. ‘Unh unh. I’ve long since surpassed my patience for your meeting methods.’
I was relieved I’d at least had the presence of mind to have the FBI return my firearm during our earlier meeting . . . and more than a little grateful.
‘You ain’t gonna use that,’ Boris said taking another step.
I took aim and shot. I’d meant for the bullet to pass between his legs somewhere in the vicinity of his knees, but it instead it whizzed a little higher and took a little inner thigh with it. I watched as the fabric of his pants billowed out and then winced at the sound of the round hitting the second from the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet behind him. Well, at least I knew there were enough files in there to prevent it from traveling into the next office.
Boris yelped and both hands went straight for his crotch.
‘Don’t worry, I don’t think I hit anything vital.’
Unless, of course, he was one of those malformed men whose penis hung to his knees.
I cocked my head, keeping my Glock aimed at him. Nah . . .
His pal was bent over looking at the flesh wound and both of them were speaking in rapid-fire Russian. Or what I thought was Russian, anyway. For all I knew, they could be speaking Swahili. Although I think the chances of that were slim considering their background report.
‘Let me rephrase the question: what do you want?’ I asked.
Boris stared at the smear of blood on his hand – certainly not enough to write home about – and glared at me. ‘Where is the money?’
‘Right where you had me put it,’ I said. ‘Or in the hands of the kidnappers.’
He made the same tsking sound Rosie was partial to, although hers was much cuter. ‘I get report you went back to park.’
‘Ah, yes. I did. To find Rudolph.’
The two men stared at me.
‘Anything else?’
They looked at each other, Boris still holding his thigh as if afraid something might fall out if he didn’t.
‘Well, then, I’ll wish you a good night, gentlemen.’ Keeping my Glock trained on them, I opened the door, stepping far enough back so I was out of arm range.
They didn’t move for a long moment . . . then finally Boris lead the way out, mumbling no doubt profanity under his breath.
Hey, I did it all the time in Greek.
Well, maybe not all the time, but it did come in handy to be able to cuss in a foreign language from time to time. There was a certain beauty in no one around understanding what you were saying; no need for apologies later.
I closed and locked the door after them, watching as they got into the sedan parked at the curb, one in the driver’s side, the other the passenger’s, and then drove off.
OK, that was interesting. I hurried to my uncle’s office, thinking it would be a good idea if I got out of there. Not only because I was sure Boris was going to come back with reinforcements just as soon as he made sure I’d done no major damage, but because I didn’t want to take the chance someone had heard the shot and called the police.
Or, more specifically, Pino.
Yes.
It was time to finally wrap this up.
As I entered the doors to Kennedy Airport, I glanced at the monitors flashing DELAYED on all flights and smiled. I’d known the instant Waters had called me with the news of his subject’s whereabouts that the person he’d been following wouldn’t be going anywhere for a good, long while. In fact, I knew from previous experience that the worsening storm outside meant that DELAYED would soon flash to CANCELLED and weary travelers and runaway kidnappers were going to be left stranded for the night.
It had happened to me once when I was a teen and gone to Greece for the holidays with my parents (we’d been made to sit at the airport for six hours, then went home, only to turn back when we were rebooked, and waited for another five hours for that plane to leave because of the bottleneck of flights trying to take off), and had watched as it happened at least one other time since. A quick phone call had also verified that no flights would be leaving for the foreseeable future, and the continuing snowfall pretty much guaranteed that would hold.
Not much was capable of shutting down New York City, but a good snowstorm did the trick every now and again.
‘Hey,’ I said to Waters, who was leaning against a store doorway flipping through a magazine and watching three black women walk by.
‘Hey, yourself, hot mama.’ He flashed his gold tooth at me as he smiled, looking none the worse for wear.
Well, relatively speaking.
‘She come back out?’
He shook his head. ‘Nah. Think she hoping they going get planes back up in the air again soon. Girl must be blind, ’cause it’s still coming down like a motherfucker out there.’
‘Yeah. Thanks for sticking it out.’
‘No problem.’ He ran his tongue around his teeth. ‘That’s just the way I roll.’
Indeed.
Probably he was mentally counting his bonus money.
Even eight months into the job, I found it interesting how these things worked. One change in a subject’s routine, combined with one bit of information, and a picture materialized as quickly as colorized metal pixels attracted by a powerful magnet. Miss one, and the other didn’t matter. Put them together and, voila, a case was solved.
I wondered if the process would ever cease to fascinate me. Did my uncle Spyros still experience the same rush?
It was better than sex.
My brain momentarily froze and three men emerged in my mind.
Three?
Yes. Jake . . . Dino . . . and, much to my surprise, David Hunter.
OK, maybe it was almost as good as sex.
Almost.
Of course, I didn’t know what sex with David Hunter was like.
Yet, a small voice in my head whispered.
No. No way I was going there. Not with all the man trouble I had landed in lately.
Queens Ransom (Sofie Metropolis) Page 18