Hooked

by Polly Iyer

  “You deserve better,” he said without a moment’s hesitation, “and she doesn’t deserve you at all.”

  “That’s not your decision to make, is it? Where is she?”

  After a moment’s pause, he answered tentatively. “I don’t know. All I know is come six this morning, she won’t be able to incriminate Russo or anyone else. Let it go, Linc. It’ll be better for everyone concerned.”

  “You mean better for you.”

  “That too,” Harry said. “Though with Russo dead, there’ll be no one to enforce my debt.”

  “Don’t be so sure. Russo couldn’t resist passing on such a valuable asset to his family. A fed in his employ.”

  “You owe me.”

  Tears stung Linc’s eyes. He spoke through the lump in his throat with a harshness he’d never heard from his own lips. “No, you owe me. I wanted to be like you. You were my hero, Harry. Superman, Batman, and the Six-Million-Dollar Man all wrapped up in one package. Now I find out you’re none of those things. I never knew you at all.” He wiped a tear that crawled down his cheek, feeling no shame. “You’re no better than the people you’ve sworn an oath to protect us from.”

  Linc walked away, confused and conflicted. He avoided Clauson’s gaze while he fought for composure. The agent worked under Harry, and until Linc figured out what he was going to do about his mentor, he’d say nothing to anyone.

  “Any change in Russo?” Linc asked.

  “No. What’s going on between you two?”

  “Not now, Clauson. Talk to Harry. I’ve got something to do.” But when he turned to leave, Harry was already gone.

  “I’ll get in touch if Russo wakes up and they let me talk to him,” Clauson said.

  Linc nodded. “I hope it won’t be too late.” He went outside to the parking lot, his insides shaking. His whole world had collapsed for the second time in his life, and it made no difference that he was a grown man rather than a child. He tried to put himself in Harry’s shoes, but every time he hypothetically slipped his feet into them, he felt the crush of reality. Harry had lived his professional life as a lie, carrying the heavy burden of a man’s death on his shoulders and in his heart. And now it had come full circle at the moment when he might regain his freedom from the bloodsucking bastard that had held him hostage for thirty years. What bizarre irony.

  Linc tried to keep from checking, but he gave in and glanced at his watch. Did he really want to see how close it was to six o’clock? Five thirty. Thirty minutes left. What could happen at precisely six o’clock? Something timed. A bomb?

  Mike Russo was the younger of Mario’s sons and the less combative, if he hadn’t been awakened for the second time in one night.

  “What the fuck do you want now?” he asked sleepily.

  “You said you had no construction sites out of state right now,” Linc said.

  “Jesus,” he muttered. “Did you really need confirmation of that at five thirty in the morning?”

  Linc ignored the question. “Are you tearing anything down, detonating any buildings. Explosives, wrecking balls, anything. Something that will take place at six this morning?”

  “We don’t do demolition. We sub-contract to companies that specialize.”

  “Have you sub-contracted a job then? Come on, Russo. An innocent person’s life is at stake.”

  Silence on the other end of the line.

  “You’re asking me to incriminate my father.”

  “Look, your father is at Downstate Medical Center. He ran his car off the road. Doctors don’t know whether he had a heart attack, a stroke, or whether it’s the cancer, but he might not make it.”

  “I…I didn’t know. No one’s called. Gotta go, Walsh. Gotta call my brother.”

  “Wait. Where? I need to know, Russo.”

  Another long silence. “Kearney. They’re taking down an old hotel and surrounding buildings to make way for a new hotel and large scale mall.” He mentioned the exit. “You know where I’m talking about?”

  “Yeah, I think so,” Linc said. “Are they using explosives?”

  “I don’t think so. They’ll use bulldozers and either a high-reach excavator or a wrecking ball for the old hotel.”

  “Any way to stop them, delay the thing for a few hours until we can make sure no one’s inside?”

  “You can try, but I doubt you’ll get anyone at the office to answer at this time of the morning, and the men are probably on the job already. I don’t have a cell number.” He gave Linc the name of the company and the owner’s name.

  “Mike?”

  “What.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You know, Walsh. My father may be all the things people say, but he kept us away from his other business and, most important, he was a damn good father.”

  Linc knew better than most what he meant, especially now with Harry’s betrayal. “I believe you.” Mike gave him more specific directions, and he hung up. Five forty. He speed-dialed Dennis, waking him from a deep sleep. Linc explained where he was going and why.

  “Get someone to call the Kearney police while you try to find whoever’s in charge to stop the demolition. I’m on my way. Meet me there. It’s a whole city block, and she’s somewhere inside.”

  Chapter Forty-Three

  An Inevitable Conclusion

  Tawny slipped in and out of sleep, her nightmares an unlikely respite that kept her from acknowledging her hopeless situation. A booming noise, followed by a series of tremors woke her, scaring her witless. An earthquake, she thought at first. They were rare in New York but not unheard of.

  But this was no quake. Another crashing sound. More rattling of the building. With every thundering crunch, a plume of dust spewed into the room through the glassless windows, covering her in suffocating powder. Terrified to the point of hysteria, she wanted to scream out, to run, but she could do neither. The moans in her throat were lost to the noises outside. Tied to the radiator by the heavy electrical cord, she realized it was useless to struggle. The one solid item that hadn’t been salvaged from the building held her firmly secured. Wriggling and pulling against her restraints only deepened the gouges in her skin. She wheezed out a puff of air and accepted the inevitable.

  She was going to die.

  Then another pounding thump, another wrenching vibration, another shower of dust. Only this time a large chunk of cement bounced off her aching shoulder onto the floor, bringing tears to her eyes.

  After another thunderous bang shook the building, water shot through the window. Was it raining? Plaster fell from the ceiling in chunks, exposing the interior studs. Of all the ways she ever thought of dying, being crushed to death under a mountain of debris wasn’t one of them.

  * * * * *

  Linc usually traveled through the Holland Tunnel from his home in New Jersey to work in Manhattan but rarely left his house this early. This morning, coming from his office, he reversed direction. Red light flashing on his dash, he zoomed through the heavy morning traffic. Once in New Jersey, he maneuvered around the armada of trucks.

  Linc was oblivious to everything except whether Dennis had connected with the owner of the demolition company, or if the Kearney police had arrived on scene to stop the demolition. Was Tawny even there? He checked his watch. Six-ten. Could this be a futile waste of time while Tawny was somewhere else, already dead? He pushed the thought from his mind because this was his only hope to save her.

  Linc’s thoughts veered to Harry’s deceit, and his pulse quickened even more. Harry had saved his life, but he was dirty. Could Linc end the career of a man he’d looked up to his whole life? When the day was over, he’d have to face those choices, but he couldn’t do it now.

  Linc didn’t know where the hell he was. He exited where Mike told him, but nerves and desperation stymied his usually keen sense of direction. Sweat trickled down his back.

  After a few wrong turns, he followed the thick, sooty air to the wasteland of deserted and semi-demolished buildings. Barriers blocked the ro
ad, and cinder particles and debris covered the ground and spewed into the atmosphere. High-pressure hoses fought a losing battle to control the dust. If Tawny was here, he was definitely too late. He banged the steering wheel. “Damn.”

  Linc pulled behind a Kearney police car. Two cops were talking to a heavy-set guy in a yellow jacket and hard hat, pointing to a multi-storied building under attack from a large crane wielding a wrecking ball. Bulldozers and excavators dotted the scenery, but next to explosives, the wrecking ball was the one thing Linc didn’t want to see. He hopped out of the car and sprinted to join them, readying his identification.

  “Walsh, NYPD.” He yelled to be heard over the sound of the demolition. “There’s a strong possibility a woman is trapped in one of those buildings, more than likely the tallest one. Can you order a stop to the demolition?”

  The man in the hardhat nodded and pulled out a small walkie-talkie while the two cops said they’d just arrived.

  The huge steel ball made a last half-hearted ram into the building before swinging to a slow stop. Building rubble covered the area. Linc started to move in the direction of the building, but Hardhat pulled him back.

  “I can’t let you near there. The foundation’s been weakened. It’s an old building and could collapse any minute. I’ll get my men to go inside. They know what dangers to look for.”

  “I’ve got to get inside.”

  “You willing to risk your life?” Hardhat asked.

  Linc looked at the building, then back at the foreman. “Yeah, I am, and I’ll go with or without your approval.”

  Hardhat shook his head in defeat. “Okay, as long as these fellows heard you accept responsibility for your wellbeing,” he said, pointing to the two uniforms. “I’ll get a couple of my guys to help. First, lemme get you some protective gear. Won’t help much if the building comes down on you, but it should protect you from falling debris.” He hurried into the on-site trailer and came out with a jacket, boots, goggles, and hardhat. “See if these fit,” he said. Then he spoke into the walkie-talkie again and called for a couple of men. “You need a knife or something. What if she’s tied up?”

  Linc had been so focused on finding Tawny, he wasn’t thinking ahead. “Thanks. If she’s in there and still alive, she’s probably bound.”

  That was the most positive answer Linc allowed himself. He couldn’t imagine Mario Russo leaving any witnesses. Maybe, just maybe, though, he spared her so her death would fall to the wrecking ball while he was alibied in the city, sleeping in his own bed. How could Russo know he’d be teetering in the hands of the Grim Reaper before the morning’s end?

  Linc suited up. The boots were a size too big but manageable. The protective clothing fit. Hardhat went back inside the building and came out with a knife in a sheath. Linc shoved it in one of the jacket’s deep pockets.

  More cars pull in. He turned around to see Dennis and Clauson jog over. Dennis grabbed him by the arm. “You crazy son of a bitch. You’re not going in there, are you?”

  “I’m not dressed like this for nothing,” Linc said. He glanced at Clauson. “Russo?”

  “Still unconscious but hanging in there, last I heard.”

  “You can’t let him in there,” Dennis implored the foreman. “That building’s ready to fall down.”

  “It was a hazard before we started,” Hardhat said. “I’ve ordered all demolition stopped to lessen the vibrations. But time is money. You have twenty minutes, then we start. So find out if she’s there, and get the hell out.”

  “Thanks,” Linc said. “You’ve thought of everything.”

  “You won’t believe this,” Hardhat said, “but something like this happened before. Long story.”

  Dennis grabbed Linc’s arm. “You sure you want to do this? You could get killed.”

  Linc nodded.

  “Man…”

  “I’ll be fine,” Linc responded.

  Dennis shook his head. “I know better than to try and talk you out of anything.” He balled his fist and pumped it into Linc’s chest. “Good luck, partner.”

  Linc said, “I’ll need it,” but not so anyone could hear.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Not Yet Out of the Woods

  Benny sat in a stinking holding cell in the 19th precinct, rubbing elbows with drunks and addicts and thieves. He was already starting to itch. Cooties crawled all over him, a drunk hit him up for money, and someone’s hand fondled his ass. Didn’t these people know who he was? Princess Eileen had put up such a fuss that they separated her from everyone else.

  When the police stormed the door at Upper Eighties, waving a warrant, Benny wasted no time phoning his attorney, Stan Klein, whose voicemail message threw Benny into a tirade of four-letter words. He didn’t have much time, and some electronic voice was telling him to leave a message at the beep and Mr. Klein would get back to him. Fuck that! Right after the word cocksucker, Klein picked up the phone, his voice a sleepy growl. Did Benny give a rat’s ass that his lawyer was sleeping? Did he keep the son of a bitch in Benzes so he could avoid Benny’s midnight calls? He did not, and Benny made that clear.

  For one of the few times in his life, Benny thought of someone other than himself. His children. After a quick summary of the situation, Benny told Klein to inform Eileen’s mother, who was babysitting, to please stay at the house until Klein got him and Eileen out of jail. “And you better get us out fast,” he added. Not fast enough, he thought now.

  In Benny’s mind, the worst thing he did was fail to report Cindi’s unfortunate demise. If he’d done that, the police would have charged him with procurement―even though he wasn’t a pimp―and closed him down, which would have been a better situation than the one he faced now: accessory to murder after the fact. And not one murder charge, three. He doubted it made a difference that he only covered up Cindi’s murder and didn’t know about the other two until last night. Oh, yeah, Martell brought the total to four. He had nothing to do with that murder either. Now that the authorities had him by the nuts, they’d dig and dig until they found all his hidden money, and the feds would swoop down on him like voracious locusts. When they finished, he’d rot in prison until his pecker shrunk to a circumcised peanut.

  Then he remembered something Walsh said. The cop would make sure the gangbangers would make him their personal fuck if anything happened to Tawny that he could have prevented. But he couldn’t help Tawny. He didn’t know where Russo told Reggie to take her.

  What was he thinking? Men like Benny didn’t go to prison for tax evasion. Not Republicans. He leaned forward and dropped his head in his hands. It was dawn, and he was still in this stinking hole.

  Eileen started this, but she did it for him. Well, for her too, but who could blame her for not wanting to give up her life. Eileen’s hair would turn gray without Clairol, and she’d never have her nails done again. She’d kill herself in prison. The thought was too depressing. His head hurt trying to put everything in perspective.

  He didn’t notice the man standing outside the cell until he heard him clear his throat. He’d seen him before but couldn’t place him.

  “Harry Winokaur,” the man said. “FBI.”

  “I have nothing to say until I talk to my attorney.”

  “Then listen, jackass. When your lawyer gets here, discuss my offer with him. I’m sure he’ll advise you to take it.”

  * * * * *

  Linc jogged toward the dilapidated building with one other guy, a ruddy-faced, stocky worker named Bill, while a few others hurried to search the other buildings―old shops, a convenience store, and a few long-empty skeletons. None were in jeopardy of falling down, and most were easily accessible. According to Hardhat, the hotel had taken quite a few solid whacks this morning.

  “We removed the front doors first thing,” Bill said. “The building was locked until then and the first floor windows boarded up to keep out, you know, vagrants. If the woman’s inside, whoever put her there had a key.”

  “My guy would have ha
d a key,” Linc said. Russo’s company probably deconstructed the building to salvage reusable materials.

  “You take the first floor,” Bill said to Linc. “Nothing much there. Mostly lobby space. I’ll take the second. Then we can split the remaining rooms and go to the third and so on. If you feel you’re in danger in any part of the building, don’t proceed. And watch yourself on the stairs. There’s debris everywhere.”

  Linc nodded and began searching the first floor, calling out Tawny’s name. There was barely enough light to see.

  Nothing of value remained in the skeletal building, including molding and trims. When the first floor proved vacant, he headed for the second floor. Bill met him, and they quickly surveyed the rest of the rooms by going in two different directions. On three, they split, Bill taking the back half, Linc the front. He heard Bill call out. “She’s over here, Detective, along with a couple of stiffs.”

  Linc ran down the hall, mindful the oversized boots made his footing more treacherous. “Where are you?”

  “Here, not far from where they were using the ball.”

  Linc followed Bill’s voice, until he found the room where Tawny lay unconscious, strapped to the radiator. His heart sank. “Is she—” The question caught in his throat.

  “She’s breathing, but I can’t say how bad she’s hurt.”

  A quick glance revealed Reggie slumped over Colin in a congealed puddle of blood. Crusty matter clotted their bashed-in heads. He bypassed them to get to Tawny. When he called her name she stirred and moaned, and his heart spiked with hope. Bill ripped the tape off her mouth, and Linc pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the soot around her eyes, lips, and nose.

  “Tawny, can you hear me?” He said her name again and again.

  “She’s knocked out,” Bill said. “Better cut those bindings. She might freak if she sees a stranger tugging on her.”

  “Do you see anything attached to the radiator, like explosives or a timer?” Linc asked.