1 Runaway Man

by David Handler

  “I wore a pair of size-eight men’s clodhoppers. They fit just fine with gel insoles and two pairs of heavy socks. And I stuffed two ten-pound barbell plates in my jacket pockets to add weight.”

  “If I’d shown up while you were still there you’d have killed me, too, wouldn’t you?”

  “I’m afraid so, Benji. I didn’t know you yet. Not like…” Sonya’s voice caught. “Not like I do now.”

  “Did you drive your Grand Cherokee back to the city that night? Because if you did, you’ll show up on one of the tollbooth cams.”

  “I parked in a residential neighborhood in Danbury and spent the night in my car. I came in during the morning rush hour. Me and tens of thousands of others.”

  “You’d already killed someone else who was connected to this case—a nurse in Jackson Heights named Martine Price. How did you know she was Kathleen’s source?”

  “The Leetes people listened in on all of Kathleen’s phone calls. As soon as Martine gave her Bruce’s name, she was a dead woman. I made it look like a break-in. Took some crap jewelry and stuff. Her neighbors heard the shots but I left by the front door and strolled right down the street. I know how to disappear in public. No one sees me. And they for damned sure don’t fear me.”

  God, she was right. We were a lot alike—except for the part where Sonya was a hired killer with no conscience.

  She nudged my cocoa mug toward me. “Drink up, it’s good.”

  “No, thanks.”

  “What, you think I poisoned yours? Don’t be silly. You’re the first genuinely nice guy I’ve met in ages.”

  “Thank you, I think.” I still didn’t touch that cocoa. “Sonya, how did you end up doing what you do? Hold on, is Sonya even your real name?”

  “Yes, it’s my real name. I went into the family business, same as you did. We go back five generations, ever since my great-great-grandfather, Velvel, first came through Ellis Island. He was a hit man for Jake Levinsky. My great-grandfather, Moe, was hooked up with Arnold Rothstein. And my grandpa, Harry, worked for Mickey Cohen out in LA after the Second World War. Legend has it that my grandpa was the man who gunned down Bugsy Siegel.”

  “Did he really?”

  “He’d never tell. Not even on his deathbed. Grandpa passed the family trade along to my dad, who was as unlikely looking as me. If you saw him on the street you’d have figured him for a druggist. No one ever made him for a pro. He taught me everything I know. He was thorough, careful and he never got so much as a parking ticket in thirty-two years working freelance for whoever could afford him. He’s retired down in Boca now with my mom. You’d love them. They’re real sweeties. Me, I’m Generation Now. I went to college. I teach kindergarten. I live the way I want to live.”

  “And sometimes you kill people.”

  “It’s the family business,” she repeated, flaring at me. “Yours is peeking through keyholes at other people getting sweaty. Don’t judge me and I won’t judge you, okay?”

  “Is Al Posner in it? I always thought he was just my dad’s bookie.”

  “Al has nothing to do with any of it, other than that his nephew’s son, Lennie, was my first husband for about a minute and a half. Lennie’s in the porn trade and is just a really unclean person. Plus he beat me, so I divorced him. I met my second husband, Andy, on the job. He’s a pro like me. We were together for six years. Did contract hits together all over the world. A husband and wife blend in real well in the resorts. God, how I loved Andy. But he was a lying snake. Had a girlfriend on the side the whole time we were married. A crack whore who he kept in an apartment in the Bronx. That bastard broke my heart, Benji. I got even with him, though. The next solo job he took, in Atlantic City, I made sure he got caught. He’s currently serving twenty to life in Rahway.”

  “Remind me never to break your heart.”

  Sonya’s eyes shined at me. “You’re breaking it right now, don’t you know that?” She took a sip of her cocoa, cradling the mug in her slim, pale hands. “I moved out to LA after that and started working for the Leetes Group. The LA office is Jake’s biggest earner. There’s a ton of bottom-feeders out there who are constantly trying to shake down the big stars. I worked my little fingers to the bone. Jake liked my work. And he took a personal interest in me. When I got homesick for New York he helped me with the down payment on this place.”

  I felt an involuntary shudder deep inside. “You’re … his girlfriend?”

  “Kind of. He’s married, but we have a steady thing going on.”

  “And, just for fun, you get barfed on by five-year-olds named Shoko Birnbaum.”

  “I love kids,” she said brightly. “They’re so open and unguarded. They allow me to be open and unguarded. I need that in my line of work. I need to be able to drop my guard. I dropped it with you last night. You got to me, Benji. You and your bunny-rabbit eyelashes. I want to keep seeing you. It’s so hard to develop a long-term relationship in my business.”

  “I should think so. Considering you have to kill pretty much everyone you meet.”

  “I didn’t kill you, did I? I could have. Instead, I tried to scare you off.”

  “Which I still don’t get. I do understand why you said yes when I called you up. You’d gone to a lot of trouble with those cupcakes. I might have gotten suspicious if you then turned right around and blew me off. But why didn’t you just get rid of me after one glass of wine? Why did you bother to turn it into a real date? Why did?…”

  “Why did I fall hopelessly in love with you?” She reddened slightly. “I wasn’t planning to, believe me. And I really, truly didn’t want to. But I couldn’t help myself.”

  “Sonya, are you actually trying to tell me that last night was real?”

  “Of course it was. Do you think I could fake something like that?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “I wasn’t, Benji. Remember you told me how tired you are of being alone? Well, I am, too. More than you can possibly imagine. So I thought for one night—one crazy, beautiful night—that I’d go ahead and be the girl you thought I was. I could have just sent you packing after one glass of wine, like you said. I should have. But I wanted you. And I wanted to be that Sonya for you. I convinced myself that it was a smart play. What better way to find out your next move than by sleeping with you, right? But that was total bullshit. I slept with you because I fell for you, plain and simple. And I took those shots at you because I wanted you far, far away from this business. I was hoping you’d quit the case. I was hoping I could see you again.”

  “And then what?” I demanded. “What did you think would happen—that I wouldn’t find out who you really are?”

  “I guess I was hoping you’d understand.”

  “Guess again. Just to be clear about this, Sonya, did Jake Leetes hire you to murder Bruce, Kathleen and Martine?”

  “Well, yeah,” she said with a shrug.

  “And then Charles Willingham had to be disposed of, too. He and Bruce were tight. There was a chance Charles knew too much. Did Jake hire you to take him out, too?”

  “Sure.”

  “Do you know why? Were you told what it is they’re covering up?”

  “Of course not. That’s a need-to-know thing—and I don’t need to know. I don’t even want to know.”

  “How much have you been paid?”

  Sonya peered at me curiously. “You want the dollars and cents?”

  “Yes.”

  “A fucking fortune, Benji. Fifty large to hit the nurse in Jackson Heights, a hundred for Bruce and a quarter-mil to take out Kathleen Kidd.”

  “How did you pull that off?”

  “Who, Kathleen? I rang her bell, told her I was babysitting the kids across the hall and my phone was dead. Asked if I could use hers. She was so stoned and lonely she invited me in. I oohed and aahed over those paintings of hers, which totally sucked, if you ask me. Then I oohed and aahed over the view from her balcony. When we went out there for a better look I threw her off. I’m much stronger than I look
.”

  “And how about Charles?”

  “Charles Willingham had police protection, which classified him as a hard target. High risk, high reward. For him I got a half-mil.”

  “Why did you kill Detective Ayeroff, too?”

  “He was about to draw his weapon on me.”

  “You killed a New York City police detective, Sonya.”

  “I had to,” she said simply. “He made me.”

  “So you’ve grossed, let’s see, nine hundred thou in the past three weeks?”

  Sonya nodded. “It’s been a good month to be me.”

  “How do you hide so much off-the-books income?”

  “I get paid through an account in the Cayman Islands. Then I channel most of it into Posner Properties. I own this building and three others that are strictly rental units. A super-smart accountant figured it all out for me. He’s Jake’s accountant.” She sipped her cocoa, studying me over the rim of the mug. “Anything else you want to know?”

  “How much would you get paid for killing me?”

  “That would depend on the where and when.”

  “Let’s say right here, right now.”

  “Right here, right now? You’d fall under the category of an unforeseen emergency—terms to be negotiated later.”

  “How much would you ask for?”

  “Benji, we don’t want to talk about this.”

  “How much?”

  “A hell of a lot, okay? Because I’d have to dispose of your body. That means paying a top-flight cleaner to transport you out to this meat processing plant in Red Hook where they’d put you through a—”

  “Okay, that’s enough detail.”

  “I told you we didn’t want to talk about it.”

  “Sonya, there’s something that I still don’t understand. You’ve been so careful and meticulous and yet you used the same Glock to kill both Martine and Bruce. Also to shoot at me. How come?”

  She looked at me surprise. “You dug one of my slugs out of that brownstone?”

  I nodded. “How come, Sonya?”

  “Martine was New York and Bruce was Connecticut. The states almost never share information with each other. They’re like rival gangs, not brothers in arms. Besides, Jake said I didn’t have to worry about blowback, and Jake never lies to me. I’m a paid killer. No one lies to me. Plus, honest to God, it never occurred to me you’d stick around long enough to collect one of my slugs. I figured you’d start running and never look back. My bad. You’re such a little softie but you’ve got a real pair of balls on you, haven’t you? And if you convinced someone to run that slug then you must have major juice inside of the department, too. I’m impressed, cookie. And I don’t impress easily.” Her eyes locked on to mine. “Do you keep thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “I doubt it. Why, what are you thinking?”

  “That if we team up we are money. Absolutely nobody will make a nice, cute couple like us for pros. I can guarantee you we’ll gross eight figures within two years. We can retire to an island somewhere. We can get married.”

  “Sonya, are you proposing to me?”

  “I guess I am,” she acknowledged. “I’d hate to think that last night was just a one-nighter. I’m all in, Benji. I’m yours. What do you think?”

  “I think I’d have trouble sleeping at night. I’d keep wondering when you were going to stab me in the eyeball and make quarter-pounders out of me.”

  “It wouldn’t be like that, silly. We’d have fun together.”

  “It’s ‘fun’ killing people? Seriously, how many have you killed?”

  She stuck out her lower lip again. “I told you, I don’t keep count.”

  “Sure you do.”

  “Twenty-three, not counting you.” She whipped a Glock 17 out of the kitchen drawer next to her. That same Glock 17, I imagined. “You’ll make twenty-four.”

  I stared at it, swallowing. “So you are going to kill me.”

  “I can’t let you walk out of here, cookie. You know that. Believe me, I’m not happy about this. I’d much rather marry you. Except, hello, you just turned me down flat.” Sonya gazed at me fondly. “Give me a kiss first, will you? One last little kiss? Because it’s going to be a long, long time before I meet anyone as adorable as you.”

  That was when her front doorbell rang.

  She frowned at me. “Are you expecting company?”

  I nodded, my eyes never leaving the Glock. “That’ll be Lieutenant Diamond and a back-up team. I phoned him on my way down here. The house is surrounded, Sonya. And I’ve been taping this entire conversation.”

  This amused her. “You’re wearing a wire? You are such a naughty boy! Now I’ll have to shoot you and flush that thing before I let him in.” She let out a sigh of regret. “And maybe you’d better hand over your gun.”

  “Why don’t you hand over yours? You’ll never get away with this.”

  “Of course I will.”

  “Really? What will you tell him?”

  “That you showed up here all drunk and crazy.…” Sonya grabbed the shawl collar of her silk robe and tore it from her shoulder, exposing one of her beautiful breasts. “That you tried to attack me…” She swept the cocoa mugs to the floor, shattering them. “And that I had to defend myself.”

  “He’ll never buy it.”

  “Oh, he’ll buy it.” She took a deep breath and let out the most deafening scream I’d ever heard in my life.

  Now I could hear heavy pounding against the front door.

  Sonya flung herself into my arms, half naked and silky. “Kiss me, Benji,” she whispered.

  I kissed her feverishly, my heart hammering in my chest. It didn’t matter what she’d done. It didn’t matter who she was. At that moment, I wanted Sonya Posner more than I’d ever wanted any woman in my whole life. Truly, she had a sick hold over me.

  A thud shook the building. They were taking a ram to the polished hardwood front door.

  She drew back from me, breathless, those mesmerizing goddamned eyes of hers gazing at me so fondly again. “I’m sorry, Benji,” she said as her finger tightened against the Glock’s trigger.

  I said, “So am I, Sonya.” Then I shot her three times in the heart through the pocket of my duffel coat.

  She looked right at me, startled. Then Sonya Posner didn’t look at anything. She was dead before she slid to the floor next to our broken cocoa mugs.

  I went upstairs and let Legs in.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  I HAD TO BE TAKEN IN. After I answered everything that Legs Diamond asked me, we sat in the interview room together, drank bad coffee and listened to the tape I’d made of my conversation with the late Sonya Posner.

  When the tape ended with those three shots from my Chief’s Special, he turned it off and said, “Go home. Just do me a solid, okay? Don’t try bitter on for size. It’s not your style.”

  I wasn’t charged with a crime. It was self-defense all of the way. The Glock 17 that Legs had found in Sonya’s dead hand was indeed the same Glock 17 that she’d used to take out Bruce Weiner and Martine Price. And he had her confession on tape.

  I happen to know he played that tape at One Police Plaza for Commissioner Feldman. But there was a lot more that I didn’t know, such as what was going to happen to Jake Leetes and his Leetes Group. High-ranking prosecutors in the Manhattan’s DA’s office were debating whether my tape of Sonya would be admissible if charges were ever brought against him. And Legs told me that the NYPD’s top forensic accountants were trying to find a money trail between the Leetes Group and Sonya Posner. Me, I wasn’t counting on it. You don’t become Jake Leetes by being stupid.

  The murders of Bruce and Martine could be quietly put to bed now. No need to involve the media. But that was the easy part. Commissioner Feldman still had the page-one murders of college basketball’s brightest star and a heroic police detective to account for. If he went public with an allegation that Charles Willingham and Detective Fred Ayeroff had been gunned down by the same contr
act killer who’d shot Bruce and Martine then it would be damned hard to draw a line connecting Bruce, Martine and Charles that didn’t also go through Kathleen Kidd, whose death the NYPD was officially calling a tragic suicide. And Commissioner Feldman was no doubt under a huge amount of pressure from the Kidd family to keep it that way.

  The commissioner had his work cut out for him. It wouldn’t be easy to square the Kidd family’s demand for secrecy with an entire city’s need for justice. But you don’t become Dante Feldman by being stupid either. He’d figure out how to thread the needle. If I were a betting man I’d have laid odds that my pal Legs would be told to find himself a nice, handy fall guy. Like, say, a three-time loser with known gang ties who’d gotten himself busted for an unrelated shooting in the past twenty-four hours. Said three-time loser would be persuaded to cop to the Willingham and Ayeroff shootings in exchange for special privileges when he was sent away. A deal would be struck. A deal that would never, ever be made public. That’s just my bet.

  But, like I said, I’m not a betting man.

  * * *

  THERE WERE THREE FUNERALS that stopped traffic in New York City in the days ahead. Kathleen Kidd, daughter of Ambassador Thomas Kidd and Eleanor Saltonstall Kidd, was laid to rest. So was Charles “In Charge” Willingham, the greatest basketball player to come out of the city’s playgrounds in a generation. So was Detective Fred Ayeroff, who wasn’t famous, but when a cop dies in the line of duty everyone from the mayor on down shows to pay their respects.

  Sonya Posner was laid to rest, too, I imagine, but I don’t know where. Or who took care of it. And I doubt that her funeral stopped any traffic.

  Later that week, Bobby the K withdrew as a New York gubernatorial candidate due to “family reasons.” Rumors were rampant in the tabloids and on the blogosphere that his wife, Meg Grayson Kidd, had moved out and taken their two kids with her. Apparently, the super couple was no longer a couple, super or otherwise. Apparently, she had caught Bobby cheating on her. Every paparazzi sleazeball in New York, professional and amateur alike, was desperate to snap a picture of Bobby’s leggy, sultry girlfriend. As far as I knew, no such leggy, sultry girlfriend actually existed. But that didn’t stop them from chasing after Bobby morning, noon and night. Nor did it stop three different bona fide hard-core porn stars from claiming that they’d been having torrid, kinky sex with Bobby. And possessed the explicit text messages to prove it. For all I knew, they did. And would make his life miserable for weeks to come.